The New Dawn
by Code Musica
Summary: [AU] The Hidden Leaf had a long and sordid history of producing some of the most dangerous rogue ninja to walk the Earth; Orochimaru, Itachi, Kabuto, Sasuke. It was only a matter of time until they produced another one. But no one, especially Naruto, expected their next rogue ninja to be Bolt Uzumaki. Disgraced after the exams, Bolt sets out to make his mark on the ninja world.
1. Chapter 1

"What is this?"

Boruto felt his stomach sink into his boots as his father held his right hand aloft, the kote he had hidden under his jacket's sleeve now on display for the whole crowd, the whole world. His heart fluttered in his chest as his jaw worked up and down as he tried to think of something, anything, to get him out of his current predicament.

Boruto winced as his father's grip on his wrist tightened painfully. "I—this is…" Boruto said lamely.

" _This,_ " his father said, shaking his arm as he gestured to the ninja tool. "Is prohibited in the exams." His father released his arm, and Boruto struggled to resist the urge to rub away the pain in his wrist. His father loomed over him. "Using a ninja tool instead of your own chakra defeats the purpose of the Chūnin Exams."

Boruto raised his head to look at his father. He immediately dropped his gaze to the ground upon seeing the look of anger and disappointment he wore. His mouth was painfully dry as his nerves assaulted him. He was keenly aware that nearly the entire village was watching him, not to mention several hundred ninja from allied villages. He would never live this down.

Boruto opened his mouth to explain.

"—Lee," his father said, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. "Boruto is disqualified. Announce Shikadai as the winner."

Lee nodded and held a finger to his ear, turning on a microphone. "Boruto Uzumaki has been disqualified for using an illegal ninja tool! Therefore, the winner is Shikadai Nara of the Hidden Leaf!"

The arena was so quiet Boruto could have heard a throwing needle drop. From the box where the Kage sat, he could just manage to hear the Fourth Tsuchikage speak. She didn't even bother to whisper or speak under her breath. "So this is what it's like to have an idiot son who drags the Hokage's name through the mud…"

Boruto felt anger and shame bubble up.

The crowd erupted into cheers as the true winner was announced. Boruto's shoulders slumped and he could feel his face begin to burn from shame. He caught the screen out of the corner of his eye as his name faded to black and Shikadai's was lit up.

Boruto hung his head and felt very, very small. "You're disqualified for not following the rules," he heard his father explain imperiously as he reached forward with an outstretched hand. "We'll talk later."

Boruto's eyes widened as he realized that his father wasn't reaching out to grasp his shoulder, like he thought, but reaching out to take his headband. How dare he.

Boruto reacted violently, slapping away his father's hand and taking a few steps backwards. "We'll talk later? We'll talk later!" Boruto screamed. His knees felt weak. He was surprised he was even standing upright. "Do you even have time for that, dad? You're always so busy with the village that you don't even have time for me! If you had been a real father, I wouldn't even be in a situation like this!"

Boruto was aware how weak and hoarse his voice sounded. Great. So he was a cheater, and a weakling. He didn't see his father's hurt expression. Lowering his arm, Boruto saw his father steel his resolve. "Leave. We'll talk later. There are still matches to be conducted," he said.

Boruto swallowed his tears and ran. He refused to cry in front of these people. He would not be a cheater, a weakling, and a crybaby.

"Next match, Sarada Uchiha of the Leaf, versus Mitsuki of the Leaf!" Boruto heard Lee announce.

* * *

Boruto screamed into his pillow, even as tears ran down his cheeks. Of course, the only place he could go was home. He was twelve. _Twelve_. And his father had humiliated him in front of everyone. The entire village. All of the Kage. Their allies from the other villages. _His friends._

He felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. There was no way he could ever show his face in the village again. He would be a joke. The laughing stock. No one would take him seriously. He would remain a lowly genin—forever. Master Sasuke wouldn't continue teaching him. He was a disgrace.

Boruto took a long, ragged breath. His thoughts continued to run, each more depressing and soul crushing than the last. He was right. His father cared more about the village than his own son, his own family. It was no wonder he only sent a clone to his sister's birthday party. He didn't care about any of them. It was always the the village this, the village that. His father's family came last: not second, but last.

Boruto gripped his headband painfully tight and slammed his fist into his mattress over and over as the despair settled in. He could hear the faint cheering from the arena as the Chūnin Exams continued. He wondered what Sarada and Mitsuki would think. They would probably think he was a coward, Boruto supplied for himself. He could practically hear their voices.

Boruto tossed and turned. He was a nervous bundle of energy. He felt the need to act. To do something, anything. He swung his legs over his bed and sat hunched over, staring at his headband and the emblem of the Leaf etched on it. A single tear fell, staining the dark black fabric of the headband. Boruto brought up his hand and wiped at his face in a futile attempt to get his emotions under control. It didn't help.

Humiliation turned to sadness, and sadness turned to anger. In a sudden bout of rage, Boruto stood and violently kicked his computer chair, sending it flying into his wall on the opposite side of his room. His face was beet red and his breaths came fast and short.

Anger turned to hate. If his father didn't care about him, then he wouldn't care about his father. He wouldn't care about his village. He could still remember the sound of the crowd as they chuckled and snickered at his public humiliation. It wasn't all of them, of course, but it was enough that he could hear it over the thunderous applause Shikadai had been receiving.

Boruto acted on impulse. He vaguely remembered his Academy teacher explaining something about the events leading up to the war. How some ninja would disavow themselves from their village—permanently. Setting his headband on his desk, he ran a shaking hand through a drawer that caused its contents to rumble. He found what he was looking for. A small, but sharp, kunai. He gripped it tight, trying to steady his hand. With his free hand, he held his headband to the desk securely. He held the kunai over the metal band and his hand stilled.

He hesitated only a moment before cutting a long, jagged scratch across the emblem of the Leaf.

His breathing evened out as the reality of what he had just done set in. He had, in essence, just become a rogue ninja. He had rejected his village. Hate turned to fear. Rogue ninja were not treated well, nor looked upon favorably. Not that it mattered, anyway. Boruto scoffed. The whole village saw him cheat in the Chūnin Exams. It couldn't get much worse than that. He would be hard pressed to get a new headband. How would he explain the state of his current one? It wasn't like people went around and defaced the symbol of their loyalty to the village. It just wasn't done.

Boruto collapsed backwards onto his bed and held his head in his hands. Now he had truly made a mistake.

After a few minutes of wallowing in his emotions, Boruto heard a great cheer go up from the arena. Sarada's match must be over. He missed it. That meant the semi-finals were over. The finals would be next, and then his father would come for him.

Boruto couldn't bear that.

He ran to his closet, slamming the doors open. He found a large backpack on the floor, opened it, and emptied its contents on his bed. He quickly went through his closet, stuffing as many clothes as he could into it. Going to his desk, he grabbed several kunai and shuriken, as well as a handful of scrolls, and set them on top of his clothes in his backpack. With a moment of hesitation, he snatched up his headband and threw it in with everything else. Flinging open his door, he ran down the hallway and busted into his dad's office. Careful not to disturb anything—which was difficult with how much his hands were shaking—he sifted through the contents of the desk and pocketed a small sum of ryō. It wasn't much, but it would feed him until he could find a way to get more.

Boruto sprinted back to his room and hid the money under a shirt in his backpack. Rummaging through his closet again, he found a medium sized bag and ran downstairs. His heart beat in his chest so hard he could barely hear anything other than the sound of his own blood. He threw a few things into the bag from the kitchen, enough to last him a few days, maybe a week if he was prudent. Shoving his meager rations into his pack, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. His thoughts raced. Was he really going to do this? Could he? He didn't have a choice.

He grabbed a heavy yellow cloak out of his closet, threw it on, and drew the hood up. Grabbing his pack, he cast one last glance around his room. With a large intake of breath, Boruto turned and fled, making his way to the village gates.

As he expected, security was lax. Everyone was focussed on the Chūnin Exams.

That was the last time anyone saw Boruto Uzumaki in the Hidden Leaf.

* * *

Boruto walked through the thinning forest, basking in the light of the afternoon sun. It had been a whole day since he left the Leaf, and he was nearing his first destination. Boruto had struggled to think of where he would go, or what he would do, now that he wasn't a ninja of the Hidden Leaf. He just couldn't make up his mind. So, the answer was obvious. He would do everything! See everything, visit every nation, learn their techniques. It was perfect. A vacation he was never planning to come back from.

Light footsteps from up ahead drew Boruto's attention. An older man with graying hair was walking towards him. He wore plain clothes and a strange white sash with the character for "fire" emblazoned on it. The only way Boruto knew the man was a ninja was the bulge on the right side of his waist that belayed the presence of a pouch for shuriken.

He put on his best innocent smile and ran up to him. "Hey, sir! Do you know which way the capital is from here?" Boruto asked excitedly.

The old man looked down at Boruto and smiled. "Sure thing, kid. Just follow the path until you get to the main road. You're only about an hour's walk from the main gate," he said, pointing back the way he came.

"Thanks, mister!" Boruto said, dashing off down the path. Casting a quick look back, he saw that the old man was continuing on his way. Good. That meant he hadn't been recognized.

Upon leaving, Boruto immediately decided the first place he wanted to visit was the capital of the Land of Fire. It was a city of beauty, according to the rumors. The inner ring of the city was the picture of classical antiquity, where the Fire Lord ruled over the country, while the outer ring was a metropolis built upon the technological boom following the end of the Fourth War.

It didn't take long for Boruto to reach the end of the short forest path he had been on. Like the old man had said, he came upon a large road with men and women going to and from the capital. In the distance, he could see towering walls rise up, with even taller buildings beyond them. Even at this distance, he could tell the capital was massive.

Hiding behind a tree, Boruto watched the traffic for a few minutes. He found a suitable target: a young man in his early twenties with black hair and brown eyes. He looked common and had one of those faces that wasn't memorable. Hiding behind the tree, Boruto quickly flashed through the hand signs. "Transformation Jutsu," he uttered, picturing the man's appearance in his mind. A wisp of smoke drifted up from behind the tree as Boruto jumped out onto the road and made his way towards the main gate. Though the old man on the path didn't recognize him, it was entirely possible the guards at the main gate would.

The old man was right. It took Boruto almost an hour to reach the main gate at a brisk pace. As he grew closer, the city seemed to grow and grow until he had to crane his neck back to see the tops of the buildings. The traffic intensified the closer Boruto got, until he was shoulder to shoulder with people entering and leaving the capital. It was high noon, and the temperature combined with the mass of bodies made the heat sweltering.

Boruto walked right through the main gate with a bright smile on his face and a spring in his step. The guards didn't even give him a second look. There were too many people entering and leaving to search and question them all.

The capital was even more amazing than he imagined. Towering monoliths of steel and glass with bright, flashing neon lights of every color loomed over him. Signs extended over the road, each more elaborate and intricate than the last in an attempt to attract people. It was almost like a competition, in a way. Store owners battling for customers with the most eye catching advertising. The Hidden Leaf was great, but it was a military village; all utilitarian and no form. This was the big city.

Seeing a few kids his age running down the street, he jogged over to them. "Hey! Where's the nearest arcade?" Boruto asked.

The kids gave him a strange look. "Aren't you a little old to be going to the arcade, mister?" one of them asked. Boruto forgot he was wearing the disguise of an older, plain man. Examining his outfit, Boruto thought he looked rather like a laborer. He was out of place in the city.

One of the kids elbowed the other. "Be nice, brother," she said. "That way, mister," she added, pointing down a nearby alley that led deeper into the capital.

"Thanks!" Boruto said with a smile and jogged off in that direction. A few minutes later, after following several large neon signs, Boruto entered into a dark lobby filled with flashing lights, the dull roar of video games, and moans of displeasure as people lost and were forced to put more money into the machines.

Grinning, Boruto exchanged a handful of ryō for coins and went to play.

* * *

"Have you found him yet!" Naruto demanded.

The ANBU team in front of him stiffened. "No, sir," they answered. "We've checked the entirety of the village. He's not within the walls of the Hidden Leaf, we're sure."

Naruto scowled as his brows narrowed in worry. "Relax," Shikamaru said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Boruto is a smart kid. Maybe he found a way to hide. There's a bunch of secret passages and hideouts from the old days. Maybe he's hiding in one of them?"

Naruto glanced at the ANBU. "It will be done at once, sir," they said, bowing as they swiftly left the room.

With a heavy sigh, Naruto returned to the paperwork on his desk. "I hope you're right, Shikamaru. Just in case, prepare a notice to be sent out to every village in the surrounding area. If the ANBU don't find my son by tonight, I'll send teams out tomorrow morning."

"Sure," Shikamaru said with a nod, leaving to ready the messenger hawks to carry the notice about Boruto's disappearance.

"I'll go look too, Naruto," Hinata said, leaving his side. "The search will be faster with my Byakugan."

"Thank you, Hinata," Naruto said quietly as she left. Why had he been so hard on his son? He should've taken him from the arena before scolding him. He could have explained the situation better.

Naruto let out a weary sigh as the door closed behind Hinata. It had been a long day of stress and worry since Boruto ran away.

* * *

Boruto woke up late the next morning. It was nice, he had to admit, not having to be up at dawn for training every day. No one told him what to do now. He went to bed when he wanted. He woke up when he wanted. He ate what he wanted. He did what he wanted. It was perfect.

Snacking on some candy for breakfast that he had bought yesterday after leaving the arcade, he contemplated what he wanted to do for the day. Boruto decided to explore the inner circle of the city and the Fire Lord's castle.

Collecting all his worldly possessions, which amounted next to nothing, Boruto stood in front of the mirror and reapplied his transformation jutsu, once again taking the form of the young man he had copied yesterday. He made his way downstairs and out into the bustling city, heading towards the center.

The streets were full of people. Shoulder-to-shoulder, with barely a foot between one man and the next. Many were gawking, awkward tourists. As he walked from his hotel, the crowds slowly transitioned from city folk to wide-eyed tourists with flashing cameras. A guide was yelling at the top of his lungs as he led a train of tourists through the city and around the outer walls.

"And here you see the west gate to the inner city where the Fire Lord rules over our country!" the guide yelled, pointing to two large, towering gates made of a dark red wood that had the character for fire etched into them. Atop the walls, and in front of the gate, were no less than twenty ninja. Judging from their jackets, they were all jōnin or chūnin. "The Fire Lord is well defended around the clock, the greatest of his guards being the legendary Twelve Guardian Ninja!"

Cameras flashed as the tourists took pictures of the gate. Boruto smirked and moved on. Apparently the Fire Lord was not taking visitors, and even if he was, one look at that security and Boruto knew he would have been caught. His pride wouldn't let that happen at least for a month.

Boruto walked around the inner ring of the capital, admiring what he could. It was like the inner city was straight from a history book, all raised wooden structures with tiled or thatched roofs and paper walls with paintings of forests, mountains, and animals. Boruto tuned out the dull roar of the city and continued walking, enjoying the sights.

"—the Hokage's kid?"

 _That_ got Boruto's attention. "Yeah, it's gotta be. Boruto Uzumaki, ain't nobody else with that name 'cept the Hokage," a man was saying to his friend as they stood in front of a large wooden board. Boruto nearly tripped when he heard the man say his name.

"Yep. Even them Uzumaki clansmen in the Land of Whirlpools don't have that blond hair. Gotta be him," the man's friend said.

Boruto casually walked over to the board, trying his best to be nonchalant. It appeared to be some kind of bulletin board for public announcements, and his face was displayed prominently in the center of the board.

He paled. "Missing: Boruto Uzumaki, ninja of the Hidden Leaf. Blond hair, blue eyes, two identical birthmarks on both cheeks. Last seen leaving the Hidden Leaf village two days prior. One million ryō reward for information on his whereabouts," Boruto whispered under his breath.

Time to leave, Boruto decided, as he turned and briskly walked back through the outer ring of the city. Boruto's heart pounded in his chest as he half-walked, half-jogged through the capital. He was starting to imagine ninja casting speculative glances at him as they passed him. Or, maybe, they actually were. He needed to calm down. He was drawing attention to himself.

After an hour of nerve wracking walking, Boruto finally made it to the entrance of the city. Swallowing his nervousness, he walked through the gates like he owned them. After a few dozen steps without the guards calling out to him, he broke into a sprint.

Boruto didn't see two of the guards nod to each other before a ninja hidden in the trees began to follow after him.

* * *

Boruto sighed in relief as he leaned against a tree for support. He had spent the better part of the day running through the forest as he headed east. There wasn't much to do while running through the wilderness. Just make sure you didn't trip on any stray roots or slick patches of dead leaves. That left a lot of time to think.

And a lot of time to plan. His father had obviously alerted the nearby cities about his disappearance, so he was going to have to be careful about being near other people. That meant he had to hold his transformation jutsu nearly all the time. _That_ was going to be a pain.

Boruto's first thought had been to go further west. He was a good two days away from the border of the Land of Rivers, and from there, he could continue even further west and go to the Land of Wind and the Hidden Sand. He had always wanted to visit 'Uncle' Gaara's village. But that was exactly the problem. His dad would have sent notice to the Kazekage that he was missing. For sure. Guaranteed. Uncle Gaara probably had ninja patrolling the borders just in case, anyway. The Hidden Sand was the closest ally of the Hidden Leaf. The only people he didn't want to see more than his own ninja were those from the Hidden Sand.

The solution? Head east. He would have to double back and sneak around the Hidden Leaf, but there were miles and miles of nothing but forest after that, dotted by small, inconsequential villages. Too small to warrant a hawk from the Hokage about his missing son. Once he reached the coast, he could run across the bay to the Land of Whirlpools, and from there, barter passage to the Land of Water. Or he could try running there. It was risky. He could run out of chakra and be forced to swim the rest of the way in the frigid cold waters. Maybe the boat wasn't so bad. Boruto sighed. He'd decide what to do tomorrow.

"Boruto Uzumaki?" a voice called out from the forest.

Boruto stiffened and zeroed in on the bush he thought the voice was coming from. A few moments later, a ninja walked into the small clearing he was resting in. She was a tall, thin woman with long, shaggy black hair held back in a ponytail, and her eyes were a bewitching shade of maroon. Judging from her jacket, she must have been either a jōnin or chūnin.

Stay calm. He was just some country bumpkin camping in the forest. Boruto took a deep breath. "Sorry?" Boruto said, doing his best to sound confused.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Your transformation jutsu dropped, kid," she said.

Boruto looked down. The ground did seem a lot closer than it did in his disguise. He must have stopped channeling chakra into it while he was thinking. Boruto chuckled nervously.

"Look, kid, I'm just here to take you back to the village. The Hokage is worried about you," the woman said.

"Don't wanna," Boruto quipped, sticking out his tongue.

The woman smirked. "You don't really have a choice, kid. I'm just following orders, and my orders were to take you back to the village if I found you," she said.

Boruto scrutinized her for a moment. "Do I know you? You look familiar," he asked.

"My name is Mirai Sarutobi," the woman, Mirai, said, slowly shifting into a taijutsu stance.

"Ah! You're Konohamaru's cousin! Right—" Boruto exclaimed.

Before Boruto could even finish his sentence, Mirai darted forward, reaching out to grab him. Boruto yelped in surprise and jumped backwards, only to back into a tree trunk and come to a stop.

"Sorry, kid," Mirai said, aiming a well placed punch at his chin.

Boruto saw the punch coming and slipped into a Gentle Fist stance. He deftly swatted away her strike, his palm barely touching her wrist. Mirai hissed and withdrew her arm. He imagine her wrist smarted like it had been stung by a bee, and not slapped away by some kid.

Never had Boruto been more thankful to his grandfather for all those long, gruelling drills in the way of the Gentle Fist. Although he didn't have the Byakugan, it still was the strongest taijutsu style in the entire village.

Mirai glared at Boruto. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be, kid," she warned. "I don't want to have to be the one to explain to the Hokage why you're roughed up."

Boruto scoffed. "Bring it on," he taunted arrogantly.

Mirai shook her head. "Remember, kid, you asked for it," she said, sprinting forward. This time, she was light on her feet, ducking and weaving. She had no intention of finding out just how strong the Gentle Fist actually was.

Boruto rushed in, throwing palm strike after palm strike. Mirai dodged each one expertly with practiced ease, delivering a few counters here and there. After thirty seconds of fighting, Boruto could feel bruises forming along his ribs, arms, and chest. Thankfully, she was holding back, so nothing was fractured or broken. Or she was just really bad at taijutsu,he hoped.

"You're just a genin, kid. You're not going to beat me, a chūnin," Mirai stated.

Boruto frowned and his brows narrowed. No one underestimated him. He was tired of being seen as a failure. He weaved a few hand signs faster than Mirai's eyes could follow. "Shadow Clone Jutsu," he uttered. Two wisps of smoke erupted to his left and right, revealing two clones already in a Gentle Fist stance.

"No holding back, guys," Boruto instructed his clones.

"Right!" the clones answered. The three of them shot forward with unspoken agreement, each flowing through different forms of the Gentle Fist in a graceful but deadly dance.

Mirai avoided the first clone, as well as him, before striking the second clone with a well placed punch to the stomach. She was already turning to face him when Boruto struck her in the shoulder. He could hear the hiss of pain that slipped passed her lips. Boruto smirked triumphantly as he prepared for his next strike.

Boruto and his remaining clone leapt at the same time, a dervish of palms and pointed fingers. Mirai expertly dodged, weaving an arm towards the clone, and a foot towards him, as she defeated both with a simultaneous punch and kick.

His clone that was punched disappeared in a wisp of smoke as he flew back into a tree trunk. Boruto groaned as he blinked the stars out of his vision, his body automatically standing after years of training. "Come on, kid. Do we really have to do this?" Mirai asked.

Boruto sucked in a few fast, deep breaths. On the last one, he inhaled and held his breath, weaving the four hand signs as fast as he could. "Water Style: Water Bullet Jutsu!" Boruto exclaimed, shooting a thin but powerful jet of water at his opponent.

Mirai weaved through the hand signs for its opposite. "Fire Style: Fire Bullet Jutsu!" she exclaimed, sending a ball of flame towards the jet of water.

Fire met water in a hissing explosion of steam. Boruto jumped through the steam, swinging a palm at Mirai's head. She blocked, wincing, and Boruto could feel the Gentle Fist rattle the bones in her arm. It must have been an uncomfortable experience.

The two of them exchanged blows for nearly a full minute. By the end of their exchange, Boruto was gasping for breath, sporting several new bruises. "You lose, kid," Mirai declared, darting forward for the last exchange.

Boruto landed one last strike, abandoning all defense in exchange for offense. He delivered a precise palm strike to Mirai's thigh as the chūnin grappled him, smashing him into the ground and pinning his other arm behind his back. Boruto grunted in pain as Mirai tightened the hold on him.

Mirai jumped backwards on instinct as she felt Boruto's arm _bulge._ A moment later, he exploded into a wisp of smoke.

Mirai blinked several times before letting out a low chuckle. "Not bad, kid. Not bad," she said, wincing as she limped forward.

Nearly a mile away, Boruto smirked in triumph as the memories of his clone returned to him.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Edit:** 9/23/2016 — I've gone back and touched up a few things this chapter. Mainly correcting a few spelling and grammatical errors, correcting spoken tenses, and other minor things. _**This chapter more accurately represents my writing style later in the story.**_ The chapters following this one, up until 20 or so, may be of a poorer standard. If the quality is making you think of dropping the story, try to persevere until chapter 20.

The largest complaint that I have received is that Naruto feels, reads, out of character. This is intentional, and explained later in the story. If you're coming into this expecting Naruto to be the second coming of the Sage of Six Paths and an omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient force of good, order, and justice in the world—like many of you seem to think he is—you're going to be disappointed.

* * *

So this is an idea I've had bouncing in my head for awhile now. It's a semi-alternate universe/spin-off where Momoshiki Ōtsutsuki does not interrupt the Chūnin Exams by attacking. This is not to say that the Ōtsutsuki's are not present in the world, just that they did not attack. They may appear at a later date, they might not. Instead, Boruto has to face the consequences of his actions. The natural course of action? He runs away from home. _The New Dawn_ follows Boruto on his journey as he discovers himself and who he is, as well as the aftermath of the Fourth Shinobi World War. One thing I'd like to clarify is that Boruto's running away is different than Sasuke's, as you will see. I know a lot of people didn't really care for the whole Sasuke-runs-away plot in the manga, and how everyone is all angsty over his departure, and I just wanted to reassure people that it isn't the same thing here. It's not a rehash.


	2. Chapter 2

Bolt sneezed, rubbing his hands together and holding them closer to the fire. It had been two whole days since he had met his teacher's cousin, Mirai, and she was nothing if not persistent. So persistent, in fact, that he had been unable to make a campfire for the past two nights. That led to a long, sleepless night of tossing and turning and shivering. The Land of Fire, contrary to its name, was not warm at night, and the small sleeping bag he had packed didn't do him much good. Not for the first time, Bolt wished one of his chakra releases was fire.

He sneezed again. Bolt scowled and kneeled, taking a small pot of tea off the fire and sighing in relief as he drank it. It wasn't anything fancy, just boiled river water and some local herbs, but it warmed his insides. If Mirai found him, he'd just have to deal with it. Bolt was tired of being cold.

So far, his vacation was not turning out how he had thought it would be. The journey from the Hidden Leaf to the capital had been quick, with many small towns in between. He hadn't truly needed to survive in the wilderness until now. Now that he had, he dearly missed the modern conveniences afforded to him. Running water. _Warm_ running water. Electricity. A soft bed. Hot food. A roof over his head that didn't let rain fall on him, _like the branches of this stupid tree!_ Bolt mentally screamed.

Bolt managed to avoid the Hidden Leaf, and any of its ninja, by cutting far south, well below the village's borders, and heading due east with haste. He was actually surprised by how easy it was. He hadn't seen nor heard anyone following him, though that didn't mean anything. An Inuzuka hound could be following his scent, or a microscopic Aburame bug could be spying on him at that very moment. He just didn't know. Old feelings of jealousy flared to life that his sister, Himawari, had unlocked the Byakugan, but not him. It would be _so_ much easier to remain anonymous with the all seeing eyes of the Hyūga. Finishing off his tea, Bolt wrapped himself in his sleeping bag like a cocoon. Morning came much too early.

Bolt was awakened by a loud, intrusive sniffing sound, and a soft, wet prodding on his face. "Knock it off," he said sleepily, slapping away the offending source. A low growl made his eyes snap open. He came face to face with a very large, very offended looking panda.

"Ah!" Bolt yelped, jumping out of his sleeping bag and flying into the tree he had been sleeping under. The bear seemed to laugh at him before turning and rooting through his pack for a few moments before tearing out a large plastic bag of assorted candy.

"Hey! That's mine!" Bolt yelled, his brain's higher functions quickly rebooting. He was a ninja. This was a bear. He had already taken down one before, for a stupid D-rank mission. Dropping to the ground and landing on the balls of his feet, Bolt weaved the hand seal for the Shadow Clone jutsu. Two flashes of smoke later, Bolt and his two brothers sprinted forward.

The bear, seeing that its target was not a normal human, moaned in annoyance before turning and galloping back through the forest. "After him!" Bolt ordered, both him and the clones picking up their pace. The three of them burst through the underbrush after the bear, following the trail of fallen candy. One of the clones tripped over a protruding root and fell face first into the ground, disappearing in a plume of smoke.

Bolt growled. "Water Style: Water—"

Bolt screamed as he felt something tighten around his ankle as he was violently thrown skyward. He saw the rush of wood coming at him, and then he knew nothing.

* * *

"Oi, you think he gonna be aight?" Bolt heard a voice ask. He was faintly aware of something poking him in the belly.

"Yessir, he comin' round now," another voice commented. Bolt groaned as his eyes fluttered open and the harsh glare of the sun burned his corneas.

"Can we's eat him?" Bolt heard another voice ask. Adrenaline began to flood his system.

"Naw, he don't look too tasty," a voice answered.

"I am not food!" Bolt declared indignantly, as loud as his hoarse voice would yell. His eyes fluttered open to the sight of three men surrounding him, one poking him with a stick. He was hanging several feet in the hair, a rope wound tightly around his ankle that ran into the treetops.

The three men took a few steps back as Bolt regained consciousness. Bolt blinked a few times as he examined them. There was an older, balding man with a long white beard who had the stick and was poking him— cane, Bolt amended. Flanking him were two younger men, both wearing working clothes that were stained with sweat and dirt. None of them appeared to be ninjas, much to Bolt's relief. "Can you get me down?" Bolt asked a bit impatiently. His head felt swollen and heavy, and his thoughts were sluggish. _Probably from hanging upside down for so long,_ Bolt thought.

The three men shared a look with each other. "Ain'chu a ninja? Get yerself down," one of the younger men said, pointedly looking at the pouches of shuriken and kunai on his belt. Though he hadn't worn his headband, his weapons and manner of dress still gave him away.

Bolt scowled before taking a deep breath and pulled himself upwards. His abdominal muscles ached from the sudden exertion, but he persevered. Grabbing the rope for support, Bolt reached into one of the pouches on his belt and withdrew a kunai. A quick slash cut the rope, and a deft mid air twist left Bolt standing on his feet as he fell to the ground.

The two younger men clapped like they had seen a circus animal perform a trick, wide smiles adorning their faces. Bolt felt a headache coming on. He wasn't sure if it was from being hung upside down for so long or because of the locals. The old men stepped forward and prodded him in the stomach twice with his cane. "Can you not do that?" Bolt said, gently knocking away the offending stick.

"Sorry, sorry," the old man apologized. He didn't sound like he meant it, in Bolt's opinion. With a slight scowl, Bolt began to walk back through the brush towards where he thought his camp was. Memories of how the bear had gotten away with its theft came flooding back, and Bolt felt his face heat up in embarrassment. If this had been a mission, his friends would have never let him forget that night.

Bolt was aware that the three men were following him through the underbrush. He ignored them. Maybe they would go away. A few minutes later, Bolt found his camp, and thanked whatever gods there may be that nothing more was damaged or stolen, though it did look like some small woodland creature had made a nest in his sleeping bag.

Quickly going about packing up his camp and gathering his things, Bolt sighed as he heard the brushes part and three sets of footsteps stepped into his camp. "Well I'll be," one of the younger men said. "He done been campin' in the demon bear's woods." The old man hummed and nodded.

Bolt rolled his eyes. _Demon bear, right,_ he thought. "Can I help you?" Bolt asked with thinly veiled politeness.

The three men's eyes got big and began to water. "You'd really do that?" one of the young men asked.

"Er, no, it means—" Bolt began to explain, clearly they had misunderstood him.

The old man hobbled over to him, vigorously shaking his hands. "Please, come to our village. We desperately need a ninja's help," he croaked.

Bolt opened his mouth to tell the old man to get lost, but couldn't find it in his heart. He sighed wearily. "Fine," he reluctantly agreed. He was tired of roughing it in the sticks anyway. A soft, warm bed would do him some good. His clothes were far dirtier than he ever allowed them to get, and his hair was in desperate need of care.

The two younger men broke into cheers and dancing, causing Bolt's headache to worsen. "Lead the way," Bolt prompted, urging the two idiots to stop making so much noise.

Together, the four of them headed farther east, into the valleys and gulches that separated the Land of Fire from the ocean.

* * *

The village the three men called home was barely a village. It was a grouping of hovels that were built on the mountainside, miles away in every direction from civilization. There wasn't even a road leading to or from the village. Bolt wasn't even sure it was on the map, because the villagers didn't have a name for it. It was simply "home."

There were perhaps one hundred people living there in total, dwelling in wooden shacks and shanties with roofs made of straw. The people were all older, in their late teens at the very youngest. There were no children. They were all thin, and their clothes were old fashioned and threadbare. Bolt could tell they were very poor.

"This way," the old man said, guiding Bolt towards the largest and most well made of the shacks. It was taller and wider than most of the other shacks, and seemed to have been built with some degree of skill. The wood was stained and treated to endure the elements and rot, and the straw roof was woven and packed tightly to keep out the rain.

The inside was plain, with only one room. In the center was a great pit with a roaring fire and several men and women gathered around, all elders from their appearance. As Bolt and the old man entered, they all turned to look at them. Their gazes drifted from Bolt's face to his appearance and then back to his face. Many smiled, coming to the same conclusion the older man did in the forest. He was a ninja.

One of the men sitting around the fire stood up, a wide smile adorning his features. "Excellent job, elder. Where did you find him?" he asked the older man next to Bolt.

The old man chuckled. "He was caught in one of the traps in the forest," he explained. Bolt fought to keep his blush down.

"Excellent, excellent," the man declared. "Greetings! I am Satoshi of the Land of Frost," Satoshi said in greetings, bowing ever so slightly at the waist.

"Bol—Mitsuki, my name is Mitsuki," Bolt said, returning the bow. Best not to use his real name. Hopefully Mitsuki wouldn't mind, if he ever found out.

"And you're from the Hidden Leaf? Where is your headband?" Satoshi asked.

"I'm, er, not on active duty, at the moment," Bolt said, dodging the question. "You said you were from the Land of Frost? What are you doing so far south?"

Satoshi and the others in the room frowned. "Our home was destroyed in the Fourth Great War, and the country has yet to recover enough for us to return," he explained.

"Ah," Bolt said. The fighting was heaviest in the Lands of Frost, Hot Water, and Sound. They were still redrawing the maps to adjusting borders where Madara Uchiha and the Tailed Beasts had done battle. Entire mountains were crushed, whole forests were burned, and rivers ran red with the blood from the battlefields. Many people were displaced and forced to become refugees.

"Do not pity us, young ninja," Satoshi said. "We have been brought closer together as a people due to our struggles. And while we miss our homes dearly, we all survived the war. That is all that matters."

Bolt just nodded. The Land of Fire had been mostly untouched by the war, except at the very northernmost edge of its borders. "Let us not dwell on such unpleasant things, come, we were about to have supper," Satoshi said, gesturing for Bolt to join them around the fire.

Bolt did so, sitting down at the space that was made for him. An elderly woman scooped a few spoonfuls of white soup into a large wooden bowl and handed it to him, before moving on to serve her fellows. Bolt dragged a spoon through the soup. It was some sort of watery rice porridge that was more water than rice. Judging from the envious looks he was receiving from some of the others, he had clearly gotten more than his fair share. Bolt guessed that the reason everyone was so thin in the village was because of their lack of food. What they had given him was probably more than most people at all day.

Not wanting to appear ungrateful or rude, he quietly ate his meal. It was bland and tasteless, more hot water with the occasional starchy chunk of rice than an actual porridge. But it was all these people had. The mood around the fire was quiet and somber, and it made Bolt feel restless. "So," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "What did you guys need my help for? Something about a—" Bolt hesitated. What was it? Demon bear? Yeah, demon bear. "Demon bear?"

If anything, the mood in the shack got worse. "We've been attacked by a large creature," Satoshi explained, clearing his throat. "It appears similar to a bear, but is much larger. A fully grown man could walk under its legs without bending his knees. It comes at night from the forest and destroys our fields, eating what little we have grown. If it is not stopped, we will not survive."

Bolt frowned, but thought that the villagers were over exaggerating. No animal grows that large. "How come you haven't put a request in to a ninja village?" Bolt asked.

The villagers averted their eyes in… shame? "We… have not been able to raise the money to request such assistance. Given that the nature of our problems would almost certainly elevate our request beyond D-class, we would be unable to pay for services rendered," Satoshi said.

"Oh," Bolt said, mentally berating himself. _Of course they can't pay for official village assistance, they can barely feed themselves_ , he thought. Seeing the downtrodden faces of the elders around him, Bolt spoke up. "Well, don't worry! I'm here now, and I'll take care of this demon bear and whatever else is in that forest!"

Bolt's grin widened as small smiles and happy, unshed tears gathered in everyone's eyes. _This_ was what being a ninja was about, whether he was part of the Hidden Leaf or not. Helping people.

After everyone finished eating, Satoshi led Bolt to a small hut near his that he was to spend the night in. It was the same high quality as the hut he had been previously been in, obviously made for the village leader's use. They were giving him their nicest dwelling because he was helping them. Looking around, Bolt could tell that someone was living there before him. They moved out, albeit temporarily, for him.

That night, as Bolt fell asleep, he vowed he would help the people from the Land of Frost before he moved on.

* * *

Bolt didn't get much sleep that night. He woke early, rising with the dawn, and went through the forms of the Gentle Fist that his grandfather, Hiashi Hyūga, had taught him and his sister. Ever since fighting Mirai back at the capital, he had dedicated himself to staying in top form. If he ever had to fight another ninja, the Gentle Fist would be his greatest weapon.

It was relaxing, in a way. It was more of a long, complicated dance than a series of forms for taijutsu. He could get lost in the stances; long sweeps of the legs, flowing strikes of the palms, piercing thrusts of fingers. Bolt simply let his body run through the motions as his mind wandered.

That was how Satoshi found him. "I see the village is in good hands," the elder commented, drawing Bolt's attention.

Bolt immediately stopped and straightened his clothes, making himself presentable. "Good morning," he said with a nervous chuckle.

"Good morning, indeed," Satoshi greeted with a slight bow. Bolt thought he seemed to be more cheerful than he was last night. Bolt noticed a gathering of villagers a few huts down. "If you feel up to it…" Satoshi said, almost conversationally, as if he didn't know how to approach the subject. "We've formed a hunting party which will lead you into the forest."

Bolt just nodded and let Satoshi lead him down to the assembled men. They were young compared to the rest of the villagers, between the ages of thirty and forty. They wore the same threadbare robes as the rest of the villages, with their loins girded and a length of white cloth holding their hair out of their face and eyes. On their backs were quivers of crude arrows with even cruder bows in their hands.

By the grim looks of determination they wore, Bolt knew that either the demon bear would die, or they would. This was the only home they had now, and they had nowhere to go. They would fight for their homes. "Let's go," Bolt said, tightening the belt that held his shuriken pouches.

The men from the village led Bolt through a rough path hewn into the underbrush. It looked like it had been an animal trail at one point, but had been adopted for human use. Their path led them up a steadily raising gulch between two mountains. A small creek ran down the middle, providing a source of fresh water for the village. Bolt noticed that the higher they climbed, the less animals he saw. There were no squirrels jumping from branch to branch overhead and no birds were singing their songs. It was eerily quiet.

When the sun was highest in the sky, the group finally took a break. Resting near the creek, men dropped their bows and cupped both their hands, taking long drinks of the cold spring water. Bolt was kneeling over the water, washing the grime from his face. He hated hiking through the woods.

The sound of bushes being pushed aside drew the attention of everyone. A large, black nose pushed its way into their cleaing, attached to a snout covered in shaggy black hair. "It's here! The demon bear!" one of the men shouted, as he fumbled with his bow. One of the more prepared men nocked an arrow and set it loose. Bolt watched as it hissed through the air and pierced the bushes.

There was a pained yelp followed by a loud roar as the bear galloped into the clearing, roaring in anger and pain. It _was_ a large bear, Bolt gave them that. But it was no "demon bear," and it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. Hell, the panda bear he and his team subdued before the Chūnin Exams was bigger than this.

The men shot a hail of arrows at the bear as it charged them, most missing completely and bouncing off rocks with soft clicks of metal striking stone. Bolt sprung into action, sticking both hands into the pouches hanging at his side and withdrawing them, three shuriken held between his fingers in each hand. With practiced ease born of hundreds of hours of practice, he threw them with expert precision. The first barrage maimed the bear's shoulder, forcing it to turn away. The second sunk deep into the animal's body, burying themselves in soft flesh.

The bear moaned in pain and the men cheered, forgetting their bows. Bolt dashed forward, using the agility born from years of harsh tutelage under his grandfather. He was upon the bear in an instant, and struck it in the neck with an open palmed strike, channeling his chakra into the blow. Bolt heard the bone snap, and the bear fell dead.

More cheers. Men ran up to him, patting him on the back and exclaiming their thanks. Bolt smiled and said it wasn't a problem. "We'll have to take it back," one of the men said excitedly. "This will be the first time we've had meat in a long time!"

Bolt smiled sadly at that. "Shadow Clone jutsu," he uttered under his breath, weaving the necessary hand seals. Two clones of Bolt emerged from the smoke and jogged forward. One went into the forest and cut down a small tree, while the other procured some rope from one of the other men. Together, they lashed the bear to the tree and hoisted it between them.

"Ready to go?" Bolt asked, while the men looked at him in wonder. Really, they shouldn't be so amazed by a simple clone jutsu. His dad could summon a veritable army of them. Skilled users could make clones out of elements that created effects when they died. This was basic stuff.

The hunting party gave one last cheer before heading back down the mountain. The entire way, Bolt's thoughts kept wandering back to the bear. It wasn't nearly large enough to warrant the name "demon bear."

He was right. They returned to the village later that night, to the waiting crowd of Satoshi and the other village elders. Two members of the hunting party presented the bear that Bolt's clones drug into the center of the village. "You fools!" Bolt heard Satoshi yell. "That is not the demon bear! This is a cub compared to that monster!"

One of the elders stepped forward, the one that had found Bolt on the mountain. "Peace, Satoshi. This bear will feed our village for a week, and at least one of the dangers of the mountain has passed. We will send the hunting party out tomorrow and try again," he said. Bolt smiled reassuringly as his two clones vanished in a plume of smoke.

A butcher and two of his sons came over and began to haul the bear to their hut when a bellowing roar pierced the silence of the evening. It boomed through the village like thunder, shaking some of the hut's foundations. "What… what is that?" Bolt asked.

"It's the demon bear!" a man screamed.

Everyone turned in the direction they thought the roar originated from. Bolt could see trees swaying in the wind, displacing frightened birds. Only there was no wind. A few moments later, the largest animal Bolt had ever seen wandered into the village. _This_ was a demon bear. It stood taller than a house and Bolt barely came up to the beast's knees. Its shaggy, brown fur was dyed crimson in some spots, and its beady black eyes belayed a bestial intelligence as its gaze flickered between each of them.

The beast's eyes found the bear that Bolt had killed earlier in the hands of the butcher and his sons. It stood on its hind legs and roared in bestial fury before dropping into a mad charge. The butcher and his sons immediately dropped their prize and fled in fear. "Men, to arms!" Satoshi commanded, picking up a bow that someone had dropped in the panic. Others did the same, nocking and loosing arrows at the beast. The arrows hissed through the air and caught in the beast's fur.

The demon bear only roared in anger. "It's fur is too thick, it's like natural armor," Bolt told them, quickly weaving hand seals. The creek was little more than a small stream running through the village, but it was better than nothing. "Water Style: Water Dragon jutsu," he hissed.

A mighty dragon made entirely of water erupted from the stream, enhanced by Bolt's chakra. Its sinuous body writhed in the air as it righted itself and thundered towards the beast. The demon bear turned and fixed Bolt with a furious glare that no animal had the right to possess. The water dragon slammed into the bear's side and wrestled with the beast as Bolt channeled more and more chakra into the jutsu.

The water dragon simply made the beast angrier. Shaking off the water's pressure, the bear began galloping towards Bolt. Seeing that it wasn't having any effect, Bolt terminated the jutsu. Bolt began to run, weaving more hand seals. "Lightning Style: Thunderbolt," he intoned, holding out his right palm. Arcs of electricity surged between him and the puddles of water that lied between him and the bear.

The beast howled as lightning coursed through its body, but never stopped in its mad charge. Bolt increased the amount of chakra he was putting into the jutsu, raising the voltage. Still, the demon bear kept coming. Cutting off the jutsu, Bolt ran, weaving the familiar hand seals for the clone jutsu. Two puffs of smoke erupted behind him, his clones automatically shifting into Gentle Fist stances.

The demon bear charged, rearing back and swiping with one giant arm that was longer and thicker than a tree trunk. The first clone misjudged the reach of the beast and was harshly dismissed. The other clan moved in, striking three times with the Gentle Fist, pumping his chakra into the monster's shoulder in an attempt to cripple it. The bear roared and swung its head at the clone, snapping its jaws closed around Bolt's head. The clone vanished instantly.

Bolt winced and struggled to contain the memories of his clone's deaths. The feeling of his skull caving in was not a pleasant one. Withdrawing a handful of shuriken, he began peppering the bear, aiming for its eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Bolt saw the villagers rallying, picking up bows and taking pot shots. _It's the thought that counts,_ Bolt thought sardonically. If anything, the villagers were as likely to hit him as the bear.

The bear came charging at him again. Bolt stood his ground, his chest heaving for air. His previous two jutsus had taken a lot of his chakra. Withdrawing another handful of shuriken, he continued aiming for the beast's eyes. He was rewarded when one of them caught the demon bear's nose, causing the bear to stumble and shake its head to clear the pain. The bear recovered, barely daunted. If anything, it was more determined to kill him now.

Shifting into a Gentle Fist stance, Bolt readied himself for the battle to come. From the experiences of the clones, he knew the bear's reach was longer than it appeared, and he knew the safe distance to avoid being bitten. That was all he needed. Dodging the first swipe with the grace of the Gentle Fist style, he brought down his palm on the bear's elbow, thrusting as much chakra as he could spare into the beast's joint. The bear took a single step back and roared in pain before lunging forward and snapping its jaws closed around the space where Bolt's throat had been only a moment earlier.

Dropping to his knees, Bolt avoided a second swipe and rolled forward before springing up. He withdrew a kunai and thrust it deep into the demon bear's belly, only to cut fur. Its coat was too thick. The bear galloped with more speed than an animal its size ought to have and swiped at Bolt again. Bolt dashed forward, trying to keep inside the beast's guard to minimize the advantage of its reach.

He weaved hand seals faster than he had ever done before in his life before jumping and grasping the demon bear's thick fur with both hands. "Lightning Style: Thunderbolt," he hissed through gritted teeth, channeling raw lightning through both hands. The scent of burning hair wafted into his nose, causing Bolt to gag. The demon bear whimpered in pain, dropping to the ground and flailing back and forth in an attempt to dislodge Bolt.

Bolt gasped in surprise as the bear suddenly rolled over. He released his grasp, cancelling the jutsu. It wasn't quick enough. He scrambled to his feet only for the full weight of the bear to come crashing down on his left arm. He could very clearly hear the _snap_ as one of his bones was broken like a brittle twig. Bolt screamed in pain, scooting away from the bear and dragging his broken limb with him.

Bolt blanched as he saw a small stream of blood erupted from his arm like a fountain in timing with his heartbeat. He could see the unnatural whiteness of bone as it protruded from the wound. He felt sick to his stomach and very faint.

"No!" a voice screamed, drawing Bolt's attention. He looked up, and his eyes met the demon bear's. Beady black dots full of malice and hate that pierced his very soul, and they were only a hand's length away. He could smell the putrid breath of the beast; the foulness of decay and carrion.

The bear winced as a rock impacted its skull. One of the women of the village stood a few paces away, several large rocks in her left arm while her right held one aloft. The bear looked at the woman for a moment before wincing as another rock was thrown at it. The woman had surprisingly good aim. The bear roared in anger and charged.

Time slowed for Bolt as the bear bore down on the woman, whose face was warped with fear. With a mental clarity he had never before experienced, he stood and moved with speed he didn't know he had. He was held his good right arm aloft at his side, his fingers curled back in an open fist that displayed his palm as he channeled chakra into his hand. His chakra coalesced as he condensed it, and began to rotate it, the speed increasing at an alarming rate. A high pitched whirring pierced the dull roar of the battlefield, drawing the beast's natural sense for danger.

It turned and only had a moment to see Bolt make his attack. _"Rasengan!"_ Bolt roared, slamming the ball of volatile chakra into the demon bear's scorched fur. Bolt slammed his eyes shut as his world exploded into light and pressure. He grit his teeth and held his ground, wincing as he heard the sound of flesh being torn asunder and bones being ground to dust.

The villagers watched in awe as the demon bear, larger than even the largest of their huts, was sent spiraling away from Bolt and its body torn to pieces from the sheer power behind the jutsu. The bear was bodily thrown through the forest, tearing up trees and digging a trench two feet deep in the ground. It collapsed in a heap of bloodied flesh and burnt fur before whining pitifully before stilling, forever.

Bolt drew in a long, ragged breath as the enormity of what he had accomplished set in. _I did it,_ he thought. _I used the Rasengan!_

That was his last thought before he fell unconscious.

* * *

Bolt groaned as his eyes fluttered open and a dull ache throbbed in timing with his heart. "Oh, god…"

"Easy there, child," a soothing voice cooed. "You're safe."

Bolt struggled to move his eyes in the direction of the voice. It was an older woman, dressed in a white apron that was stained with blood. "You had us worried for a moment, there. Thought you wouldn't pull through," she said.

"W—Who, are you…" Bolt managed to gasp out. His tongue was painfully dry. As if understanding, the woman held a bowl of water to his lips, which Bolt drank greedily.

"My name is Chie, Satoshi's wife. I'm a doctor. Though I haven't used my skills since leaving the Land of Frost, I managed to patch you up," the woman, Chie, explained.

Bolt chuckled, which sent him into a coughing fit. "Thanks," he managed to get out, taking deep gasps of air.

The old woman smiled kindly and patted his cheek. "Don't you worry, my dear. Just rest. The village is safe, thanks to you," Chie said. Bolt sighed and closed his eyes, all too happy to obey the doctor's orders.

It was nearly three weeks before Bolt was ready to leave. Chie, the old hag, as Bolt had grown to know her, insisted he stay longer. Bolt assured her that he was fine. He and his sister healed faster than most people, it was something his dad said ran in the family. Chie had none of that, and demanded he rest until she was sure their savior wouldn't die in the mountains because his arm broke again.

The village was much livelier than Bolt had ever imagined it could be. The people wore bright smiles and weren't looking so malnourished after Bolt had slain the demon bear. The bear itself provided enough meat for the entire village to survive off of for a month, and without the threat of the beast lurking in the mountains, hunting parties were once again safe to venture out. The butcher had mounted the skull of the beast on a post at the entrance of the village, and, much to Bolt's embarrassment, the carpenters had created a sign that hung below the skull. "Mitsuki Village," was what they were named. Bolt prayed that Mitsuki would never find the village named after him, or he would never live it down. He'd brag about it just to irritate him.

"Are you sure you have to leave?" Satoshi asked, worry clear on his face.

Bolt nodded, being careful not to jostle his arm that rested in a sling. "Positive. I was on my way to the Land of Water before I stopped here. I need to resume my journey," he explained.

Satoshi nodded sadly. "Here, we want you to have this," he said, handing Bolt a large leather pack. "We don't have any money, but we've all pitched in a little. Supplies for the road. Chie might be a poor doctor, but she makes delicious jerky."

Bolt smiled as the old woman elbowed Satoshi in the ribs, hard. "Thank you," Bolt said, a few unshed tears threatening to spill. Though they lived in conditions that the Hidden Leaf Academy would have instructed them in for survival, the people here opened their homes to him and shared what little they had. He grew up surrounded by wealth and modern conveniences, and yet he couldn't deny that the people here lived lives as full as anyone in the Hidden Leaf.

"Know that you'll always have a home in Mitsuki Village," Chie said, stepping forward and handing him an object wrapped in blue cloth. It was his headband. The scratch through the leaf symbol blatantly visible. "Even if you don't have a place to call home," she added softly.

Bolt smiled and nodded, taking the headband and tying it around his forehead. "Farewell, Mitsuki!" Satoshi called out as Bolt turned and went on his way. The men of the hunting party cheered and called out his name.

It was a hero's farewell.

* * *

"Ugh, Konahamaru! Are we almost there? I hate this stupid forest!" Sarada yelled as she kicked the offending root she had just tripped over. Mitsuki had the audacity to laugh at her atop the snake he had summoned to ride through the forest.

"Yeah, just keep laughing, Mitsuki! When we get back to the village, I'm getting the Hokage to teach me how to summon toads! We'll see how funny it is when I summon the toad boss on you while you're sleeping!" Sarada yelled, hurling a stick at her only remaining teammate.

"Now, now," Konohamaru said, trying to defuse the situation. "We're almost there. This village hasn't been sent aid because they aren't able to pay the fee, but the Hokage has been hearing rumors about an animal that lurks in these mountains. It's a long walk, but it's for a good cause."

Sarada grumbled to herself but continued walking nonetheless. She really was going to get the Hokage to teach her how to summon toads when she got back. That was not a threat. It was a promise.

As Konohamaru stepped between two trees and waded through a tall bush, he sighed in relief. "We made it," he said.

"Thank god," Sarada swore. Mitsuki just kept laughing at her.

The three of them emerged into a large clearing, with a rough path that led up the village. Two large poles had been erected with a sign that hung between them. Below the sign was a massive skull that Sarada could have walked through without having to bend over.

Then she read the sign.

"Sarada," Mitsuki said, drawing her attention. "They've named their village after me."

Konohamaru chuckled at his student. "I'm sure they didn't name it after you, specifically," he said, trying to calm Sarada down. Really, their antagonism was going to drive him to smoking like his uncle.

A young man saw them emerge from the forest and waved them over. "Hey, it's rare to see ninjas out this far. What brings you to our part of the woods?" he asked.

Konohamaru smiled reassuringly. "We've been sent by the Hokage to help you with your, er, pest problem!" he declared.

"You mean you're here to kill the demon bear?" a man asked from behind them.

Konohamaru turned to face the new man and bowed in greetings. "Yes," he said grimly Demon bear didn't sound very friendly. "My name is Konohamaru, and these are my students, Sarada and Mitsuki," he added, gesturing to each in turn.

The older man shrugged indifferently. "My name is Satoshi, I'm the village chief. We found a ninja last month who was kind enough to dispatch the beast for us. Its skull hangs below his name," he said, pointing back to the hanging skull.

Sarada paled. "No way, were sent here to kill that _thing_?" she asked, pointing at the demon bear's skull in disbelief.

Konohamaru's eyes narrowed. "You named your village 'Mitsuki' after the ninja who helped you?" he asked, for clarification. He didn't know of any other ninja named Mitsuki, other than the one standing next to him.

Satoshi nodded. "Yes, he is our village's hero. We can never repay him for saving our home, the least we can do is honor his name," the chief answered.

"Can you describe this Mitsuki for me?" Konohamaru asked.

Satoshi frowned slightly. "Sure. He was about the same height as your student's. Same age too, I'd guess. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Two scratches on both his cheeks, some kind of birthmark," he said warily.

Sarada gasped. The three of them shared shocked, and excited, looks. "Bolt!" they all exclaimed as one. Sarada squealed in happiness, she couldn't contain it. Ever since Bolt had ran away, she had been in a poor mood. When reports came in that Mirai had fought him outside the capital, she had been so hopeful that he would be found. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he was going through. The happiness of both her and Mitsuki being promoted to chūnin seemed meaningless without Bolt there to celebrate with them.

"I'm sorry, do you know Mitsuki?" Satoshi asked, fearing that he had said too much. He and his wife were the only ones to see his scratched headband after going through his things while he was unconscious. If these were ninja sent to hunt him down, they'd have to torture him if they wanted his location.

Sarada shook her head. "He's not Mitsuki, his name is Bolt. _That,_ " Sarada said, pointing at her teammate, " _thing_ is Mitsuki. Bolt is our friend. He ran away from home and he probably used Mitsuki's name to avoid being discovered."

Satoshi looked at the girl's hopeful eyes and knew she was telling the truth. "Please," Konohamaru said, "if you know anything about where Bolt has gone, anything at all, please tell us. Bolt is my student, and the son of a man I consider my brother."

Satoshi sighed. "He was here perhaps six—seven—weeks ago. Said he was going to travel the world before he stumbled across our village and helped us. I believe he said he was going to… the Land of Water next," he said, a little guilty about betraying their hero.

Sarada's beaming smile told Satoshi that he had done the right thing. These people _were_ Mitsuki's—no, Bolt's—friends. They didn't mean him harm.

"Thank you," Konohamaru said seriously, his voice heavy with appreciation. He weaved several hand seals faster than Satoshi's eyes could follow. "Shadow Clone jutsu," he said. A clone appeared in a puff of smoke. "Return to the Hidden Leaf, inform the Hokage about what we've learned. We're heading for the Land of Water," Konohamaru instructed. The clone nodded and sprinted off.

"Thank you for your help," Sarada said. Her smile was infectious.

"It was nothing, little girl," Satoshi said with a smile. "I do hope you find your friend. He is a good young man."

Sarada nodded and broke into a jog, following after Mitsuki and Konohamaru as they headed further east. They were a month and a half behind Bolt, and he was headed to a land they weren't familiar with. And yet, for the first time in a long time, Sarada had hope.

Satoshi sighed heavily. "Oi, Chie! Tell Atsushi to bring his tools! He's going to have to redo the village sign! The kid gave us the wrong name!"

* * *

 **A/N:**

Bolt is 12, Himawari is 10, for those asking last chapter.

I hope this chapter wasn't too boring. I decided to go back to the roots of the series and start dealing with the D and C class missions, only they aren't missions, they're just part of living in the Naruto world. One thing that I always found strange was that if you had a problem that required ninja assistance, and you didn't have the money to hire them, what happened? Surely there was some kind of assistance the village would offer, even if there wasn't money involved. Anyway, we'll be dealing with these kinds of "mini stories" every few chapters, where Bolt and his friends or companions deal with various problems in the ninja world as he travels. From here, we head east!

We will be exploring the geography of the Naruto world a bit in this story, so a quick look at the map might help you better understand this chapter. Bolt is currently heading east towards the coast of the Land of Fire, and the Land of Frost's refugees are living in a village built in the mountains that separate the Hidden Leaf and the rest of the country from the coast.

One thing I hope the _Boruto_ manga touches on is how the people dealt with the after effects of the war. Landscapes literally were changed by some of the battles, with Madara, the 5 Kage, the Tailed Beasts, Naruto and Sasuke, and Kaguya fighting, all of which was in the northern part of the continent (Cloud, Hot Water, Frost, Sound, and the unnamed peninsula where Obito's base was). We touch a little on that in this chapter, and it will be a recurring theme as the story goes on.

Guest "Arya" — Updates will be weekly/bi-weekly (most likely weekly, give or take a few days) with an average of 5k words per chapter.

Guest "Naruto" — What pairing would you suggest? There's only two canon girls his age, Sarada and Chocho. Personally I find Sarada's and Bolt's interactions cute. I'm always hesitant to make OC pairings, because I always feel like canon characters are stronger literarily (as in literature).

 **As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review, if you can find the time to do so. I'm still not sure if I should continue this story or not, your reviews will make or break the story's fate!**

 **\- Musica**


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, could you possibly take me to the Land of Water? I'd be willing to pay," Bolt asked, for the eighth time that day. The fisherman he had asked looked up from where he was repairing his nets, laughed heartily, and then shook his head.

Bolt felt his eye twitch uncontrollably as he was denied, again. After the longest hike in his life, he finally reached the coast of the Land of Fire and found a moderately populated fishing village near a small bay. There were no less than twenty, perhaps thirty, fishing vessels docked in the village, and after approaching each of the captains in turn, he was denied passage. He offered to pay them. Denied. He offered to pay _and_ work for them. Denied. He offered to pay _and_ work _and_ guard them as a ninja. _Denied._

It was beyond infuriating. No one was traveling between the Land of Fire and Water. Every time he asked, they just laughed or scoffed at him before sending him on his way. It was beginning to wear on Bolt's already frayed nerves. Sighing heavily, Bolt gave up on the captain of the _Water Dragon's Bride_ and went into the town proper to find something to eat. _The docks reeked of dead fish, anyway,_ Bolt told himself. It was going to seep into his clothes. He'd never get the smell out.

Wandering through the village market, Bolt found an old woman manning a stall that sold, of all things, cinnamon rolls. They were a guilty pleasure of his mother, and he'd always manage to beg one off her whenever she brought them home. Fishing around his pockets, he withdrew a few ryō and purchased a box. Finding a scenic spot on the end of a pier, Bolt sat down and treated himself to a feast of sugar, savoring the sweet pastries. His mom wasn't here to tell him not to eat the whole box of six in one sitting, but he knew he'd probably be sick if he did, so he obstained.

Placing his pack on his knees, he sifted through his clothes until he found the wad of ryō he had stolen from his father. He was running dangerously low on money. In fact, counting the money he just spent on his treat, he probably didn't have enough to barter passage to the Land of Water. Sighing deeply, Bolt ate two more pastries while kicking his legs back and forth, watching his reflection in the water below the pier. Folding the box and placing it and the remaining three cinnamon rolls reverently at the top of his pack, Bolt stood and began to concentrate, focussing his chakra into the soles of his feet.

Taking a leap of faith, he jumped from the pier and landed on the water. There was one gut wrenching moment where he felt himself sink, then it passed as his chakra took hold and held him above the water. He bobbed with the tide, getting his bearings. Bolt had excellent chakra control. It was required to be a practitioner of the Gentle Fist, and all Hyūga had a natural finesse in the skill. His was the best of anyone in his team—except, maybe, Sarada. Her mother was teaching her a few things about medical ninjutsu, which arguably required more control than even his Gentle Fist. The Gentle Fist was all about expelling chakra from your chakra points and blasting your opponent with them. Medical ninjutsu focussed on repairing even the smallest damage at a cellular level.

"Here we go!" Bolt declared, eager to get on his way now that he found his sea legs. No one would take him to the Land of Water, and he didn't have the money for a boat anyway. While he didn't _really_ want to run the whole way, that was his only choice. But, it did give him one rare opportunity.

He could visit the Land of Whirlpools, the ancestral home of the Uzumaki clan. It had been razed in the Third Great War by the Hidden Cloud and Hidden Mist, fearing that the Hidden Whirlpool would come to their longtime ally, the Hidden Leaf's, aid. Supposedly it was nothing but ruins now, but there were rumors that after the Fourth Great War some of the remaining Uzumaki clansmen had returned and were attempting to rebuild their clan. If it was true, Bolt had to investigate.

He could just make out the fuzzy outline of an island on the horizon, and knew that there was only one island off the coast: the Land of Whirlpools. It wasn't even noon yet, and he had plenty of time.

* * *

Bolt huffed as he wiped the sweat from his face. He was exhausted physically and had spent a large portion of his chakra running over the bay that separated the Land of Fire and Whirlpools. He was soaked from the ocean spray, and his clothes stuck to his body like a second skin. Luckily, his pack was water resistant. Standard issue ninja gear. That meant his delicious cinnamon rolls were safe. It was the only thing that kept him going as he moved closer and closer to the Land of Whirlpools.

One might think that, after being able to walk on water, running over large bodies of water would be easy. They would be wrong. The constant rocking of the ocean, combined with the occasional large waves, forced Bolt to zigzag across the bay, avoiding the worst of the turbulent waters. _And, of course, because I'm never lucky, the waves just keep getting worse and worse,_ Bolt cursed.

Bolt felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Snapping his head up from his reflection in the water, he came face to face with a towering wave of water that slammed into him. Inhaling on instinct, he sputtered when he breathed water. A moment later, the wave passed and Bolt crawled onto the surface of the water, channeling his chakra into his arms and legs. Seeing another wave coming—and it was moving _sideways_ across the ocean—Bolt quickly stood and weaved a series of hand seals. "Water Style: Water Prison Jutsu!"

Bolt took a deep breath as water surged around him, forming a sphere of water that levitated a few inches off the surface of the water. The next wave impacted his watery prison and quickly passed. Releasing the jutsu and taking a gasping breath of air, Bolt cast a few quick glances around.

More waves were coming.

Bolt turned and ran, putting as much distance between him and oncoming onslaught as possible. He just managed to get out of the reach as the wave crashed past him, tumbling and dying. Panting, now thoroughly exhausted and soaking wet, Bolt berated himself for ever thinking it was a good idea to walk to the Land of _Whirlpools._ Now that he had some distance, he could make out the subtle flow of water as it circled and drained into a series of massive whirlpools that surrounded the island, acting like guardians. Looking back, he was easily several miles out to sea. Even if he turned around, he would run out of chakra before he reached the fishing village again. He didn't fancy swimming the rest of the way as exhausted as he was. Using the Water Prison Jutsu only compounded his already waning chakra reserves.

Turning back to the island, which was only a few minutes of brisk running away, he steeled his resolve. _Through the whirlpools it is,_ Bolt thought sardonically. He moved closer to the whirling waves, staying just out of their reach. When he was as close as he could get without being in their sphere of influence, he bent his knees and waited. The moment the next wave in the cycle past him, Bolt took off at a sprint, kicking up water and leaving vague footprints in the sea. He weaved through the whirlpools, trying to stay out of the stronger currents as much as possible—easier said than done.

Bolt could _feel_ the ocean shift beneath his feet as the whirlpools raged and churned beneath the water's surface. He knew that if he ever sank below the surface, he'd drown. His life would be cut tragically short. Adrenaline burned in his veins as his legs pumped faster and faster, sprinting across the surface. He could feel the tide shift as another wave began to descend upon him. Looking up, Bolt could see the beach of the Land of Whirlpools in the distance. He was so close, yet so far.

He wouldn't make it. Bolt blinked rapidly as he felt an unbearable, painful pressure begin to build behind his eyes. Weaving through the hand seals, he formed another Water Prison and took one last deep breath of air before the whirlpool broke upon him. His heart fluttered in his chest and the pain in his eyes doubled as he was dragged beneath the waves, cast around like a ragdoll. The ocean was _power._ Nothing was stronger than the pull of the tide, dragging him deeper into the depths. His lungs burned for air as he was thrown mercilessly around the whirlpool. Channeling more chakra into his jutsu, he began forcing his way forward, trying to fight his way out of the whirlpool's influence. Bolt was fighting a losing battle.

And then, as suddenly as it came, he was released, thrown violently forward and free of the whirlpool. He could see the sandy floor of the beach as he approached the shore, and the pressure in his eyes dissipated. Bolt blinked away a few tears of relief, thanking whatever powers may be that he would live to see another day. Directing his body upwards, Bolt broke the surface and sucked in a gasping breath of air that soothed the burning ache in his lungs. He could still feel his heart beating out of his chest at the near death experience. With languid, pained movements, Bolt swam to the beach, crawling across the sand and collapsing in an exhausted heap near washed up log. Too tired to object, he fell asleep.

* * *

Bolt groaned as his eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was a tiny crab staring him down, clicking his pincers menacingly. Laughing and shooing away the offending crustacean, he sat up and looked around. _I made it!_ "I made it!" Bolt exclaimed.

"Congratulations," a voice said. Bolt turned around. A young man with striking crimson hair and piercing amber eyes was sitting on the log next to him. He wore a dull green jacket and a black headband around his neck. In the center of the silver plate was a stylized emblem, some sort swirling pattern. It was the same one he had seen on the jōnin jackets that the Hidden Leaf wore.

No sooner had he finished the thought did the man punch him square in the jaw, and then Bolt returned to his dreams.

Blinking away the blackness, Bolt woke up with a feeling of soreness in his jaw that made him wince. He was strung over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Said person was currently jogging through a sparse forest. "Struggle and I'll knock you back out, kid," the voice, a man, instructed. Bolt stiffened as memories of what happened came rushing back to him. Realizing now that the man was a ninja, Bolt reluctantly obeyed. His mind whirring as he began to imagine all sorts of horrible things these ninja could do to him. He was a foreign combatant on their soil. He just didn't know which village used the spiraling symbol as their crest.

Bolt raised his head and glanced around, hoping the redheaded man wouldn't take offense. Just as he did, the two of them broke through the forest and out onto a hill that overlooked a sprawling, grassy valley with a wide river running through the middle. The valley was surrounded by hills on all sides, and the sun just barely crested the peaks, painting the landscape in beautiful hues of oranges and yellows. It was breathtaking.

Then Bolt noticed the ruins. In the middle of the valley, built around the river, was a sprawling metropolis of ruins. All crumbled stone and rotting wood, it was the corpse of a forgotten city. In the very center, much smaller than the ruins, stood a few buildings. They weren't tall, but they were dignified. Each one crafted with meticulous care, swirling emblems—the same as his captor's headband—adorned the stone pillars that held the buildings off the ground and out of the reach of the raging river. "Welcome to the Hidden Eddy, kid. For your sake, I hope you have a good excuse for being here," the ninja said, readjusting and tightening his grip on Bolt.

Bolt swallowed. His tongue was suddenly dry. As they neared the center of the ruins, and closer to the village proper, he could see other people milling around. There were a few down by the riverbank, hoisting great nets across it. A few stray, unlucky fish were caught and pulled in. More were scattered through the ruins, though at seeing the man and Bolt, they began to return to the tiny village. A handful of women and children gazed down at Bolt from the windows of their home, looks of suspicion and curiosity adorning their features.

And they all had the same striking crimson hair as his captor, Bolt noted. There were a few heads of black here and there, even another blonde, like him. But the overwhelming majority were redheads.

Bolt let out a groan as he was roughly deposited on the ground. Looking up, an older woman loomed over him. She had a strange hue of pink hair, almost like it was the faded crimson that the others had. Though the lines of her face spoke age, the strength of her posture spoke power. Around her neck was a white length of cloth with a silver plaque attached; it had the same whirling symbol the other ninja had. Her eyes were her most striking feature. They were a deep, fierce crimson, even more so than the hair of those around her. They seemed to see _through_ him. It was unnerving.

"Uh, hi," Bolt said with a nervous chuckle, scratching at the back of his head.

The old woman turned to the ninja who had brought him to the village and nodded once, a quick, birdlike motion. Bolt didn't even see the man weave the hand seals, he was so fast. The earth below him opened up and swallowed him whole before spitting him back up, allowing his head to rest above the stone. Bolt yelped in fear and discomfort as his prison held him in its grasp, his heart fluttering again. The same painful pressure in his eyes returned in full as tears threatened to spill.

The woman approached him with a powerful, steady gait, and kneeled. She parted his bangs gently, confusing Bolt, before withdrawing her hands and weaving several hand seals. She placed her palm on Bolt's forehead, and he stiffened as he felt foreign chakra invade his system. _Oh god,_ Bolt swore. _They're going to torture me!_ He waited for the burn of fire, or the shock of lightning, or the smothering of water.

None came.

The woman removed her hand and patted him twice on the cheek before standing. "My name is Akane, and I am the third Uzukage," the woman said. Bolt nodded. It was a very apt name. Brilliant red. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and it would be in your interest to answer them honestly. Who are you?"

Bolt swallowed, trying to wet his dry tongue. "Mitsuki—" Bolt said, crying out as a searing pain scorched through his skull and down his spine.

Akane looked down at him sadly. "Try again, dear," she instructed.

"—Bolt," he managed to say, gritting his teeth. The pain stopped, and he gasped in relief. He could feel the foreign chakra pulsing in his forehead, thanks to his natural chakra control honed from years of Gentle Fist training. _It has to be a seal,_ Bolt realized. It made sense. If these people really were the Uzumaki of the Hidden Eddy. Everyone knew they were gifted in sealing jutsu.

"Surname?" Akane questioned.

"Uzumaki," Bolt admitted quietly, not wanting to experience whatever the seal did to him again.

His answer seemed to both shock and excite the gathered crowd. Akane nodded sagely above him. "That explains how you passed the barrier," she commented. "What are you doing here?"

"I, I was looking for passage to the Land of Water. No ships were making the journey, so I ran here," Bolt explained.

"Do you bear any ill intent towards the Hidden Eddy, the Uzumaki clan, or any who call this land home?" Akane continued her questioning.

"No," Bolt answered quickly. His eyes flicked over to the man who had brought him to the village. He was holding his pack, shifting through the contents. He seemed to discover something that made his eyes widen. Bolt knew what it was before he even took it out. He handed his headband over to Akane, who gazed at it—and him—imperiously.

"Are you a ninja of the Hidden Leaf?" she asked with a raised, curious eyebrow.

"Yes—no—maybe?" Bolt said. He was, technically, a ninja of the Hidden Leaf. He was also, technically, a missing ninja. He didn't know how the seal would interpret his answer. Luckily, the seal remained inactive, and Akane just nodded.

"Would I be correct to assume that you are the missing son of the Hokage?" Akane asked.

Bolt just nodded. "Let him out, Kohaku," Akane instructed. His captor, Kohaku, weaved a few hand seals and placed his hand on the ground. The earth opened its great maw and spat Bolt back out. Bolt shivered at the feeling of freedom again. Being trapped on all sides by solid stone was unnerving in the greatest degree.

"I apologize, dear. Hold still and allow me to remove the seal," Akane said soothingly. Bolt stilled and allowed the older woman to part his bangs once more and removed the seal. He sighed in relief as the foreign chakra left his system. Her hands lingered, glowing with a shade of green light. Bolt felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders relax as the Mystic Palm soothed away the aches and pains that the seal had inflicted upon him.

After a few moments, she withdrew her hands. "We can never be too careful with our security, I'm afraid. There are many who would take great pleasure in seeing our clan perish from this world forever. We take intruders very seriously," the Uzukage explained.

Bolt nodded. He understood, really. Casting a few looks around, he noticed more and more people were coming out of their homes to see him. Now that they knew he wasn't a threat, their expressions had changed from one of anxiety, to one of excitement. "You're free to stay as long as you wish. Kohaku, show him to the guest quarters, will you?" the Uzukage instructed.

"Wait!" Bolt called, stopping the Uzukage. Akane turned and eyed him. "You're not going to turn me in? You know the Hokage is looking for me, after all…" he explained.

The woman just chuckled. "You're an Uzumaki, and we protect our own. We here are the very rare few, the last of our clan in existence. Your father has made generous donations to our village over the years, but if he expects us to hand you over to him, he has another thing coming," Akane explained, chin raised proudly.

Bolt was humbled by the unbridled display of loyalty the Uzukage showed him simply because they were family. Not in blood, but in name. It was a rarity in the world, these days. "Come on, kid," Kohaku said, pulling him to his feet, but not unkindly. A few of the other villagers gave him small smiles and welcoming nods as Kohaku led him to an unused house. "Sorry about being so rough on you, by the way," he said conversationally. "I'm one of the few ninja we have. It's my job to make sure everyone is safe. Can't take any chances."

Bolt looked around. It was true. Other than the Uzukage and Kohaku, there were only a handful of men and women with headbands. Bolt could count them on one hand. "Wow," he said. "I never imagined there would be so many people here. There are rumors on the mainland that the Land of Whirlpools was being rebuilt, but nothing like this."

Kohaku nodded sadly. "After the end of the Fourth Great War, the Uzukage began to travel the world looking for the scattered remains of our clan. Anyone she found, she sent here. It's been slow progress, but we're rebuilding. Our greatest weakness is the lack of ninja. After the destruction of our country, the surviving clansmen went into hiding, and didn't pass their skills down to the next generation for fear of discovery," he explained.

"Who is she? Akane—the Uzukage, I mean," Bolt asked.

Kohaku eyed Bolt, trying to understand why he wanted to know. Chalking it up to curiosity, he shrugged. "She's the granddaughter of the first Uzukage's brother. You would know her better as the niece of your first Hokage's wife, the daughter of the first Uzukage," he explained.

"No way!" Bolt exclaimed. The Uzukage was someone distantly related to Mito Uzumaki, wife of Hashirama Senju? The most powerful ninja to ever live? Founder of the Hidden Leaf? That made her practically royalty in Bolt's eyes.

Kohaku nodded in appreciation of the respect apparent in Bolt's eyes. "She is very wise, and the strongest Uzumaki alive. Not counting your father, of course. But then again, he hasn't cared much about the clan and his heritage," he said.

"Yeah! How come he hasn't said anything about this place? We could be helping you guys rebuild!" Bolt exclaimed.

"He visited once, shortly after the war. The Hokage and the Hidden Leaf make very generous monetary donations every year, and for that we are grateful. As far as defending us, the Uzukage has erected a barrier around the island that prevents any except those of Uzumaki blood to pass. It was agreed that it would be safer if no Hidden Leaf ninja were to be stationed here," Kohaku explained. "Here we are," he added, gesturing at a tall wooden house with stone pillars holding it above the raging river below.

It was as well built as it looked. The Uzumaki clan built their new homes like a fortress. "It seems I've been assigned as your watcher, during your stay here," Kohaku said as Bolt walked up the steps to his new home. "I imagine I'll be seeing you tomorrow. Keep out of trouble, kid."

Bolt opened the door to the house. It was nice, he supposed. It was a different style of architecture compared to what he was used to. The bed. _The bed._ He hadn't slept on something soft and warm in weeks. He couldn't even remember how many days. After laying down for a moment and just enjoying the feeling, Bolt sat up and cupped his hands. Like he did every night, he began to go through the steps of forming a Rasengan. _Rotation. Power. Containment. Release. Rotation. Power. Containment. Release._

He was rewarded with a medium sized orb of pure chakra. Releasing the jutsu, he performed the steps again, and again, and again, until he fell asleep.

* * *

Morning came all too early. "Get up, kid," Bolt heard someone say. A moment later he was hoisted out of bed by the ankles and deposited on the ground.

"What!" Bolt yelled. What could possibly warrant his attention so early. It wasn't even noon yet. He was _not_ accustomed to being up at this hour after weeks of freedom.

"Uzukage wants you," Kohaku said simply. Bolt grumbled but quickly got dressed. If a kage wanted him, he'd go. Unless it was his stupid Hokage of a father.

Walking through the village in the daylight, Bolt noticed more people out and about. It was clear to him now that they were slowly clearing away the ruins, salvaging what they could of their culture and history while trying to survive day to day.

They didn't have to walk far. Kohaku pointed to the door of a large building. Bolt assumed it was where the Uzukage worked and did her day-to-day business. Bolt quickly realized the building was not, in fact, the Uzukage's office. It was a school. Long rows of desks and chairs filled the room, and at the front, there were ten kids eagerly listening to the Uzukage speak. At Bolt's entrance, they all looked up and shot him beaming smiles. He guessed they didn't get visitors often. "Ah, our newest student. Come, come. Take a seat," Akame said, pointing to one of the free chairs.

The kids, ranging from ages five to fifteen, as far as Bolt could tell, parted and allowed him to join them. "So long as you weren't leaving today, this would be a good opportunity to continue your education," the Uzukage told him.

Bolt shrugged. He really wasn't one for studying. He never let school get in the way of his education. "Now, where was I…" Akane pondered aloud.

A little girl in front of Bolt raised her hand, practically jumping up and down. "You were just telling us about how old you were!" she exclaimed.

Bolt looked at the girl like she was insane. "Yes, yes. Very good, Asuka," the Uzukage chided. "We of the Uzumaki clan naturally possess a strong vitality. That means we live long, long lives. So long, in fact, that we were once known as the 'Village of Longevity.' There were other benefits too; we healed from injuries faster, and we recovered from exhaustion quicker," she explained after seeing the confused look of some of the younger children. Suddenly, things clicked for Bolt. The reason he and his sister—and his dad—healed so fast was because they were Uzumakis, though the Nine Tails probably helped his dad more than his heritage did. He was immensely thankful for that family trait. His arm was still sore from where the demon bear had broken it.

"It also means we naturally have large reserves of chakra," she added, which seemed to excite some of the older students. Bolt guessed this was the new generation of ninja. Who better to teach them than the Uzukage herself?

"Of course, our strength earned us many friends, but also many enemies. For a long time, we Uzumaki did not marry outside of the clan. We lived so long that it was an inevitably that we would outlive our spouses. That all changed when we became allies with the legendary Senju. They were the only other clan whose vitality rivaled our own. We had finally found our equals," the Uzukage explained with a nostalgic look on her face.

"Generations of marriage between our two clans resulted in children that were stronger than both, and our two clans profited greatly from our alliance. Ironically, that was when our enemies' fear began to overrule their reason. During the height of the Third Great War, an alliance of Hidden Cloud and Hidden Mist ninja snuck into our village and slaughtered our clan in the night," the Uzukage said, her voice hard and cold. "After that, our clan was scattered to the four winds," she added sadly.

"Now, enough of that," the Uzukage declared. "Our clan was renowned for our sealing jutsu. Has everyone been practicing their enclosing and unsealing jutsu?"

The students nodded, pulling our scrolls, brushes, and jars of ink. Bolt looked around helplessly. Thankfully, one of the older students took pity on him and handed him a spare set of tools and a blank scroll. "Good," Akame said with a nod. "Since we have a new student today, and you need the practice, we shall review what we learned last lesson. Please take a kunai and draw the characters on the scroll like so…"

Bolt didn't know how truly difficult sealing jutsus were at the time. By the end of the day, however, his wrists and fingers ached, and he was painted inky black from the tips of his fingers to his elbows and running dangerously low on chakra. The third Uzukage was a slave driver.

* * *

 **A/N:**

It was pointed out that there are some other options for pairings with people from _other villages,_ not just the Hidden Leaf. I actually didn't even consider them. I'll think on it and hopefully come to a decision within the next few chapters.

I wanted to differentiate Bolt from being just another Naruto clone, so I decided to make his favorite food cinnamon rolls in honor of his mother. Hinata has good tastes. You'll also notice that while Bolt has three chakra natures, he favors water and lightning more than air. This is because, of course, Naruto's nature is air. This is also why he is going to the Land of Water first, to discover and learn new, powerful water jutsu.

Another "gripe" I had with the series, Naruto never tries to find or rebuild his clan. He immediately goes back to the village and does, like, nothing, until he becomes Hokage. Lame. This is what I imagine would have happened after "peace" came to the world. Akame is the third Uzukage, and is distantly related to Mito Uzumaki, the wife of the first Hokage. She is the daughter of Mito's brother, making her the niece of Mito. Mito and her brother were the children of Ashina Uzumaki, the first Uzukage.

Enclosing and Unsealing jutsu are the jutsu to seal and unseal an item in a scroll, respectively. The more you know!


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you mean he is going to the Land of Water!" Naruto yelled.

A visibly shaking clone of Konohamaru chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Well, like I said—we found that village you sent us to help, and when we got there, their problem was already solved. Bolt wasn't very careful about hiding his tracks, and from questioning the village leader we discovered it was him that had helped them," Konohamaru explained, trying to calm down his older surrogate brother. "The village leader said that Bolt had mentioned he wanted to travel the world, and mentioned he wanted to go to the Land of Water."

Naruto stood suddenly and began to pace the Hokage's rather small office. In the process, he spilled a small cup of instant ramen had had been eating. To Konohamaru, that spoke volumes as to the Hokage's worry. Naruto _never_ wasted ramen. It was sacrilege. Blasphemy.

"The original and his team are currently en route to the Land of Water as we speak," Konohamaru's clone said, trying to reassure him. They would find Bolt. He was their friend. Their teammate. _Sarada, especially, since she and Bolt had been close friends since childhood,_ Konohamaru thought.

Naruto still paced, a deep frown on his lips. "Sarada has her Sharingan, and Mitsuki has his… snake… things… I'm sure they will find him! No problem!" Konohamaru declared, a confident smile adorning his features. He held his fist aloft with his thumb up. It didn't appear to have any effect on the Hokage's mood.

"Cat," Naruto demanded. Before Konohamaru could question Naruto's sanity, a figure emerged from a shadowy corner of the room, causing his heart to flutter in surprise. He was a tall man, with spiky brown hair that hung loose outside of his animal mask—a cat, with two red crescent moons and four green claw marks; two above the eye, and two below. He wore the standard issue wardrobe of the Anbu; black slacks, shirt, gloves, and boots, with a dull gray jacket and vambraces.

"Hokage, sir," the Anbu said, standing at attention, awaiting his orders.

"Remove your mask. Konohamaru, memorize his features. He will rendezvous with you in the Land of Water," Naruto instructed.

The Anbu nodded once before reaching up and removing his mask, revealing pale skin and bland features with dull black eyes. "This is Yamato," Naruto introduced. "Continue searching for Bolt in the Land of Water. He will find you."

Konohamaru nodded, lifting his arms to form the hand seal that would release the clone. "Wait!" Naruto said. "The Land of Water has had some… unrest, these past few years. Mercenaries taking advantage of the peace to do jobs that the Hidden Villages have refused to take. Be careful, and make sure Bolt is safe."

"Don't worry, we'll find him," Konohamaru reassured. Nodding to Yamato, the clone released itself, transferring its memories to the original, who was currently arguing with a ship's captain about passage to the Land of Water.

Turning his attention to his former team captain, Naruto sighed. "You're the only one I trust for this, Yamato. Good luck," he said.

Yamato smirked knowingly. His former may put up a strong front, but inside he was as soft as any father was for their child's safety. "I'll find Bolt, don't worry. He can't be much worse than you as a kid, right?" Yamato said with a laugh, placing a reassuring hand on Naruto's shoulder. The two shared a nod before Yamato left the office, using the door since he was no longer an Anbu. Outside, he nearly stumbled as he turned and met, face-to-face, a very thunderous looking wife of the Hokage. Trailing behind her was a small girl with a trembling chin and wide, teary eyes.

Nodding in respect, Yamato shuffled out of the Hokage's office with haste. No one wanted to be present when a wife chewed up and spat back out her husband, doubly more so when it was the Hokage and his wife.

Naruto looked up, a smile forming as he saw it was Hinata and Himawari who had come to see him. One look at his wife and daughter's faces wiped the smirk off his face. Clearly they had heard the last discussion he had with Konohamaru and Yamato.

Hinata crossed her arms. "I thought you said you had everything under control," she said firmly. Naruto could tell she was upset. Sometimes he really, _really_ missed the nervous, shy girl she was when they first fell in love. That Hinata was never this… scary.

"I did—I do," Naruto corrected himself. "Yamato is the one of the best Anbu agents we have. One of the most powerful, too. If he can handle me and Kurama, he can handle Bolt." Kurama scoffed inwardly at his vessel's comment. No puny human could handle the Nine Tails.

"You said he would be found within the week. You said there was no way he would get outside the Hidden Leaf's borders, let alone the Land of Fire's," Hinata continued on.

"Are you sure I said that?" Naruto asked with a nervous laugh. From Hinata's narrowed brows and tight frown, she didn't think it was that funny.

"Daddy," Himawari called with a sniff. She looked up at Naruto and Hinata, unshed tears in her green eyes. She was wearing one of Bolt's black and red jackets, clutching it tightly. Of all the people affected by Bolt's disappearance, she was the most affected. "Where did brother go? Why did he run away?"

Naruto practically leapt over his desk. He picked up his daughter and held her close, like he did when she was younger. Though Himawari was only ten, she was old enough to understand what had happened to her brother. "Don't worry, Hima," Naruto cooed. "Bolt will come back, you can count on it! Kurama and I will go ourselves if we have to! I never go back on my word, remember!"

Himawari sniffled and wiped away her tears on her brother's jacket's sleeve. Hinata smiled. She couldn't stay mad at Naruto. "Hey," Naruto whispered, his voice low and quiet so Hinata couldn't hear him. "How about I teach you a few things? That way, when he does get back, you can beat him up—teach him a lesson, I mean."

Himawari beamed. Ever since she awakened her Byakugan, she had become the pride and joy of the Hyūga clan, and one of the best students the Academy had ever seen. She was quickly becoming as much a prodigy as her brother. With a few eager nods, she agreed.

Satisfied that his daughter would be okay, Naruto let her down. Turning his attention back to Hinata, he mulled over a few options in his head. Though he could tell that she was placated—for now—it was best to please her. "I'll assign an Anbu watch in every town on the coast, and ask if the Land of Hot Water would keep a watch on their coast as well. I'm sure B and Gyūki would be willing to watch out for Bolt in the Land of Lightning for us, as well," Naruto said.

"What about sending a message to the Hidden Mist?" Hinata asked, though she had a small, pleased smile on her lips. She always got her way when she really wanted it.

Naruto's frowned in thought. "The Hidden Mist has their hands full with the civil unrest they've been facing lately, but I'll send a personal message to Chōjūrō and ask him to be on the lookout. I need to inform him of Konohamaru and Yamato's presence in his country, anyway," he said.

Hinata nodded, pleased with the outcome. "Come on, Himawari. Let's go get a cinnamon roll. Your dad needs to work," she said, holding out her hand.

Naruto waved goodbye to his wife and daughter, before returning to the mountains of paperwork looming over his desk on all sides. He groaned as he realized several scrolls were stained with ramen.

* * *

The harsh whip of a brush came down the sensitive flesh of the back of Bolt's hand. "No, no, no!" the Uzukage yelled. "This character is all wrong!"

Bolt sighed. He had decided that sealing jutsu was simply not his favorite discipline. Long sessions of reading over archaic characters and messy paintings on scrolls left him drained, physically and mentally, after each lesson. And yet, he couldn't deny that the lessons were, for once, useful. The first day, he had learned how to seal items into scrolls. It was elementary. So easy even he could pick it up after a single day of instruction. He went home that night, unpacked his belongings, and sealed them all in a scroll he had been given by one of his classmates.

Now he had significantly less things to carry on his journey. And, the best part, was that even if the scroll got wet, the chakra enhanced ink wouldn't smudge—meaning the seal would remain intact.

His third lesson had been making explosive tags. _That_ was fun. If he ever went back to the Hidden Leaf, he was going to plaster his dad's face on the Hokage monument with the tags. His _current_ lesson, on the other hand, was a pain. It was a "simple" seal, according to the Uzukage. He and his classmates thought otherwise. It revolved around preparing a scroll that would seal an incoming attack of a specific element. Useful for defending oneself, or, in Bolt's case, attacking. He favored the Water Style, and the main weakness of the element was that if there wasn't a natural source of water nearby, the user was forced to generate their own with chakra. _That_ was taxing. Having a seal that carried a large amount of water would be invaluable.

The only problem was it was tedious. Layer upon layer of ink that was enchanted with his own chakra. The slightest mistake, and boom! His scroll would explode into scraps of paper and pulp.

With a shaky hand, Bolt carefully corrected the character he had just drawn. It was his thirty-eighth attempt at this particular seal. Thankfully, nothing seemed to go wrong. Channeling his chakra into it, the seal glowed blue for a moment before fading back to black.

"Excellent!" Akame exclaimed. "Now, all you need to do is inscribe the character for the element you want to seal in the middle."

Bolt sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He didn't know how much more he could take. The Uzukage had taken a "liking" to him, as the others called it. She was determined to teach the errant son of the Hokage his birthright that his father never received. Carefully drawing the character for "water," Bolt pressed his index finger to the ink and channeled chakra into the entire seal. "Sealing Jutsu: Water Seal," he whispered. The entire scroll visibly glowed blue before fading to black.

"Well done," the Uzukage praised, patting his back reassuringly. Some of the other students had stopped to watch him and gave him nods of encouragement and acknowledgement.

"If you don't mind, Uzukage, I'd like to take a break," Bolt asked respectfully.

"Certainly, dear. You've earned it. I'll just have to crack down on these slackers!" Akame declared, looking around the room for her next victim—student.

Rolling up his scroll and stashing it in one of his pouches on his belt, Bolt hastily retreated outside the small academy before the Uzukage could change her mind. Outside, the villagers went about the same routine they did every day: find food and water, clear out the ruins, recover their culture and lost sealing techniques.

Seeing several burly, crimson haired men struggling to lift a large stone pillar off of a crumbled house, Bolt weaved a few hand seals. A cloud of smoke surrounded him, and when it cleared, where once there was only one, now there were seven. Bolt smiled, quite pleased with himself. Before, he had only been able to make, at most, four shadow clones. Now, he could make six. He chalked his improved chakra reserves up to his nightly practice of forming, dispelling, and reforming the Rasengan. "Alright, guys! Help them out," Bolt declared, pointing at the struggling men. The clones nodded and took off, rushing to their aid. With Bolt's help, they managed to remove the pillar and clear the house for searching. Deciding he could do more good, Bolt sent his clones out to help with anything in the village. The villagers welcomed the help with open arms and warm smiles.

Sighing wearily, Bolt made his way to what he had dubbed his corner of the village. His temporary residence was on the outskirts of the village, clearly one of the new houses that had been constructed on top of the old dilapidated ruins. It was nice, really. No neighbors, no one to bother him. The river bent just before his house, creating a tiny inlet of calm water, which proved to be invaluable for his planned journey.

The idea had come to him as he pondered his situation. The Uzumaki clan had precious few boats—not ships, boats—that they could spare. While he hadn't asked the Uzukage, he was certain that they wouldn't part with one. Not that it was a problem, really. He didn't know how to sail. The boats, dinghies really, weren't even fit to sail on the open ocean. One rogue wave and they'd sink. They were made for travelling to and from the Land of Fire, across the calm waters of the bay.

So, he was stuck until he could develop the chakra reserves necessary to the run the entire distance to the Land of Water. Therefore, his morning routine of going through the Gentle Fist stances and forms had changed. Instead of performing them on land, he performed them on water. It had the added benefit of honing his chakra control. He had to focus on keeping afloat, and at the same time, focus on pushing chakra into his Gentle Fist forms. Two birds with one stone.

By some unknown sixth sense, Bolt felt an object fall behind him and plunge into the water. He still yelped like a girl when a tendril of cold water splashed onto his foot. He turned and glared at Kohaku, who had a few small pebbles in his hand. "Not bad, kid. Forms can only get you so far, though. How about a real spar?" Kohaku said haughtily. It was an arrogance born of confidence in one's abilities.

"Sure," Bolt said with a smile. Hand-to-hand combat was one area where he knew he excelled in. Kohaku didn't stand a chance.

The redhead raised a brow when Bolt didn't move from his spot. Bolt just smiled and held up his hand, gesturing with two fingers for him to join him on the water. Kohaku jumped down, his feet causing ripples to explode across the water's surface. He sunk down, lowering his center of gravity, and adopting a foreign stance which Bolt didn't recognize.

Bolt smirked, inched forward, and took the first strike. A guarded open palm strike that Kohaku deflected with his forearm. He went with the flow, like his grandfather taught him, bringing up his other arm gracefully to caress Kohaku's exposed shoulder. He saw it coming, and leaned back out of the way, careful to not let himself be touched. Clearly he knew that Bolt was a Gentle Fist practitioner. Even the smallest of touches was dangerous.

Kohaku twirled, bringing the back of his fist up in a backhanded slap that left Bolt's cheek smarting. Bolt was a dervish of palm strikes and pointed fingers, pressing forward against his opponent. Each time his strikes would close in on Kohaku, and each time Kohaku spun away in a whirling, circular motion that seemed to always place him inside Bolt's guard. After a few exchanges, Bolt could feel fresh bruises forming on his ribs, forearms, and thighs. And he had nothing to show for it. Kohaku was surprisingly slippery.

Growling in thinly veiled frustration, Bolt took a few steps backwards to orient himself. Bending at the knees and waist, Bolt raised his right arm behind his back, and lowered his left arm below his waist. It resembled a mock bow. Kohaku inched forward, a cautious brow raised.

Bolt took in a deep breath, his body tensing and his muscles coiling. "Eight Trigrams," Bolt declared through grit teeth, chakra surging through his arms and legs. Kohaku backpedalled wildly, trying to get out of range.

"Two palms!" Bolt surged forward, both his left and right palms thundering towards Kohaku. They struck him dead in the chest, heavy as rocks.

"Four palms!" Bolt whirled, striking with pointed fingers that struck Kohaku's shoulders and waist, two each. Kohaku hissed in pain as the blows continued to rain down.

"... Eight palms!" Bolt hissed, feeling the strain in his shoulders and back. Without the Byakugan, his mastery of the Gentle Fist was incomplete. His blows were little more than chakra-enhanced strikes that rattled bones and tore muscle. He was incapable of blocking a person's chakra points, and that meant his form was off. Since his form was off, it strained his body.

Kohaku weaved a series of hand seals. Water erupted from his feet, cascading outwards in large waves. Bolt yelped in surprise as his form was shattered, ending the chain of attacks that the Hyūga clan was famous for. Bolt struggled to channel his chakra into his feet to prevent him from sinking under the waves.

"Hey!" Bolt yelled indignantly, after the water cleared. "You said this was a spar! No ninjutsu!"

Kohaku smirked. "I said it was a spar. I never said we couldn't use jutsu," he said.

Bolt growled, a sound very much fitting the source of the chakra scars on his cheeks. "Water Style: Water Bullet Jutsu!"

Spears of water hissed through the air as they left Bolt's lips. Kohaku dodged, his taijutsu was the same infuriating swirling pattern that evaded his Gentle Fist. Bolt channeled more chakra into the jutsu. Spears of water turned into long pillars that caused wakes to erupt across the surface of the water they stood on.

Bolt changed his pattern of attack, weaving hand seals even as he continued to spit bullets of water. "Water Style: Great Waterfall Jutsu!"

Kohaku's eyes widened as Bolt performed the A-rank jutsu, something that should have been far beyond the kid's capabilities. A torrential blast of water erupted from the river, almost as if the whole body of water was at Bolt's command. The river thundered towards Kohaku like a great sinuous serpent. Kohaku weaved seals, calling forth the riverbed. An earthen dome erupted and encased him, shielding him from the blunt force of the attack.

When the water died down, he released his shield. Bolt charged forward, swinging open palmed strikes at his opponent. Kohaku could tell that Bolt's strength was waning. He went on the offensive, whirling across the surface of the water like the whirlpools of his home. He struck Bolt cleanly in the chest, knocking him to the water's surface. Kohaku watched as Bolt shuddered and then turned into a pool of water. A hand shot out of the river and grasped his ankle tightly.

Bolt smiled through the water as a sphere of liquid erupted and encased his opponent. He was running low on chakra. This attack would be his last. He watched as Kohaku visibly struggled against the watery prison that now held him fast. He was glaring at Bolt furiously, though Bolt knew he had taken a deep breath of air before being imprisoned. Bolt smirked arrogantly, and tipped his head in a direction further down the river.

Kohaku looked up. Bolt was charging him, and there, in the palm of his hand, was a glowing orb of pure chakra and emitted a high pitched whir. Kohaku's eyes widened. "Rasengan!" Bolt yelled victoriously as he threw his arm forward, intending to shatter his Water Prison and deal the finishing blow.

Kohaku's brows narrowed and his lips were drawn into a tight, thin line. He held his right arm out, palm displayed, and braced it with his left arm. His palm glowed with chakra, and before Bolt could even blink, a single chain of pure chakra had erupted and pierced him through the chest. Instantly, the Water Prison and Rasengan dissipated to nothing, and his chakra control failed. Bolt fell into the river helplessly.

Bolt flailed in the water, and the knowledge needed to make his body swim seemed to evade his mind's grasp. He gasped, breathing in water, as a hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of the water. Sputtering and gasping for breath, Bolt spat back out the water he had inhaled, coughing harshly.

"You alright, kid?" Kohaku asked. He didn't seem mad. In fact, he seemed almost… pleased?

"Yeah," Bolt gasped, still sputtering and coughing.

"Good," Kohaku said with a decisive nod, hauling Bolt to the riverbank. "I, uh, should apologize. I didn't come over here to fight you because you were practicing. I wanted to test you, make sure my grandmother wasn't wasting her time with you," he said sheepishly.

"Your… your grandmother?" Bolt asked, not understanding, as he padded his chest and checked for wounds. He winced a few times as he touched the bruises Kohaku had given him.

"Yeah, the Uzukage," he clarified.

Bolt's eyes got big as he looked up at Kohaku in awe. The older man was suddenly reminded why he didn't tell the kid his relation to the Uzukage yesterday after seeing his reaction to learning the Uzukage's relation to the First Hokage's wife. He was all wide eyed childish innocence and awe at the mention of any of the Kage.

Bolt couldn't hold it in. "That's so cool!" he screamed. "What was that chain jutsu you used? Was it a secret technique only the Uzukage and her family know? Will you teach it to me?"

Kohaku snorted. "A kid like you won't ever be able to master our clan's greatest sealing technique," he commented. "Unless… you actually take your lessons with the Uzukage seriously, instead," he added at seeing Bolt's look of thunderous determination in the face of adversity.

"Hah," Bolt scoffed. "I'll become the greatest master of sealing jutsu you've ever seen! It'll be _you_ begging _me_ for training when I'm done!"

Kohaku watched as Bolt scampered off and returned to his room. He heard the distinct pop of an ink jar being opened, following by a long stream of curses as Bolt apparently spilled the ink. "Good luck, kid," Kohaku uttered under his breath before turning and going about his duties in the village.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Some notes:

1 — We will see _almost_ everymajor character from the original series, at some point. This includes, but is not limited to: Sasuke, Yamato, Kakashi, Hanabi Hyūga, Orochimaru, Kabuto, Shin's clones, Jugo, Suigetsu, Karin, all current and former Kage, Mifune, all of the Tailed Beasts, and most of the original cast (mainly the Konoha 11). Of course, the newer cast will be featured more prominently, including Teams Konohamaru, Ino-Shika-Cho, Yurui (Hidden Cloud), and Shinki (Hidden Sand). There will also be a handful of original characters, each one playing a significant role in the current story arc, of which I have currently designed _FIVE._ **If you have any requests for characters you would like to see, either from the manga** _ **or**_ **anime, let me know in a review or direct message. I consider both canon. Additionally, I am still creating an additional _three_** **characters as antagonists, which ideally would be two women and one man. If you have suggestions, please let me know.**

2 — Bolt will not become as powerful as Naruto or Sasuke, though he will become quite famous in his own right for his strength and achievements. He fights smarter, not harder. I don't really want to spoil or make comparisons, but like I said in my first A/N, there will be no more god tier people born. There _will_ be some people (not necessarily Bolt) that are comparable in power to Madara and Hashirama, prior to their deaths. Strong, but not godlike. Naruto and Sasuke are the last of their kind: Indra and Asura will no longer reincarnate, as they've made peace with each other. The Tailed Beasts will not be hunted nor sealed by the Hidden Villages, meaning no more Jinchūriki. Hagoromo and Hamura have no need to reincarnate. Kaguya is sealed within the moon forevermore. That's it. Done deal.

3 — I always imagined that, after bagging Naruto and having two kids, Hinata would emerge from her shell and be more assertive and firm. So, yeah, she is a little out of character here, but I like to think of it more as development.

4 — Name change: "A New Dawn" → "The New Dawn." I originally intended the story to be titled "The New Dawn," literally everything in my design documents is all titled correctly. Even every chapter is titled "The" and not "A." I don't know what possessed me to name it the way I did, but it is fixed now. This has no bearing on the story, but will come up in dialogue sometime in the halfway point. You'll know it when you see it.

5 — Bolt's immaturity/childishness is intentional. He's young, and out in the world for the first time. He is also more like his father than he realizes, and it shows. He's determined to be the best, just like Naruto was as a kid. And when someone challenges him, he doesn't wither, he thrives. Kohaku unintentionally sparked Bolt from otherwise not caring about his heritage to being determined to master it, just to spite him. I know the whole "fuinjutsu!Naruto" thing is a bit cliche, but Bolt is not going to be a master of it for quite some time, nor is it going to be the main weapon in his arsenal. A lot of people seem to have sealing jutsu become some end-all-be-all combat jutsu, whereas in my headcanon, it is more of a fight smarter, not fight harder jutsu. It takes time and preparation to use a seal against someone. You lure them into a trap, and then spring the seal on them to weaken them before striking the mortal blow. It's also more of a support skill than a combat skill, with many of its disciplines rooted in things like storage, healing, and defense.

Special thanks to guest reviewer Cheese8 for reminding me to include Naruto in this chapter. I almost forgot. Thanks!

Next chapter finishes up the Land of Whirlpools, and then we'll be moving on to the Land of Water and meeting our first recurrent major original character. That, of course, includes some more character development for Bolt, and the inevitable clash between Team Konohamaru and Bolt.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. Please leave a review.

\- Musica


	5. Chapter 5

Becoming a master of sealing jutsu was easier said than done, Bolt thought. Days became weeks in a blur. Bolt rose with the sun, performing his morning ritualistic practice of the Gentle Fist on the inlet behind his guest house. He then created several clones to help the villagers with their day-to-day tasks, and then joined the rest of the children in the academy for their daily lessons.

The Uzukage was a strict, but good, teacher. Each day, she began with a lecture on the history of the Uzumaki clan or the Land of Whirlpools, beginning with the time before Hidden Villages and ending in present day. After that, there would be a brief review of the material covered in the previous lesson. Anyone who hadn't mastered the previous seals were given extra practice to do outside of class. Following the review, the Uzukage worked them to the bone to master their current seal; each of which was more tedious and intricate than the last. After six long, grueling hours, the students were released. Their fingers and hands were sore, and more often than not they were covered in black ink, but they were happy to be progressing in their art. Bolt then returned to his home, sparred briefly with Kohaku—though none of their mock battles were as intense as their first—and then practiced forming, dispelling, and reforming a Rasengan until he fell asleep.

That was Bolt found himself in his current lesson. The students were far enough along in their studies that the class had begun to split into two. The younger, weaker students practiced and mastered their basics, while the older, stronger students who had more chakra and self-control pressed onwards, learning more intricate and powerful seals.

The Uzukage loomed over Bolt and four other older students like a specter. "This is one of the most useful seals in an Uzumaki's arsenal," she began lecturing imperiously, with a deadly seriousness. Bolt and his comrades listened raptly, unblinking. After the Uzukage had spanked—actually _spanked_ —a sixteen year old boy for daydreaming, none of them dared lose focus. "It was one of the seals we were feared and respected for: the Chakra Draining Seal. When our already sizeable reserves of chakra were depleted, an Uzumaki could take a prisoner of war and siphon their chakra from them, restoring themselves."

"Watch carefully," the Uzukage instructed, before weaving a long series of hand seals. At the end, she slammed her fist on the ground, startling Bolt and his classmates. A pattern of inky black characters crawled out from beneath the Uzukage's palm, forming a large circle with a swirling pattern that coalesced into a single point in the center. It was almost reminiscent of the Summoning Jutsu that Bolt had seen his dad perform on rare occasions.

Stepping out of the circle, the Uzukage formed several seals and created a shadow clone. Wordlessly, the clone entered the circle. The Uzukage formed a single seal—Snake—activating the seal. The entire seal glowed an eerie blue color, and the clone became cloaked in its own chakra as it was slowly extracted and absorbed into the seal. After a few moments, the clone despawned in a plume of white smoke. The Uzukage ended the seal, the characters fading to nothing.

The Uzukage returned her focus to her students with a deadly seriousness. "You must use the utmost caution when using this seal. If you drain a person's chakra too much, you risk killing them," she said. "Now, summon a clone and practice. Under no circumstances are you to perform this seal on a living person without my supervision."

Bolt and his classmates nodded several times to assure their teacher that they would adhere to her rules. They each summoned a single clone—most using water, only Bolt could create a shadow clone. Stepping forward, Bolt began to slowly move through the hand seals that the Uzukage had showed them. Slamming his hand down theatrically, Bolt expected the same inky black characters to crawl out from beneath his palm.

Nothing happened. "I think that last series of seals was Ox—Hare—Boar—Ram, not Ox—Boar—Hare—Tiger," Bolt's clone commented as he watched the original go about his work.

Bolt gave his clone a withering, petulant glare before doing the seals again, this time ending in Ram, not Tiger. He was rewarded with a swirling pattern of characters that created a seal resembling the Uzumaki clan crest. Both Bolt's nodded at their work, something that unnerved the other students. Stepping back, the original formed the Snake hand seal, activating the jutsu. The seal glowed blue. Bolt's clone stiffened and then erupted into a plume of white smoke as its chakra was drained. Bolt felt some of his chakra return to him, though he could tell most of it was lost during the jutsu.

Bolt looked at his classmates to see if they had also succeeded. One of the older boys had managed it, his water clone now a growing puddle on the classroom floor. The Uzukage loomed over them, watching and judging their every move. Determined not to draw her ire, Bolt and the other student formed the seal again, summoning another clone to practice on.

This time, Bolt focussed on the seal. When his shadow clone vanished, he was rewarded with an even larger return of chakra. Bolt recognized the lesson the Uzukage was trying to teach them: it was their control over the seal that made it dangerous, not the seal itself. The more he tried to leech from his clone, the more chakra was retained.

Bolt summoned another clone and began weaving seals for his third attempt. The doors of the academy slammed open, admitting a jōnin with scuffed clothes and windswept crimson hair. He wore his headband proudly across his forehead. "Uzukage, sir! We've found it," he reported formally.

The Uzukage waved her hand, dismissing the man, before turning to raise an eyebrow at her students. "Today is your lucky day. You'll get to see firsthand the power the Uzumaki of old wielded," she said. "Follow me."

Bolt followed the Uzukage dutifully. What had the jōnin discovered? Clearly the Uzukage considered it worthy enough to cancel their lessons early. Something she _never_ did. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty important.

The Uzukage led them through the village, weaving through ruins and dilapidated houses until they reached the approximate center of the old Hidden Eddy. There, a small gathering of workers and what few ninja the village had to spare were gathered around a moderately sized house. Pillars of stone intricately adorned with the Hidden Eddy crest lay in an organized pile to one side of the house. Clearly the workers had been intent on clearing away the rubble on this particular house, Bolt deduced.

Looking around, Bolt could tell that the house had once been the host of heavy fighting. There were rusty kunai and shuriken littering the floor, as well as scorch marks that charred the wood. In several places, the stone was dyed crimson. The house had, quite literally, been razed to the ground.

All except one tiny corner of the house, in what appeared to be an old study. On the floor, etched into the stone, was a series of characters that formed an intricate, ever increasingly complex seal that spiraled into a single point in the center that was larger than Bolt's fist. Around the seal, the house was untouched and flawless. Clean as the day its previous owner inhabited the house. "This," the Uzukage explained, "is the residence of the first Uzukage prior to the destruction of the Hidden Eddy. The First was a descendent of a long line of Uzumaki clansmen who were heralded as the greatest geniuses of our family. Before he died, he sealed all knowledge he was tasked with defending during the invasion. It is my belief that these secrets are sealed here."

Stepping forward, the Uzukage kneeled and placed her open palm atop the center of the seal. "Today, we will recover these secrets and restore our clan to its former glory," she said, before channeling chakra into the seal and turning her hand clockwise. The seal glowed blue as it spread through the characters, slowly activating. The air became heavy with chakra, tinted a light blue color.

Bolt leaned forward to see what the Uzukage was doing more clearly. Next to him, Kohaku did the same. The ground began to rumble and shake, causing a few of the ruined houses to collapse around them. Bolt watched as the formerly blue characters began to turn an eerie red color, spreading and consuming the seal. The rumbling intensified. "Uh, is that supposed to happen?" Bolt asked.

"I don't think so, kid," Kohaku murmured, casting worried glances at his grandmother.

The Uzukage was hunched over, sweat beading on her forehead, her brows narrowed in concentration as she continued to pour chakra into the seal. No, Bolt decided, this was not supposed to be happening at all.

A wall of solid wind erupted from the seal, nearly knocking Bolt from his feet. The Uzukage collapsed backwards. Kohaku dutifully caught his grandmother, already assessing the situation. The seal erupted outwards, unraveling and snaking outside the confines of the First's house. The ninja and assembled men and women watched in awe as a great bubble of raw, angry red chakra surrounded them, enclosing the house and much of the village square of old Hidden Eddy.

Bolt squeaked as a hand erupted from the floorboards near where he was standing. It grabbed at his ankles, but he had already backpedalled a safe distance away. Seeing as its victim had eluded its grasp, the hand tore at the floorboards, hoisting itself up as the rest of the wood gave way. A strange creature stared down Bolt and Kohaku. It wore little more than rags, and its body appeared to be composed of a black liquid with a thick consistency. On its "head"—if you could even call it that, Bolt thought—there was an ornately decorated porcelain mask of a bird with a long beak.

The creature stared at them, almost as if it was confused. Its gaze was drawn to the Uzukage and the broken seal. "Defend yourselves, you fools!" Akane commanded Bolt and her grandson.

The creature rounded on them, its beak parted threateningly. Bolt and Kohaku weaved their hand seals in perfect unison. "Water Release: Water Bullet Jutsu!" Spears of water erupted from their lips, hissing through the air towards the masked beast. Bolt saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the other ninja and the villagers were also fighting masked opponents of their own.

The beast with the bird mask squawked, unleashing a gust of wand that reduced their water attack to a fine, harmless mist. It continued forward, crashing into both men and sending them tumbling across the floor and falling outside the house.

The Uzukage stood her ground, not weaving even a single hand seal, she held her closed fist to her mouth. The creature drew in a deep, rasping breath. "Fire Release: Great Fireball Jutsu!"

The fire fed upon the masked beast's wind, devouring it and empowering itself. The liquid body of the creature boiled and bubbled, popping with loud hisses. The creature didn't even make a sound as it was utterly incinerated in the flames of the Uzukage's jutsu.

Bolt and Kohaku recovered, leaping to their feet just in time to see the Uzukage dispatch the first masked beast. Turning, they faced the others that had appeared. Counting the one that Kohaku's grandmother had just slain, there were five in total. Three burly men with crimson hair from the village fought one creature, who wore a mask of what Bolt could only assume was a mole. Charging forward, he reached into the pouch he carried on the small of his back, withdrawing a fistful of shuriken. He hurled the throwing stars, smiling as he was rewarded with the solid thunks as metal met creature.

One of the villagers took advantage of the opening, swinging a pickaxe at the midsection of the beast. The tool pierced the soft flesh of the monster. The man tried to draw the pickaxe back for another strike, but it held fast. That was the last thing the man ever did. The creature swung its arm down, engorged and five times the size of normal, and made of solid stone. The man was crushed into a fine, meaty pulp.

Bolt felt bile rise and coat his tongue. It was the first time he had ever seen a person die, and it made his stomach churn. The ease at which the man had been killed was sickening. He was just snuffed out by this monster that had crawled out of the ground. "You bastard!" Bolt roared, weaving hand seals. "Water Release: Exploding Water Shock Wave!"

A wave of water erupted from Bolt's lips, fueled by anger, Bolt had channeled an impressive amount of chakra into the jutsu. The wave of water slammed into the masked creature with enough force to shatter bone, and Bolt was rewarded with the sound of spongy flesh being ravaged by the impact of his jutsu. Bolt maintained the jutsu even as he weaved more seals. He was determined to see this particular creature destroyed. "Lightning Release: Wave of Inspiration!"

Lightning coursed through the water, crackling through the stunned and battered creature. It _squealed_ in pain, its mask shattering into countless pieces. Bolt terminated both jutsu.

The creature did not rise.

Panting heavily, Bolt turned to assess the battlefield. The two remaining burly men had assigned themselves as Bolt's bodyguards, one wielding a sledgehammer, the other a shovel.

The Uzukage was fighting the bird masked monster while Kohaku had moved to defend a group of men and women against two creatures: one with a fox mask, and one with a fish mask. Another creature, wearing the mask of a grimacing man with a large, yellow painted nose. Bolt's eyes met Kohaku's. Through unspoken agreement, Bolt ran to the group being attacked by the grimacing man. Bolt's two bodyguards trailed behind him, their tools raised menacingly.

Bolt charged the creature while its back was turned. Learning from the mistake of the last man, he was careful not to touch the spongy black flesh. He struck with the Gentle Fist, allowing his chakra to make the strike for him. Once, twice, thrice. The creature turned on him, its jaws cracked open with lightning rumbling in its maw. Bolt's eyes widened.

One of the Uzumaki men struck the creature in the chin with his shovel, causing the blast to be diverted upwards; safely away from any who would be harmed. The bolt of lightning dissipated against the barrier in the far distance. Wisely choosing to avoid using water jutsu, Bolt weaved a few hand seals. He took in a deep breath, feeling it superheat in his chest. "Lightning Release: False Darkness Jutsu!"

He parted his lips, releasing a spear of lightning that thundered towards the beast faster than it could react at such close range. The jutsu tore a gaping hole through the creature's chest, sending it flying backwards from the sheer force. The group of Uzumaki clansmen he had just saved cheered.

Their victory was short lived. A bolt of lightning shot through the small crowd, instantly incinerating one woman with rosy red hair, charring her skin black. Bolt whirled on the creature he _knew_ he had just destroyed. It was standing once more, the hole in its chest gone. As if it had never even been there.

The creature's maw was already splayed open, electricity crackling. Bolt reacted faster than he thought possible. Though he disliked using his Wind nature, since it reminded him of his good for nothing father, it was the only element he could use that was strong against Lightning. "Wind Release: Vacuum Bullets!"

Blades of compressed, razor sharp wind spewed from Bolt's lips, piercing the creature and riddling him with holes. The masked beast released the bolt of lightning, only for it to be shredded and dissipated by the assault of Bolt's jutsu. A stray bullet ricocheted into the creature's head, shattering its mask. The monster dropped to the floor, its spongy black flesh melting.

It did not rise.

 _That's it,_ Bolt thought. _The masks!_

Conjuring a clone, he sent it off to inform the Uzukage. You had to destroy the beast's masks to put them down for good. Bolt himself took off at a run towards Kohaku, who, by the looks of things, had figured out the same. The creature with the fox mask lay in a puddle of black goop, while he did battle with the creature with the fish mask.

Bolt saw the masked beast unleash lances of highly pressurized water at Kohaku. He began to weave seals as he flanked the creature, intending to strike it from behind.

Kohaku saw him coming, and began to weave his own. He unleashed a wave of water, high in volume but weak in pressure, thoroughly submerging the masked creature and much of the surrounding land.

Bolt leapt high. "Lightning Release: Thunderbolt!"

Two arcs of lightning hissed through the air, making contact with the water Kohaku had created. The monster gave a high pitched furious and pained scream as its body was wracked with electricity. Eventually, the voltage proved to be too much, and its mask shattered. The beast fell, never to rise.

Bolt landed on a small, dry patch of land that the water had not reached, being careful not to step in any of the still sparking water. Wheezing, he gasped for breath. He had never experienced such levels of chakra exhaustion as he did at that moment. Using such powerful ninjutsu in such a short period of time had all but drained him.

"Good job, kid!" Kohaku yelled, from the small outcropping of rock he had leapt to for safety. An explosion of light and heat drew their attention. They turned and watched as the Uzukage incinerated the final masked beast, turning it and the mask to ash. She hadn't even broken a sweat, and her clothes were untarnished. The creature hadn't even managed to touch her.

Pillars of muddy earth erupted in front of Bolt, making a makeshift pathway back towards the house of the first Uzukage. Bolt saw Kohaku give him a thankful, appreciative nod. He jumped forward, easily avoiding the electrified water with Kohaku's jutsu.

"Report," the Uzukage commanded, the moment the both of them reached the house. Bolt noticed there was another ninja making his way towards them.

"No civilian casualties, but Jun gave his life to make it so, sir," Kohaku informed his grandmother grimly. The Uzukage nodded gravely before turning to Bolt.

He swallowed weakly. "Two of the workers…" he said lamely, hanging his head, unable to put their deaths into words.

The Uzukage placed a reassuring hand on his shoulders. "You did well, Bolt. You defended our people at great personal risk, and managed to defeat two of these masked beasts on your own. Many more of our people would have died had you not been there," she assured him.

Bolt felt only slightly better about the situation. He nodded, and the Uzukage removed her hand. Turning, she made her way back into the house to examine the seal. Bolt and Kohaku followed her. "I should have known better," she thought aloud. "The First would have realized there was no saving our village. He placed this seal as a trap, designed to kill any who would search for the Uzumaki clan secrets."

"There was no way you could have known, grandmother—"

The ground began to rumble, causing the ruins around them to collapse. Several workers and villagers screamed in panic, scattering. Some of the hardened, grizzled men that had guarded Bolt, however, stood their ground.

The floorboards of the First's house began to groan and bend upwards. Bolt, Kohaku, and the Uzukage leapt from the house mere moments before the boards exploded into splinters.

As the dust cleared, a great masked beast, far larger and stronger than the ones that they had just defeated, loomed over the ruins of old Hidden Eddy. Bolt felt his jaw unhinge at the sheer size of the creature. Easily thirty feet in height, it had no head or neck, just one large, solid body with two muscular legs and four great arms. Embedded in its body were five masks: four porcelain men, all grinning or frowning with bared fangs and wild eyes, and in center, an ancient wooden mask with no mouth and eyes that were painted black, with a circle on its forehead.

Everyone could tell that this creature was far stronger than the previous ones. "What's the plan!" Kohaku yelled, pulling out a kunai for all the good it would do him.

"Destroy the masks, of course!" Bolt yelled, slipping into a Gentle Fist stance. He was too low on chakra to use more than one or two more jutsu. He could only hope that a Gentle Fist strike would shatter the mask.

The masked beast moved two of its arms in front of it, lacing its fingers together, almost as if in prayer. It was so out of place, that only the Uzukage recognized it as the Snake seal. Bolt and Kohaku leapt forward to do battle with their final foe. They both went still in solemn fear as the giant spoke.

"Wood Release: Cutting Spears," it rasped. Its body bubbled, raining down spears of wood on Bolt and Kohaku. They stumbled backwards, with Kohaku kneeling and slamming both palms to the ground. An earthen wall erupted between them and the oncoming spears of wood. The spears pierced the wall, the wooden tips of the projectiles coming out the other side. They were stopped, but only just.

"Get back, you fools!" the Uzukage commanded. Bolt and Kohaku were all to happy to obey as more wooden spears rained down upon them. As they retreated, an arc of lightning tore through the earthen wall they were hiding behind, incinerating the spot they had been standing at mere moments earlier. The Uzukage covered their retreat with a massive fireball that engulfed the sky.

One of the masks unleashed a wave of water from its open maw, overwhelming and extinguishing her fire. Even as the water continued to spew, another mask opened its maw, lightning arcing between its fangs. It rushed forth with an audible, thunderous crack, striking the water. Bolt, Kohaku, and the Uzukage jumped, landing atop the ruined houses that were still standing.

"Wood Release: Tree Bind Burial," the wooden mask rasped. Great writhing trunks of wood erupted all around them, taking in the water released by the other mask to fuel its growth.

"How the hell can this thing use Wood Release!" Bolt yelled. _No one_ had the Wood Release bloodline. It was extinct. For this _thing_ to have it was impossible. The limbs of the tree closest to Bolt opened up, seeking to ensnare him. "Lightning Release: False Darkness!"

A lance of white hot lightning shot from the tips of Bolt's fingertips, cutting through and felling the tree in one motion. He collapsed to his knees, empty with exhaustion. His chest heaved with great, rasping breaths. He had _maybe_ one jutsu in him. After that, he'd be utterly spent. Useless on the battlefield.

"It's the wooden mask! The First Uzukage and the First Hokage were good friends in life! It makes sense that they would help safeguard each other's secrets!" the Uzukage yelled. Bolt was only barely aware of the flash of fire and stream of water that she and Kohaku were unleashing upon the trees seeking to crush them alive.

The Uzukage looked to her left: Bolt, on his knees and clearly exhausted. Her right, her only living family, quickly running himself ragged as he was overwhelmed by the Wood Release. Grasping her hands in front of her and lacing her fingers, she weaved a seal identical to the masked beast. "Secret Art: Adamantine Sealing Chains!"

Two incorporeal chains, forged of pure chakra, erupted from the Uzukage's back, slicing through the air, one going left, the other right. They pierced the trees created by the masked beast's Wood Release, causing them to erupt into showers of splinters; their chakra forcefully snuffed. More chains erupted from the ground at the beast's feet, wrapping around its four arms and both legs, forcefully restraining it and its chakra. It howled in fury, the four elemental masks setting their gaze on the old woman. The lightning one opened its maw once more, lightning arcing, thought it was not as powerful as it was before.

A chain hissed through the air, piercing the mask. The lightning instantly dispersed. Kohaku held his right arm, a chain extending from his palm. His face was scrunched in concentration as beads of sweat ran down his forehead. The chain was pulled painfully taut as the beast struggled against its binds. "Now, Bolt!" Kohaku yelled.

Staggering to his feet, Bolt reached deep with himself, tapping into what little chakra he had left. Holding both hands cupped in front of him, he began to channel his chakra. _Rotation. Power. Containment. Rotation. Power. Containment._

In moments, he had a small sphere of whirring, whirling raw chakra that emitted a low whining sound. It was a pitiful comparison to what he had managed during his nightly practices, but it was all he had.

Bolt leapt from the safety of his perch. The Uzukage and Kohaku watched him sail through the air.

So did the masked beast.

He wasn't going to make it.

In a last ditch effort of desperation, Bolt hurled his pitiful excuse of a Rasengan.

The orb of spinning chakra sailed through the air in an arc, heading straight for the wooden mask. As it flew, it begin to shrink, failing without the constant control provided by Bolt.

Bolt's face fell in shame and fear as he plummeted to the ground. The Rasengan puttered out of existence.

An explosion of pressure and gusts of wind rocked the battlefield as the wooden and porcelain masks were shattered, the upper body of the masked beast turned to finely minced meat. It moaned in defeat, collapsing in on itself, coalescing into a large cylinder.

Bolt smiled, scoffed, and promptly collapsed into unconsciousness.

The Uzukage shuffled over to Bolt, making sure that he still drew breath, before moving to inspect the corpse of the masked beast. Instead of a husk of a body and the splinters of masks, she found a scroll nearly as tall and wide as she was. "Not a trap…" the Uzukage whispered in realization. "A test." Drawing up the sleeve of her right arm, she unveiled a tattooed seal. A few hand seals and the masked beast's scroll was stored within her body.

Returning to her most prodigious student, the Uzukage favored his sleeping form with a small smile. Kohaku limped over to his grandmother, a few splinters of wood sticking from his left leg.

"What a kid," Kohaku commented.

"What a kid," the Uzukage agreed.

She foresaw great things in the future of Bolt Uzumaki.

* * *

 **A/N:**

All jutsu are canon, in case anyone was curious. That isn't just me making up random ass names. At some point, they will diverge. Likely in the Land of Water.

I am semi-decided on _maybe_ [Sarada, Bolt, OC], depending on how much you guys like the OC. We'll see her in the Land of Water (the mentioned recurrent major original character last chapter). This isn't a three-way pairing. Bolt may pursue a romance with OC, only to later break up with her and pursue one with Sarada. Or it could be that he is torn between the two of them. Who knows. I'm still thinking on it. For now, pairing has been updated to [Bolt, Sarada].

Element _Style_ → Element _Release_. Just sounds better in my opinion. I may go back and edit the previous chapters for consistency. Might not. We'll see. Either way, from now on it is "Release" not "Style."

Anyway, I'm really excited to be heading to the Land of Water next chapter. Bolt gets into some real trouble there, and it is just a grand time for all parties involved.

I hope the big baddie using Wood Release wasn't too much of a stretch. It makes sense, in my mind. The Uzumaki clan provided sealing support to the Hidden Leaf, and Hashirama helped his allies safeguard their secrets (which was a double win for him; his friends were safe, and his enemies couldn't steal their secrets to use against him). Anyway, the baddie's Wood Release was much weaker than Hashirama's, of course, but we do get to see the Adamantine Sealing Chains here. I was inspired by Karin's (very brief) scene in the manga where she destroys Tobi's (Zetsu, not Obito) Wood Release Buddha statue thing. As described, the Uzukage is more proficient in the technique, being able to conjure a multitude of chains, while Kohaku is only able to create one.

We also got to see the Vanishing Rasengan! I wanted to differentiate Bolt from Naruto, and we'll be seeing a lot more of that variation in the future.

As always, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Until next time!

\- Musica


	6. Chapter 6

Bolt spent his time wasting away the days. After recovering what the Uzukage had dubbed the "Scroll of Secrets," lessons at the academy had been cancelled. The Uzukage was far too busy deciphering the scroll to teach them personally, so Bolt had little to do but train himself and help the villagers with their day-to-day tasks. He had become somewhat of a celebrity in the village for his role in preventing the masked monsters from destroying the clan. The workers, especially the burly Uzumaki men that had taken it upon themselves to guard Bolt, had been all too happy to spread word of his tale.

And then, one day, it all came to an end.

Bolt was standing around with a group of younger Uzumaki men, their crimson hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. They were taking a short break from clearing the rubble when Kohaku found him, a grim expression adorning his features. Bolt knew something had happened. Something bad. "The Uzukage has requested your presence, Bolt," he informed him, seriously.

Bolt just nodded weakly, waving unceremoniously to his previous company. Kohaku led him to a smaller, more utilitarian house. Burned into the wood over the front door was the Uzumaki crest, its swirling pattern clearly visible. _This_ was the Uzukage's office, Bolt knew.

He was right. Inside, Akane sat behind a desk of wood that had been stained red, as close to the color of the Uzumaki hair as possible. Numerous scrolls, maps, and letters were scattered across the office, paperwork piled high on her desk. It was eerily reminiscent of the Hokage's office, though smaller and more humble, befitting of the smaller village. A window was open to the Uzukage's right, where a tall wooden post was standing in the corner of the room. Perched upon the post was a hawk, a small black metal tube lashed to one of its feet.

Bolt recognized it as the Hidden Leaf's messenger hawk instantly. His insides began to twist and cramp and he felt his heart began to beat faster. The Uzukage lifted her head, her hand stilling from the letter she had been writing. The hawk watched her with a keen intelligence. She favored Bolt with a small, reassuring smile before finishing her letter with a flourish. Rolling the letter up, she withdrew a stamp and placed a wax seal with a swirling pattern on it before entrusting it to the hawk. Bolt watched with a heavy heart as the hawk squawked and took to the skies through the window.

"As you no doubt have guessed," the Uzukage began, drawing Bolt's attention. "Events are in play that I cannot halt. The Hokage has written me and informed me that he will be visiting the village in a week's time as part of the Hidden Leaf's yearly contribution to our village. He has also asked me if I have seen his son."

The Uzukage fixed him with an apologetic stare. "I can hide you no longer," she said.

"You told him, didn't you?" Bolt asked, horrified. He had trusted these people. He could have died for them. And they sold him out.

The Uzukage nodded slowly. "I told him that a young boy had came to our village and claimed that he was of our clan's descent," she said. Bolt's shoulders slumped and he hung his head.

"I also told him that he fit the description of Bolt Uzumaki," she continued on. Bolt felt anger welling up inside him, and a pressure behind his eyes that threatened to spill tears. This couldn't be happening, not again.

"I _also_ told him that, whoever that boy was, he had left last week without saying a word of where he was headed," the Uzukage explained with a small, playful smile.

Bolt looked up, clear disbelief written on his face. He felt the shackles of his previous life come undone. The Uzukage hadn't given him up. "We protect our own, even from our own," the Uzukage told him. "But I have others I must protect, an entire village that relies on me to rebuild our clan and our way of life. We depend on the Hidden Leaf, and I cannot jeopardize their aid just to spare you. When your father arrives, he will no doubt question me thoroughly and come to the conclusion you were here."

"Therefore… you will leave the Hidden Eddy tomorrow morning," the Uzukage said, her voice firm and clear, leaving no room for argument, yet it was not unkind. Akane lowered her head and returned to her paperwork. Her dismissal of him was clear.

Bolt swallowed. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder comfortingly. Kohaku gave him an understanding, encouraging nod. Bolt returned it half-heartedly. He shuffled from the Uzukage's office, his eyes fixed on the ground. He had grown to like the village. The people. Although he knew it was naive, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could stay there.

He was wrong.

He made his way to his guest house, keenly aware that it was just about to become _a_ guest house, not _his_ guest house. Collapsing into bed, he quickly fell asleep, despite the sun still being high in the sky.

He awoke early the next morning, before the sun had even risen. It was dark, and the moon still crested the horizon. The first rays of the sun were lighting up the sky, opposite the moon. It sat in bed, melancholy about losing a home he never really had. Eventually, the sun rose, and the new dawn came.

A soft knocking at the door roused Bolt from his stupor. He stood and dressed in a methodical fashion, gathering up what meager worldly belongings he still had. It didn't amount to much. A worn backpack. A scroll that held his clothes, some sets already threadbare from travel. A scroll that held his spare kunai and shuriken, and another that held his camping gear. Bolt _was_ thankful that he had learned sealing jutsu. Instead of a heavy pack, now all he had was a light burden of paper scrolls. As an afterthought, he packed some food from the pantries.

Walking with sullen steps, Bolt answered the door. A grim faced Kohaku met him, with a somber Uzukage behind him. Bolt nodded, nothing needed to be said. Following them, they made their way down the river, into old Hidden Eddy, and through the sprawling grassy hills that made up the Land of Whirlpools. They passed through a small woods, before the dirt turned to sand, and Bolt was standing on a beach once more.

"The Land of Water is a dangerous place these days," the Uzukage said suddenly. "That _is_ where you were planning on going next, right?"

Bolt nodded. "Yeah," he said simply. The Hidden Mist had some of the most powerful water release masters in the entire world. If he was going to master, truly master, that element, then there was no other place to go than the Land of Water.

The Uzukage nodded. "Very well. Ever since the end of the Fourth Great War, the nations have slowly begun to cooperate with each other. The first thing they did was to set rules for the operations of their ninja. Many missions that were once common were outlawed. Assassination, espionage, interrogation, kidnapping. Yet there are certain… _people_ ," she spat the last word, as if they weren't even worthy of humanity.

"... Who still require such services. Mercenaries have sprouted up, and not just in the Land of Water. In every country. Offering these services to the highest bidder. The other countries have cracked down hard on them, but the Land of Water is little more than chains of islands, sparsely populated and stretched out over thousands of miles of rough sea. The mercenaries hide, moving from island to island. The Hidden Mist has had trouble breaking them. You should be careful," the Uzukage explained, her voice thawing with genuine concern.

"I will," Bolt said with a reassuring nod and a small smile.

Akane nodded, a wry smile on her lips. "In that case, we bring gifts," she declared. "Hold out your arm."

Bolt did so. The Uzukage slipped the sleeves of his jacket back, exposing pale flesh. She turned his arm over, caressing his forearm. Before Bolt could ask what she was doing, she pressed a finger into the soft flesh above his wrist. Inky black markings flowed across his skin, making a small seal that Bolt recognized as an enclosing and unsealing matrix seal; the extra characters denoting that it was designed for flesh, not paper.

The Uzukage released him, reaching into the folds of her robes and withdrawing a long, ornate scroll. The paper was a pleasant shade of sky blue, capped with silver metal at both ends that was fashioned to resemble the Uzumaki clan crest. She held it out to him expectantly with a triumphant smile. "The next time I see you, I expect your mastery of your clan's jutsu to be _superb_ ," she said imperiously. "This scroll should guide you through the rest of your education, and even teach you a few things that the others won't learn," she added.

Bolt couldn't help but smile as he took the scroll, fumbling as he tried to work the seal on his forearm. Akane sighed, taking the scroll and pressing one end to the seal before tapping a character. She handed it back to Bolt, who repeated her actions, this time channeling chakra into the character. The scroll disappeared in a plume of smoke.

Bolt marveled at the seal. He didn't feel anything, but a sixth sense told him he could call upon the scroll at any time if he so chose. Clenching and unclenching a fist, he raised his head, swiveling between the Uzukage and Kohaku. "Thank you, for everything," he said, inclining his head respectfully, before turning on his heel and making his way to the water's edge.

Kohaku coughed once, clearly false, yet catching Bolt's attention all the same. He turned, and felt cold metal slam into his nose. Catching the falling object on instinct, he immediately raised his hands to cup his smarting face. "What was that for!" Bolt screamed. Thankfully, nothing was broken.

Kohaku rolled his eyes, nodding at the scrap of metal and black fabric in Bolt's hands. Bolt realized, with no small amount of amazement, that he held a Hidden Eddy headband. "You're going to have to defend yourself, at some point. Better to have an explanation when people start asking which village you're from. Rogue ninja aren't viewed favorably in any country. Consider yourself an honorary member of the Hidden Eddy, for services rendered," he said nonchalantly.

Bolt beamed. "Yeah, yeah. Just keep the _other_ headband hidden. And if you disgrace our name, I'll hunt you down," Kohaku warned.

Bolt's smile widened. "What rank am I?" he asked enthusiastically.

Kohaku scoffed. Of course. "Considering you didn't beat me once in all of our spars, that makes you a chūnin," he said.

That was good enough for Bolt. He had failed one Chūnin Exam, only to succeed in another, more important one. "I'll be back to claim my title as strongest jōnin of the Hidden Eddy one day, you know!" Bolt declared with an arrogant grin.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure you will, kid," Kohaku said, waving him off.

Bolt grinned in feral amusement as he turned, kneeled, grabbed a fistful of sand, and flung it at Kohaku even as he sprinted towards the water. He heard muttered curses and sputtering and spitting as Kohaku tried to get the sand out of his mouth. Bolt smirked in victory. Channeling chakra into his feet, Bolt transitioned from sand to water, bobbing up and down with the waves. He felt the spray of the sea hit him in the face, and knew that by his journey's end, he was going to thoroughly hate the ocean.

* * *

It was not how Bolt expected to spend his thirteenth birthday.

Holed up in a small cove on a tiny speck of an island, he waited out the storm. It was the third day since he left the Hidden Eddy, and mere hours into his journey, dark storm clouds began to form in the sky and a light rain drizzled down. Now, it was thundering and the rain came down _sideways_. Sniffling, Bolt rubbed his hands together, trying to stay warm. He nibbled on a small piece of jerky that he had packed during his rushed exodus from his house. He felt his sweet tooth ache for a good cake. Preferably one his mother made herself, like she did for Himawari's birthday.

The thought of his family made his heart ache. He missed his home, his room. He missed his mother. Grudgingly, he even missed his father. But most of all, he missed Himawari. His sister was probably taking his disappearing the hardest. They were close, and Bolt watched out for her since their father was too busy for them. Now, he felt guilty and homesick, on top of being cold.

It was the worst birthday ever.

Standing, he made his way back onto the water. His chakra reserves had recovered enough to continue on, and the storm had calmed. Dodging rogue waves, Bolt made his way towards a large island on the horizon. It was one of the few named islands in the Land of Water. There were only a handful. The rest were tiny and inconsequential; atolls, reefs, and spits barely large enough for a single home to be built upon.

The afternoon sun shone through the pregnant storm clouds, warming Bolt slightly. He sighed in relief. It seemed as if the storm was finally, after three days, breaking. By the time the clouds cleared, and the clear blue sky shone down on him, he was already walking through the black sand of the beach. Feeling solid land under his feet after so long at sea was a bigger relief than Bolt expected.

He managed to drag his weary body into town, the villagers eying him with clear distrust. He found the nearest inn, a small, shoddy building that looked like its roof leaked. He reached into his pockets, pulling out a few ryō. He didn't have enough to buy food, let alone a room. Sighing, he walked into the inn and purchased a steaming hot bowl of soup. The soup warmed him, driving away the cold. He passed the hours by listening to the other patrons talk and tell stories, stifling his giggles every time they erupted into laughter over a joke.

Then night came, and the patrons retreated to their rooms, while the night crowd poured in, ordering strong drinks. Bolt could smell the sharp bite of alcohol from where he sat. Bolt watched as the men drunk themselves into a stupor. One of the larger ones, clearly heavily intoxicated, had the audacity to grope their waitress' ass. She slapped him, hard. The man fell backwards out of his chair, unconscious and drooling. His friends picked him off the floor and took him home.

Bolt decided to excuse himself. He wandered back through town, making his way to a covered alleyway he had seen on his way in. With a defeated sigh, he withdrew a thick blanket from one of his scrolls and collapsed on the ground, wrapping the fabric around himself like a cocoon. Within moments, he was asleep.

He awoke to the sound of fabric on metal.

Blinking his eyes to clear the sleep, he saw that two children, no older than five, had managed to steal his backpack, and were now rifling through its contents. Bolt shot up, reaching out and snatching the pack before they could steal anything. He noted, sadly, that it was lighter than before. The kids took off at a sprint, disappearing into the maze of alleys. Bolt knew he would never catch them.

Taking stock of what he had lost, Bolt was relieved to find that they had only taken food.

All of his food.

Now, he wasn't so relieved.

"Those little shits!" Bolt roared, slinging his pack over his shoulders and sprinting through the alleyways. He'd wring their necks.

He ran in circles, never finding a trace of the kids. Bolt felt his chakra bubble as he seethed with anger. Stalking out of the alleyway he was in, he muttered under his breath. He was broke. Cold. Homeless. And now he was starving. Just great.

Emerging into a small dirt road, Bolt stilled as he heard two distinct pairs of footsteps echo down the road. Lingering in the shadows, he waited. Two men— _ninja,_ he amended—strode down the road. They wore dark pants and heavy jackets, their faces bland and average. Wrapped around their skulls was a long length of red fabric that ran just past their shoulders. Shiny metal plates, both depicting the Hidden Mist crest, were sewn to the front, protecting their foreheads.

Most telling of all, however, was that one of the headbands was different than the other.

One had a long scratch through it, marking the ninja as a rogue. Bolt swallowed and calmed his breathing. He had no reason to be afraid of these men. It was just… odd, that a Hidden Mist ninja would associate with a rogue. But the cloth they used wasn't standard issue. Perhaps friends? Family? From the same clan? Old teammates?

The two men strode past Bolt, never noticing he was there.

Bolt sighed in relief, pulling out his blanket and wandering back into the alleyway. He found a spot underneath a large awning that would keep him dry. Curling up, he went back to sleep, after making sure no stray kids could rob him. Again.

A long, grueling, hungry week past by in the blink of an eye. Bolt held his stomach as it rumbled. He'd spent the first few days looking for work. Odd jobs, mainly, offering services as a ninja occasionally. He sported the Hidden Eddy headband proudly. It was not a crime for a foreign ninja to be in another country after the end of the Fourth Great War, but it was still an odd sight to behold. Especially when you were supposedly from the Hidden Eddy. He got a lot of speculative, disbelieving looks.

That, combined with his young age, earned him exactly zero prospects. The people of the Land of Water didn't trust him, and no one was kind enough to give him a helping hand. For the first time, Bolt realized how truly alone he was in the world. He had been lucky. He lived his sheltered life in the Hidden Leaf, then relied on the generosity of the people of the Land of Fire to make it as far as he had. The Hidden Eddy only helped him because he was family. These people owed him no such loyalties.

Now, to his great shame, he had sunk lower than he ever thought possible.

He was about to become a thief.

Bolt was one hundred percent certain he would drop dead tomorrow if he didn't eat. Maybe. So he was going to steal some food. Not a lot, he reasoned. The shopkeeper would hardly notice that it was missing. The place he was watching from the rooftop across the street was the largest and most successful stand in the entire village. _Everyone_ shopped there. They had the widest selection of fruits and vegetables on the island, and the freshest product. There was so much food that it couldn't possibly even be sold.

Especially at the prices the shopkeeper was charging. He knew now why the little kids had robbed him. They couldn't afford to eat, either. Thinking back on that night, he should have known something was off. The kids were young. Too young to be thieves by choice. Their clothes were baggy and threadbare, and he remembered that their arms and legs were almost comically thin.

That cemented in Bolt's mind that there was something fishy going on in this village. He resolved to help these people solve their problems. Right after he himself was no longer starving, of course.

Night came. The sun slumbered, and the moon rose. The shopkeeper flipped the sign from "open" to "closed," and hung his white apron on a hanger near the entrance before strolling cheerfully down the dirt road to his home.

Dropping from the roof with practiced, silent ease, Bolt darted across the road and over to the shop. Casting a few quick glances down the road to make sure he was alone, he grasped the doorknob and twisted it. The door did not open; locked. Bolt wasn't surprised. Reaching into one of the pouches on his waist, he withdrew two small metal instruments: a torsion wrench and a hook pick. Lockpicking was standard survival training in the academy. He never had a reason to use those skills until now, but he was forever grateful Professor Aburame had forced him to learn.

Bolt fumbled with the lock, clumsily trying each of the tumblers of the lock with his pick while the wrench held everything in place. He _thought_ he felt one of the tumblers click into place, so he moved onto the next. After five minutes of uncomfortably kneeling in front of the door, the lock clicked, and Bolt turned the doorknob and quickly darted inside, stowing the tools of his trade back in his pouch.

He was rewarded with the sight of row upon row of food. Helping himself to a plastic bag, he quickly shuffled through the store, shoving fistfuls of apples, peaches, and oranges, plus a few bananas, into it. Taking his fill in under a minute, he shrugged off his backpack and stowed the stolen goods. Making his escape, he peered out the front window, sighing in relief as no one had seen him or sounded the alarm. Locking the door, he shut it quietly and darted back into the alley he had come from.

Plopping down, Bolt unzipped his backpack and took out a rosy red apple. Biting into it, he moaned audibly. It was the first thing he had to eat in… longer than he could remember. He devoured it greedily, savoring the sweet juices. Reaching into his bag, he took out an orange.

Low chuckles interrupted his feast as he went still, his senses on high alert. Two men, the ninja he had seen nearly a week ago with the red Hidden Mist headbands, were perched on the roof above him, watching him like hawks eyed mice. Bolt could see it in their eyes that they had known what he had just done.

Bolt hurled the orange like a kunai. It sailed through the air with an audible hiss, striking the ninja who had the scratched headband in the face.

Slipping his backpack on and closing it all in the same motion, he ran. Bolt's heart hammered in his chest and his breaths came fast and deep as his legs pumped, propelling him farther and farther away from the Mist ninja.

Casting an uneasy look over his shoulder, Bolt nearly had his eyes gouged by the outstretched hand of one of the men who had been grabbing at him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his heart beat even harder. He channeled chakra into his legs, increasing his speed. These men were experienced. Veterans. Easily high chūnin or jōnin ranked ninja. He didn't want to find out what his odds were in a fight.

Bolt flew across the land, a blonde blur in the night. The Hidden Mist ninja on his heels the entire way. When Bolt felt his stamina begin to wane, and the men behind him showed no sign of giving up the chase, he knew he would have to either surrender, or fight.

He chose to fight.

Leading the men to a small inlet near the edge of the island he had seen on his way in, Bolt began to rattle off strategy after strategy in his mind. He was outnumbered. Likely outpowered. Likely had less experience. He didn't get a good like at their faces, so he didn't know their age. Possible veterans of the Fourth Great War.

He dropped down over the ledge and onto the sand, turning to face his pursuers. They followed him mere seconds afterwards, panting and slightly breathless, a sheen of sweat on their foreheads.

Both sides stared the other down. Now that Bolt could get a good look at them, they were young. Younger than he thought. Perhaps in their early twenties. Too young to be veterans of the Fourth Great War. Their faces lacked the baby fat that sheltered ninja had, and their bodies with thin with wiry muscle. They lived hard lives, Bolt deduced. Nothing like the ninja of the Hidden Leaf. He saw their eyes move from his face to his headband, then back to his face.

The one whose headband was unmarred straightened, smirking cockily. "You've got some balls, brat. Stealing from the great Crimson Tide. Do you know what we do to thieves, little boy?"

Bolt swallowed, shaking his head. "Who are you two?" he managed to ask, his nerves screaming for him to attack and get the battle over with already.

" _We_ are members of the illustrious Crimson Tide, the most powerful mercenary company in the Land of Water! And _we_ are the rulers of this here little shit of an island, and the owners of that shop you just stole from," the same man explained, while the man with the scratched headband glared at him murderously.

 _Mercenaries,_ Bolt thought with dread. The Uzukage had warned him, and he still managed to get himself in trouble.

"I'm going to cut your fucking hands off, you little bastard," the man with the scratched headband snarled. Bolt paled. He definitely didn't want to fight the rogue ninja now.

Both men smirked and lowered their bodies. Bolt mirrored them, slipping into the first stance of the Gentle Fist.

The rogue ninja leapt forward, roaring savagely. He fought like a brawler, swinging his fist wide. It was all power and no speed or precision, but Bolt could tell he would be hurting if he took a single hit.

The strike sailed wide, missing him by a foot or more. Bolt took the opportunity to land two quick open palmed hits on the man's exposed ribs. The rogue ninja stumbled back, wheezing. His friend was right behind him, already fighting Bolt. His taijutsu was classical and technical, all smooth practiced strikes with no inefficient movements. Bolt ducked and weaved as he evaded punches and kicks. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the rogue ninja had recovered and was waiting for a chance to jump in. His face was warped with rage.

Bolt caught a glancing punch to his face that tore at his ear. He felt warm blood run down his cheek. Taking a few steps backwards to right himself, Bolt brought his hands together. He weaved hand seals. "Water Release: Water Bullet Jutsu!"

Lances of water spewed from his lips as the two Mist ninja danced between his jutsu. They laughed. _Laughed._ He saw them raise their hands as one, forming a single seal. They didn't even say a word. Thick mist began to spew from their lips, obscuring the beach. The two of them disappeared without a sound.

Bolt released his jutsu and sunk into a defensive Gentle Fist stance. He strained his ears, listening for the two ninja he knew lurked in the mist, but could not see. Bolt felt the whisper of wind against his skin. He turned on instinct to face his opponent. Out of the mist came the technical fighter. He met his punch with the open palm of the Gentle Fist, lancing his chakra through the mains hand. He saw him wince in pain and reel back.

Bolt had momentarily forgotten he faced two opponents. He remembered, as the rogue ninja savagely kicked him in the gut, bodily sending him crashing into the cliff of the cove with an audible crack.

They circled him like wolves, and Bolt struggled to get to his feet. The very real fear of having his hands cut off for theft kept him from surrendering. His eyes danced between his two attackers, looking for weaknesses. They smirked, and the mist consumed them once again.

A thought arced through Bolt's mind. The mist. He couldn't see them. They couldn't see him. Cupping his hands, he began to channel his chakra. _Rotation. Power. Containment._

They came for him again, both at the same time. Using the same strategy. The technical fighter came in first, with the rogue ninja trailing right behind him. Instead of meeting his fist with the Gentle Fist, he met it with a roaring Rasengan. The man screamed and exploded in light and pressure that caused the mist to dissipate.

" _Holy shit!_ " Bolt heard someone utter. He turned and came face-to-face with the rogue ninja's fist. Bolt felt his nose break. Or at least, he hoped it was his nose. And not something more important. Like his face.

Collapsing onto his back, Bolt cradled his face with both hands, moaning in pain. He saw two wet spots in the sand where his Rasengan had obliterated the men. Water clones, he realized.

The rogue ninja grabbed him by the throat, squeezing and lifting him off his feet. Bolt felt the rock of the cliff dig into his back as the man choked him ruthlessly. The man's visage swam in his eyes.

Bolt unleashed weak, feeble Gentle Fist strikes against the man's arm as he continued to throttle him. He saw darkness begin to creep into his peripheral vision and felt the man's fingers squeeze tighter. He wasn't going to cut off his hands. He was going to kill him.

Bolt felt his eyes bulge at the realization, and a sudden pressure overwhelmed him.

The world faded from his eyes, washed in hues of blue.

Blue. Not black. It felt like he had been living his life through a haze; a mist. Like the mist the two ninja used. Now, it had dissipated. He saw more clearly than he ever had before in his life. He felt the rogue ninja's chokehold relax. Bolt looked into the eyes of the man, and he saw clear surprise adorning his features.

Bolt's eyes lowered to the man's chest. He saw a flaming ball of fire in the man's gut. With grace he didn't know he had, he reached out and gently poked the man's belly. He dropped like a sack of rocks, clutching his abdomen in pain and breathing through labored, hissing breaths.

Bolt turned to face the other man. He saw the man's eyes stare deep into his own, examining his every feature. "That is…" he uttered, taking in Bolt's eyes. Bulging veins that thrummed with the beat of his heart. Wide eyes with pale violet irises. To the uneducated, they would have appeared sightless. That could not have been further from the truth.

"The Byakugan," a voice finished. Bolt experienced the very unnerving sensation of seeing behind his body without having to turn his head as an older man flickered into existence and knocked him unconscious.

* * *

"Ugh, I'm so tired of this boat!" Sarada complained. Mitsuki was staring off into the distance, quiet and antisocial as always. Konohamaru was asleep, his head rocking with the motions of their small craft. Their Anbu escort, Yamato, was very green in the face, trying to quell his motion sickness.

Sarada made sure to keep an eye on him. She wasn't even sure if "Yamato" was his real name. _Probably not_ , she decided. She also had a second, more base motive: making sure he didn't pass out. They were currently in the middle of an ocean in the Land of Water, sailing a small sailboat made from Yamato's Wood Release. It was sturdy and light, but would disappear in an instant if the caster fell unconscious or asleep.

"Don't worry, I'm sure—" Yamato said, pausing as his cheeks puffed up. He swallowed his rising bile before continuing. "—I'm sure we'll be there soon."

Sarada hoped so. For Yamato's sake, if not her own. The Mizukage had granted them permission for an extended mission in the Land of Water, as well as support from local operatives across the land. In exchange, they were to assist in quelling the civil unrest that had been plaguing the region whenever possible. Due to the geography of the Land of Water, consisting mostly of long island chains, centralized ninja support was sometimes hard to come by. It took days, sometimes an entire week, to reach the farthest islands.

That was where they came in. Whilst searching for Bolt, they would help the locals. They were currently en route to a small island chain, the largest of which was the furthest western island of the Land of Water.

Their mission?

Investigate claims of a mercenary company that had, allegedly, claimed the island for themselves.

"Hey, Yamato," Sarada said, getting the Anbu's attention. "What was the name of the mercenaries we're going after again?"

Yamato sighed. "The Crimson Tide," he answered.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Now when Bolt and Himawari play hide-and-seek, he isn't at quite an disadvantage. This was always the plan, although I admit it was earlier than I had originally planned. I'll be more than a little sad if Kishi releases the new Boruto manga and Bolt doesn't have the Byakugan.

Anyways, my plan for the Byakugan (since I know some people are going to ask): it will not become Sharingan version 2.0. Yet, at the same time, I have some ideas on expanding upon established, canonical strengths of the eyes without delving into Mangekyou Byakugan territory (which will never, ever happen… unless Kishi writes it, of course, in which case…). I don't want to spoil anything, but yeah. I think the Byakugan can be made interesting, especially filling in the missing history of the Hyūga clan.

Also as a side note, Bolt's and Sarada's kids would be hella strong with one Sharingan, and one Byakugan. Kishi stated that was the outcome of a union between those two bloodlines, and then he never did anything with that information. Why torture us like this?!

Bolt gets his first real taste of the world outside his comfort zone. Also, I lied. We'll see the female OC I mentioned last chapter, next chapter. Sorry!

Next chapter _might_ be Sarada and Himawari centric? Maybe?

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. If you can leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!

\- Musica


	7. Chapter 7

Bolt winced as the first whispers of consciousness came back to him. He felt uncomfortably warm and stiff. His eyes fluttered open, only to close as the harsh glare of sunlight burned his pupils. Rolling out of the sun, his eyes opened again.

He was in a room. Small and barren, with wooden crates stacked to the ceiling. A single window, barely larger than Bolt's head, was behind him—the source of the sunlight. Bolt flailed as he tried to stand, only to fail. His arms were tied securely behind his back, and his feet were bound together.

Memories of what happened came flooding back. The two mercenaries. The middle-aged man knocking him out. The… Byakugan. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but feel elated. He hated it, but it always made him feel jealous whenever Himawari stayed behind for extra lessons with their grandfather because she had awakened the Byakugan. For a while, after she had awakened her own eyes, Bolt thought that, maybe, just maybe, his would awaken too.

They never did. He always left those lessons bitter and angry, resenting his sister. And he hated to feel like that. Because he loved his sister, more than anything or anyone in the world. He didn't want to feel jealous of her.

And now, he wasn't. He was her equal. He could stay with her and they could snicker at their grandfather as he explained how to use their clan's eyes in his stiff, archaic way of speaking.

Tentatively, he reached for his chakra. It felt different. As if the flow of it had changed, fitting him better. It flowed easier, more fluid. Bolt felt a pressure build behind his eyes. It wasn't painful, nor was it overbearing. It was just there. Bolt knew, instinctively, that if he channeled chakra into his eyes, the pressure would increase and his Byakugan would manifest.

Bolt smiled. He had the overbearing urge to find a mirror and just stare into his new eyes. But he couldn't. He was a prisoner.

No sooner did he think it, the door of the room burst open. Four people strode in: the middle-aged man who had knocked him out last night, the two ninja he had fought with, and a woman with a frightening porcelain mask covering her face.

The middle-aged man smiled broadly as Bolt took in his features. His skin was the color of bronze; stained from the sun, and his natural skintone. Thick, sandy blonde hair framed his face, and a trimmed beard with stray white hairs hung from his chin in a goatee. He had piercing blue eyes that seemed to stare through Bolt, as if he knew everything about him. Everything screamed that this man was from the Land of Lightning. Possibly former Hidden Cloud. He was dressed in forgettable fatigues, but there was one thing he wore that stood out: his headband. There, on the man's forehead, was a scratched and tarnished steel band with the character for "ninja" etched into it.

It was scratched out, a large "X" scarring it forever.

Bolt didn't know what that meant, but it couldn't be anything good. Had he forsaken being a ninja? Had he become sworn enemies with _every_ ninja? Every hidden village?

"Looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake," the middle-aged man boomed, his voice deep and baritone. Commanding. Powerful. Bolt swallowed.

"You gave my boys here quite a lot of trouble, you know that?" he asked. Bolt remained still, laying indignantly on the floor.

The man sighed heavily, as if holding a great burden. He nodded his head at Bolt, a quick bird-like motion. The rogue ninja he had fought the previous night—if it had even been a single night—stepped forward, cracking his knuckles menacingly. He hoisted Bolt up by the collar, pinning him against the wall. "Show some respect," the rogue hissed through gritted teeth. "You stand before the great Eiji Yagami of the Lightning Armor, leader of the Crimson Tide!"

The rogue drew Bolt back, before slamming him into the wall again. Bolt saw stars. He was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Bolt looked up, meeting the eyes of this man—Eiji—and stared at him defiantly. "You know," Eiji said, almost conversationally. "I've seen some shit in my life, brat. Lot o' shit. Seen men cut to ribbons. Seen men turned to ash. Seen trees suck the life out of my friends. Know what else I've seen? Seen men get they hands cut off. But boy, that sure doesn't sound awful nowadays, does it? Medical ninja can put bodies together like jigsaw puzzles. Hell, I seen a pretty pink-haired girl stick a man's heart back in his chest after a goopy white monster tore it clean out. He was right as rain in a few days."

Eiji paced the room, making a very crude gesture with his hand of ripping a man's heart from his chest. "But the hands, man. The hands. Seen a lot of men get they hands cut off in my day. And yeah, them pretty little medics can stick 'em back on. But you know what? They never quite work the same. They fumble with tasks they did with ease, before. They slower. Never quite as fast as before. For ninja? That's a death sentence. Hand seals don't work. The fingers ain't agile enough to make the intricate gestures. Seen men go into the battlefield like that. Never seen 'em again," he said, eying Bolt's wrists.

Bolt felt his heart hammer in his throat. He swallowed, trying to get it to go back down. "I have half the mind to let Takeo here carve off your hands," Eiji said, nodding over his shoulder and the rogue ninja that Bolt had fought. Takeo grinned ferally, gripping the hilt of a kunai so hard his knuckles were white.

"But—" Eiji drawled, turning to face the two men. "Leave us," he commanded. Takeo growled, but bowed low and left the room. Only the woman with the porcelain mask remained. She stood by the door, a silent guard, her hands clasped behind her back. Through the tiny black slits of her mask, Bolt could see cold, hard green eyes boring into him.

"—But, I know a lot of things," Eiji continued on, taking a ragged piece of paper from his the pocket of his fatigues. "For example, I know this: I know you ain't really a Hidden Eddy ninja. You ain't got that red hair; dead giveaway. Them eyes of yours, too. Ain't no Uzumaki got them. No Hyūga on that island fortress of theirs. And that hair of yours, too blonde. Too bright. Only ever seen one brat with hair like that. Strong son of a bitch, heard he bagged himself a pretty 'lil Hyūga wife after the war."

Bolt grit his teeth, almost growling at the man. No one talked about his family like that. No one. Eiji kneeled, grasping Bolt's chin painfully tight, his thumb digging into his cheeks. "And them _scars_ , man. Them scars. Only one brat you could be," he said, nodding his head in agreement with himself. "The bastard son of the Hokage."

Eiji held out the piece of paper in his hand, showing a crude drawing of Bolt. "My boys found this here flier in the Land of Fire. Says here you worth 'bout one million ryō to the Hokage, alive," he said. "So here is what I'm thinkin'. I call Takeo back in here, I have him lop off yo' hands at the wrist for stealing from _me_. Then, I send you back to your daddy in a crate and collect my million ryō. The flier said alive, not unharmed. Sound like a plan?"

Bolt felt every muscle in his body tense. He was sure that more adrenaline was in his veins than blood as his heart hammered in his chest painfully. His eyes were sore with pressure, his Byakugan making its presence ever known. "No?" Eiji asked, a wicked grin on his lips. He hummed in thought. "I'm a merciful man, brat. Real kind, ya know? Can forgive a lot of things. I don't want to see a little shit like you be crippled. So how about this? I forgive ya for stealing from me, ya keep yo' hands, and I don't ship you off to your daddy. In return… three years."

Eiji fixed Bolt with a piercing stare. "Three years of servitude with the Crimson Tide, and at the end, you walk free. No strings attached," he promised. "What do ya say?"

Bolt's shoulders slumped and he hung his head in defeat. It wasn't really a choice. Work for the crazy whackjob, or be crippled and sent back home in a box. "... Fine," he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked.

Eiji smiled, clapping him on the back a few times. "Good! Good! You've got a bright future with us, brat! Don't worry, it ain't all bad. I run a tight ship. Takeo is a real bastard, but he won't touch ya now that you're one of us. In time, you'll think of us like a second family!" Eiji boomed, laughing heartily. Bolt doubted that.

The middle-aged man wrapped his arm around Bolt's neck, putting him a chokehold without applying pressure. Bolt stiffened as his head was directed to the woman standing by the door. "Meet Hikari, my lieutenant. She's your new master. She says jump, you ask how high. Don't make her job any harder than it already is, girl has a mean temper. Former hunter ninja. She can cut the balls off a fly at fifty yards with her throwing needles. Don't piss her off," he said, barking with laughter as he released Bolt. He left the room, laughing down the hallway.

Bolt felt like crying. The girl—Hikari—strode over to him with quiet, lithe strides. She kneeled, withdrawing a kunai from somewhere within the folds of the fatigues she wore. In a quick, practiced motion, she cut the ropes binding Bolt's hands and feet. His eyes flickered from the shadows of her green eyes under her mask to the small bob of black hair pinned behind her head, held by two long metal needles. He could see that the tips were not blunt and rounded, but sharp and pointy. They were throwing needles. She might have been pretty, under that mask, Bolt thought, if she wasn't part of the band of heartless brigands that had kidnapped him.

"Let's go," she commanded, her voice lilting and soft.

Bolt rose, standing on shaky legs as he followed her out of the room that had been his prison cell.

* * *

Sarada and Konohamaru wandered through the winding alleyways and dirt roads that made up the small, and only, town on the western edge of the Land of Water's territory. They had split into pairs to search the island for the mercenaries that had been plaguing the islanders—the so called "Crimson Tide" as they liked to dub themselves.

The villagers hid in their homes, shutting the windows and closing blinds as they past. Sarada thought that was peculiar. Konohamaru seemed to pick up on it, too. It was as if the villagers were afraid of being seen, or worse, afraid of seeing foreign ninja.

Walking the market street, they found a dango stand and slipped inside. The owner turned to welcome them, a smile on his face, but his eyes instantly gravitated to their headbands. The smile slipped. Other customers, seeing that they were foreign ninja, quickly stood and left. They didn't even pay. Most telling of all, the owner of the shop didn't care. "... We'd like the special," Konohamaru said with unease, pulling out a few ryō.

The shopkeeper didn't even make eye contact with Konohamaru as he took his money, before darting into the kitchen. He returned, moments later, with two trays of skewered dumplings and shooed them out of his shop before closing up for the day. "How rude," Sarada scathed. She and Konohamaru walked and ate, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. They hadn't seen anyone resembling mercenaries in the town so far.

Up ahead, Sarada could see a few kids hastling an elderly woman who was struggling to carry a load of bagged groceries. Scowling, she threw her box at Konohamaru before angrily stomping forward. Konohamaru whispered a silent prayer for the kids. Sakura should never have taught her daughter her inhuman strength at such a young age.

"Hey, you brats!" Sarada roared. The kids stilled, turning. They took one look at her, saw her headband, and bolted down a nearby alleyway. One of them ran straight into a trashcan, knocking it over and flailing through the garbage. Turning back to the old woman, Sarada saw that she was quaking in fear. "Sorry about them, ma'am. Some brats have no respect for their elders," she apologized. "Here, let me help you."

Sarada held out her hand to help carry some of the woman's groceries. Instead of a bag, she was handed a wad of ryō. "Please," the old woman cried. "This is all I have."

Sarada shook her head. "No need for payment, ma'am. Scaring those kids was enough for me," she said, not taking the woman's money.

The old woman stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes as she took in Sarada's features. "You're… you're not one of t-them, are you?" she asked.

Sarada looked confused. "One of them?" she questioned.

The old woman looked around frantically; down the streets, between the alleyways, in the shop windows, on the roofs. Sighing wearily, she whispered. "The C-Crimson Tide."

Sarada's eyes widened. This was what they had came here for. "No, no I'm not," she said resolutely. "I'm from the Hidden Leaf. The Hidden Mist asked us to investigate the island and deal with any of the mercenaries we found here. What can you tell me about the Crimson Tide?"

The woman sobbed with visible relief. "They took over the town, perhaps two—no, three—months ago. They told us we had to pay protection fees. At first, no one listened to them. Then, when people didn't pay them, they took what they wanted. Entire shops went out of business. Anyone who resisted was beat within an inch of their life," she gushed, speaking rapidly. Sarada could tell she had been under heavy duress during the occupation of the town.

"Then they started taxing the people. Anyone who didn't pay the tax, or couldn't afford to…" the old woman choked up.

"I understand," Sarada said reassuringly. "Can you tell me where they are now?"

The old woman looked up. "I-I don't know. They left in the night sometime last week. There was this—this boy, that came to the town," she said. Sarada's breath caught in her chest. "He was looking for work. I could tell he hadn't eaten in some time, but everyone was too afraid to hire him. Afraid he was a member of the Crimson Tide. A spy. They—they captured him. Hauled him into town during the night, dragging him by his feet. They left the next night. No one has seen them since."

"Can—" Sarada swallowed her nerves. "Can you tell me what this boy looked like?"

The old woman nodded. "Your height and age, blonde hair—"

"Thank you!" Sarada exclaimed, dashing off. That was all she needed. It had to be Bolt. It just _had_ to be.

She found Konohamaru talking to a few teenagers that had been loitering in an alley. They had their heads hung in shame as he loomed over them, his wallet in his hand. If Sarada had to guess, they tried to pick his pocket. Bad idea. "I found Bolt!" Sarada exclaimed, running up to her teacher.

Konohamaru gave a stern glare at the teenagers that sent them skittering off. "Where?" he asked. She quickly informed him of what she had learned. Konohamaru nodded. "Let's go meet up with Yamato."

It didn't take long to find Yamato and Mitsuki. The town was small, after all. They had no luck in finding any information about the Crimson Tide, or Bolt. "Where would they go?" Mitsuki pondered aloud. "Depending on the size of their company, they could hide on any of the small islands in the Land of Water. They would be impossible to find."

Yamato nodded his head. "They could be hiding on any number of small islands used by pirates or smugglers. They would have hideouts all across the Land of Water. If they captured Bolt, however, they would need a place to contain him. That would rule out many of the smaller islands, leaving only medium to large land masses. If they go to any of the islands watched by the Hidden Mist, we'll know. We should search for medium-sized, unmarked islands. Look for coves and atolls that could hide their base of operations," he explained, his Anbu training kicking in. There was now a search and rescue. Anbu _lived_ for these missions.

Sharing nods of agreement, the four quickly set off, heading north. An arcing chain of islands spanned from the furthest western borders of the Land of Water, all the way north to Nadeshiko village. They all agreed that none of the islands they had seen previously were fit to hide a band of mercenaries. That left the large island to the east, watched by the Hidden Mist, or the island chain to the north. They chose the north.

They didn't even stop to let Yamato make a ship out of wood. They simply channeled chakra into their feet and ran. As Sarada ran, her eyes bled red, one tomoe in each iris. Her Sharingan looking for any trace of her missing friend and his captors.

The first island was little more than a bar of sand that pierced the waves at low tide. The next was an atoll, a ring of coral reefs that had no visible landmass. The one after that was a small island that Sarada could walk the length of in fifteen paces. They chose to rest there, recovering their chakra. "I'm going to send a wood clone to the Hokage," Yamato declared, weaving several hand seals. His flesh seemed to bubble as a wooden copy of himself tore its way from Yamato's shoulder. Sarada could only describe it as unnerving. The wood clone took off, sprinting west towards the Land of Fire's shores.

They searched for the rest of the day, and well into the dusk. By the time Konohamaru forced Sarada to rest for the night, they had discovered and searched no less than fifteen islands and covered over fifty nautical miles.

They found no trace of Bolt, or the Crimson Tide.

* * *

Himawari's eyes darted from the large cake in front of her, to the doorway that led into their dining room. Any minute now, she was sure her brother would walk through, an arrogant smile on his face as he waved off his family's worries.

He never came.

Staring into the thirteen flickering candles, she wiped away the unshed tears gathering in her eyes. Her brother wasn't coming home.

Hinata lurked nervously in the kitchen, watching her daughter wait for her son. She couldn't help but imagine what Bolt was doing, right now. It was his birthday. His first one away from home. She wasn't ready to let him go yet, not so young.

Hinata watched as Himawari stiffened and leaned forward. She blew out the candles with a strangled sob. Hinata could make out the barest whisper of a wish. _"I wish brother would come home,"_ she said. Hinata felt her heart break for her youngest. Himawari leaned forward, pursing her lips and blowing gently on the candles. The wicks smocked as their fire was extinguished.

It was just as the candles died that Naruto came home for the evening, exhausted from what he called "hard labor"—otherwise known as paperwork, to normal people.

Himawari looked up, expecting her dad to be as tired as he always was on the rare occasions he came home from work. He wasn't. He wore a wide, infectious grin that made her mood evaporate instantly. He just had that effect on people. He didn't appear to be wearing his Hokage cloak or hat, which was a strange sight for Himawari. Her father almost never parted from the ceremonial garb of the village leader. Instead, he had a large scroll, taller and wider than she herself was, wrapped in a strap of leather that he wore around his chest.

Himawari dropped from her chair and padded over to her father. "What is that, dad?" she asked, a hint of excitement coloring her voice as she circled Naruto, examining the large scroll.

Naruto laughed, kneeling at eye level with his daughter. "I told you I'd show you a few tricks! This way, when Bolt gets back, he'll be jealous of you and never dare leave his sister's side again!"

Himawari was bouncing up and down in excitement. "This!" Naruto declared, flinging the scroll out of its leather bag with a dramatic flair. "Is the summoning contract for the great toads of Mount Myōboku! My master taught this to me when I was just a little older than you are now."

Naruto unfurled the scroll as Himawari scampered back into her chair, this time standing on it so she could see. Her eyes danced over the scroll. The scroll was partitioned vertically, each box having a person's name written inside. At the bottom, a large handprint sealed the contract. "There's my name," Naruto said, pointing to the most recent name. "Your grandfather," he added, pointing to his father's name. "And my master, Jiraiya," he finished, his voice cracking slightly as he said the name of his deceased master.

"And," Naruto continued on, his moment passed. "Here you can sign your name," he said, unrolling the scroll a little bit more, revealing an empty box. "If you want, that is," he added hastily.

Himawari was bouncing up and down, nodding furiously in excitement. Naruto could see the veins in her forehead pulsing, a sign that her Byakugan was manifesting. He chuckled under his breath. "Since it's a summoning contract, you sign it in blood," he instructed, pulling out a kunai.

Himawari snatched it from his hands, and ever so gently poked her index finger. She scribbled her name, and then rubbed her palms together, pressing one to the paper beneath her name. There was an almost imperceptible flash of chakra as the contract was signed.

"And now, the hand seals," Naruto said, slowly showing his daughter the seals; Boar—Dog—Bird—Monkey—Ram. "You need a little blood for each summon, but what you have on your hands now should be enough."

Himawari nodded eagerly, practicing the motions of the seals. They hadn't quite covered anything this advanced in the Academy, yet.

"Dear, perhaps—perhaps you should go outside," Hinata suggested nervously, suddenly remembering the size at which Naruto's toads could be. Their house was big, but not _that_ big.

Naruto laughed, scratching the back of her head. "Don't worry, I'm sure she won't summon anything that big! I only summoned a newt on my first try!" he assured her. Hinata didn't look convinced.

Himawari flashed through the hand seals with a fervor. "Summoning Jutsu!" she screamed, slamming the palm of her hand on the wooden floor, putting as much chakra into the technique as she could muster.

Naruto regretted not following his wife's advice instantly. A torrential cloud of white smoke erupted from where her palm struck the ground. The sound of wood splintering and breaking echoed through the house.

When the smoke cleared, a large toad with hide the color of cherry blossoms sat in Hinata's dining room, its head nearly touching the ceiling. The wooden floors beneath the toad had shattered into splinters under its weight, and the dining table was not in roughly four pieces.

Naruto choked on his laughter as he felt, more than saw, Hinata glare at him. "You forget our children are more talented than we were at that age, dear," she said with false calmness.

"Oi! Who summoned me!" a distinctly feminine voice called out.

"I did!" Himawari squealed. She was seated upon the toad's head, her legs dangling over the sides.

"Well get down here and let me take a look at you, brat!" the toad declared impatiently, her bulbous eyes rolling in their sockets as she tried to spy her summoner.

Himawari jumped off the toad, landing nimbly on her feet. She stared up at her summon with wide eyes, practically bursting with energy and excitement. Himawari quite liked _her_ toad. She was a pleasant color, not the ugly greens, reds, and browns that her father's were. She looked strong, too. Two horns erupted from her skull, just above her eye sockets. They were long and sharp, good for poking her brother, Himawari decided. Bulbous, orange colored eyes with oblong black pupils studied her with the same intensity that she studied the toad. Himawari quite liked them. They reminded her of sunsets.

"So, this one of your brats, Lord Naruto," the toad said. "Lord Fukasaku warned us it was only a matter of time," at this, the toad sighed. Naruto just laughed.

"Hey, hey!" Himawari cried, jumping up and down in an attempt to catch the toad's attention. "What's your name?"

"... Gamami," the toad said with a heavy sigh.

Himawari smiled brightly. "I'm Himawari Uzumaki!" she introduced herself.

"Just don't summon me inside someplace so small, next time," Gamami complained, being careful to not let her horns puncture the ceiling or break the light fixture.

Himawari nodded in agreement, and then the toad disappeared in a flash of smoke, returning to Mount Myōboku.

"Naruto," Hinata said, grabbing her husband's attention. "I expect this to be fixed in the morning," she said with a cheerful smile that she obviously didn't mean.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Gamami, 蝦蟇美 — "toad beauty," the name of Himawari's primary toad.

We will see mainly chapters split between Bolt, Sarada, and sometimes Himawari. Naruto and Hinata will fade into the background, though will still be part of the story. Of course, we'll naturally focus more on Bolt, since it is his story we're telling.

Eiji's dialogue is not me being a poor speller. He speaks with an accent, kind of a mix between southern and hip-hop. He's a veteran of the Fourth Great Ninja War, hailing from the Hidden Cloud, if that wasn't made clear by his description and dialogue.

As always, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. I'd appreciate it if you could leave a review. I read all of them, I promise!

\- Musica


	8. Chapter 8

Bolt was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. There wasn't much else to do. The Crimson Tide had immediately packed up shop and moved on, leaving the tiny island behind. It seemed odd, to Bolt, how quickly they just left. From what he could tell, the town had been under their thumb for many months. It didn't make much sense for them to just up and leave.

 _Maybe because they captured me_ , Bolt thought. Maybe they feared retaliation from the Hidden Leaf? He _was_ the son of the Hokage, as much as he hated it. His dad probably had some sort of team searching for him. Maybe Anbu.

 _Maybe nobody,_ a dark voice in Bolt's head whispered. Maybe his dad was glad to have him gone, finally. The family that he never had time for was finally diminished by one. By one, the greatest embarrassment to their family.

Bolt tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Especially with his dark thoughts.

Sighing heavily, he stood, and made his way over to the small porthole window in his cabin. The ship rocked with the waves as they sailed through the night. He stared out over the water, watching as waves rolled by. The candlelight danced in the reflection of the window, giving him just enough light to see his face. Alone, and without the constant watchful eye of Eiji or Hikari, he finally took the chance to channel chakra into his eyes.

Bolt felt a pressure build behind his eyeballs, not uncomfortable, but there all the same. He felt the skin on his forehead and temple writhe, as veins he didn't even know he had bulged and pulsed with every beat of his heart. His eyes, the vibrant sky blue that Sarada had complimented him on, faded to a pale shade of lavender. His pupils faded entirely, leaving his eyes eerily blank, almost as if he was blind.

And yet, he wasn't. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was not unseeing, but all seeing. The world was aflame with azure fire as everything turned _blue_. He could see every minute detail and flaw in the glass he stared through. Every pore in the imperfections the glassmaker had made.

There was a dizziness that came with the Byakugan that Bolt didn't expect. The sensation of, quite literally, having eyes in the back of his head made his mind spin. Without turning, he could see the entirety of the rest of his small cabin. The bunk bolted to the floor on the wall opposite of him. The door opposite the bed. The small desk and chair bolted to the floor next to him.

It wasn't just the range of his vision that disturbed him, but the acuity of it. He could see the grains in the wooden floor on the opposite side of the room. He could clearly make out the scuff marks on the doorframe where it had been opened and closed one too many times without a fresh layer of lacquer. He could see the wear and tear on the doorknob, once a golden color, now worn down to steel after countless years of hands turning it.

Dropping his gaze to his hands, he examined himself. There was a ball of fire roaring in his belly, the distinctive hue of chakra. Thin veins extended from the fire, circulating and connecting his body. Every once in a great while, a small nodule of fire broke up the veins.

Bolt knew that what he was seeing was the chakra pathway system. He had learned about it extensively, thanks to the academy and his grandfather. This was the true target of the Gentle Fist. To attack an opponent's chakra directly. To cripple them, and leave them unable to fight back. He had learned the Gentle Fist from a young age, along with his sister, but he could never apply the fighting style as well as her without the aid of the Byakugan. Now, he could clearly see the chakra points with his Byakugan, where with the slightest touch of the Gentle Fist, he could close.

Bolt could see a silhouette through the walls, walking down the hallway towards his cabin. The silhouette opened his door, without even knocking.

It was Hikari.

Her chakra was… interesting, Bolt decided. Calm, like a pool of water. Yet, underneath, raging, like the tide. He got the distinct feel of both water and lightning from her. Hikari took one look at his back, before her eyes drifted to his reflection in the window of the porthole. Instantly, three throwing needles appeared in her hands, held lightly between the tips of her fingers. Had Bolt not had his Byakugan activated, he would have missed the slight twitch of her fingers as the needles fell from somewhere inside the sleeve of her fatigues.

"What are you doing?" Hikari demanded. Bolt could see, through the slits of her Hidden Mist hunter mask, cold, hard eyes staring at him, watching for any hint of movement.

Bolt sighed, and let his Byakugan fade. Instantly, the world returned to normal. When he turned around, Hikari had returned the needles to wherever they had come from. She threw a bag at him that she had held in her free hand. "Change into these," she said. "You're a member of the Crimson Tide, now. You should look the part," she added, eying his threadbare black jacket and slacks.

Bolt caught the bag. Looking inside, he found a set of fatigues similar to what Hikari herself wore; matte black, trimmed in red. _At least they have good taste,_ Bolt thought, thinking back to his favorite outfit he wore in the Hidden Leaf. He pulled the clothes out, examining them. They looked like they would fit. Bolt started to unbutton his jacket when he noticed that Hikari hadn't left yet. "Do—do you mind?" Bolt asked.

"No," Hikari responded flatly. She had her hands held behind her back, standing at rest in a military fashion. Bolt thought he saw the silver gleam of throwing needles hiding between her knuckles, ready to be thrown at a moment's notice.

Turning away from her, cheeks flaming, he quickly stripped out of his threadbare travelling clothes and into the Crimson Tide fatigues. He resolved to never again practice his Byakugan in front of her, if this what was going to happen. Hikari nodded to him as she took in his appearance. "Good. Landfall is in approximately thirty minutes. Be ready to disembark then," she commanded, before turning on her heels and stalking out of the room.

Bolt tied his Eddy headband right around his skull, before packing up his meager belongings. The Crimson Tide had searched his pack and the scrolls within, but had taken nothing. His scratched Leaf headband, that marked him as a rogue, was sealed on a scrap of paper that he hid in his boots. They hadn't found it. Not that it mattered, much. Eiji and Hikari knew he was the son of the Hokage and a Leaf ninja. The others, however, didn't. He would prefer to keep it that way, just in case.

A bell tolled in the distance, and through the porthole, Bolt could see a flash of bright light every few seconds. There was a dull roar above deck as feet pounded on wood, running back and forth. Shrugging on his backpack, he slipped out of his cabin, noticing that there weren't any guards posted. Meekly navigating the narrow halls, he made his way above deck.

"Furl the sails, ye' scurvy bilge rats!" Bolt heard Eiji's distinctive, booming voice roar. Men and women scurried across the deck, taking the sails down. A rogue wave rocked the boat, sending misty spray across the deck that soaked the crew. Eiji's laughter boomed over the roar of the ocean.

Bolt saw a burly man struggling with a length of rope as the wind threatened to drag him skyward, along with the sail. The man's head turned on a swivel, his eyes locking with Bolt. "Help!" he barked. He didn't even seem to realize that Bolt was a new recruit. Jogging across the deck, avoiding other members of the Crimson Tide, he helped the man secure his rigging.

Another huge wave rocked the ship. Bolt's stomach lurched as he wrapped his arms around the mast of the ship, along with his newfound comrade. They got an eyeful of the raging ocean for a brief moment before the ship righted itself. Thunder boomed in the distance as lightning crackled through pregnant stormclouds.

The weather was getting worse.

"Where the hell are we going?" Bolt yelled to the man he had helped earlier.

"Shipwreck Isle! Not much farther now!" the man yelled in response.

 _Great,_ Bolt thought. _Shipwreck Isle. Shipwreck. Just where we should go. In a ship._

"Hard to port!" Eiji boomed, his voice roaring over the thunder. Through the darkness, a massive spire of rock erupted from the waves. Around it were the carcasses of ships from ages past. They avoided it by no more than a few yards. Bolt could have jumped and landed on it. Eiji's laughter boomed over the deck. Bolt didn't think it was that funny.

No more than ten feet away from them, a sudden gust of wind ripped a woman off the deck of the ship and cast her into the night. She screamed, and then was silent. "Man overboard!" the man he helped earlier yelled. The rigging she had been tying down flapped in the wind, as the sail went limp. Bolt and the man scrambled over to the flailing rigging, and were joined by another man. The three of them managed to tie down the rigging and secure the sail.

A moment later, the woman appeared again, thrown onto the deck of the ship, coughing up water. Bolt watched as Hikari crawled over the ship's railing. Her porcelain Hidden Mist hunter mask was orange in the lantern light, giving her a fearsome appearance.

That was how their voyage continued for nearly five minutes. Rogue waves swept across the deck and raging winds tore at their bodies, threatening to send them overboard. Spires of rock and old shipwrecks emerged from the darkness of the night, proving the name of the island they were heading towards.

The sound of a bell tolling louder and louder in the night heralded their arrival. Through the darkness, Bolt could make out the sandy beach of an island. "Land ho!" Eiji boomed, breaking into barking laughter. They had nearly beached their ship, sailing as blind as they were.

The sailors jumped ship, landing atop the shallow water. Their feet glowed with chakra in the night as they ran ashore, eager to be on solid land once more. Bolt joined them, all too happy to get off the ocean. A large hand slammed into his back, knocking him face first into the sand. Bolt recoiled, spitting out clumps of sand from his mouth. "Nice job, brat! Fine pair o' sealegs you got, there," Eiji boomed, his voice carrying through the night. Bolt didn't think the man knew what quiet was.

"... Thanks," Bolt said, half-heartedly. Hikari appeared out of thin air, nearly making him jump in surprise.

"Come on, brat. Let me welcome you to the crew!" Eiji said, pulling Bolt to his feet and dragging him towards the flickering candlelights in the distance.

He guided him to a rickety old building, with a sign hanging over the door. _The Rusty Kunai_ , it read. A large, red-brown colored kunai was hung under the sign, rusted beyond use. Eiji opened the door, with Bolt trailing behind him. Hikari followed behind Bolt, unnerving him. She was too quiet for his tastes. Always silent. Always observing.

Bolt jumped to the side, years of training honing his instincts. Two large, barechested men tumbled on the floor. The larger of the two had pinned the smaller man, and proceeded to beat his face in, feeding him his own teeth. Eiji cackled with mirth. "No place like the Rusty Kunai, brat! Finest tavern this side of the world!" he boomed.

Bolt didn't agree with that. At all. There were men brawling, beating each other half to death with bar stools or empty bottles of liquor. Scantily clad women served food and drink, causing Bolt's cheeks to turn crimson. Some wore more skin than cloth. He wondered why they even bothered to dress at all.

Eiji pulled him towards a booth that had been quickly vacated the moment the Crimson Tide members walked in. Bolt, Eiji, and Hikari took a seat, and were joined by several other members of the mercenary company. The other members found their seats elsewhere in the tavern. Eiji held up his hand, signalling the bartender. The two of them shared a nod.

A few moments later, a middle-aged woman dressed in dark leathers brought them a jug of saké and several small cups. Eiji quickly snatched up the bottle, and poured everyone at the table a drink.

Even Bolt. "Er, I'm underaged…" Bolt protested weakly.

Everyone at the table, except Hikari, burst into laughter. "Not no more you ain't, brat! Old enough to kill, old enough to drink!" Eiji barked, lifting his cup in cheers. The rest did the same. They waited for Bolt to join them.

He did so, smiling weakly. "To the new blood of the Crimson Tide!" Eiji declared, before downing his drink.

"Cheers!" the others echoed. Only Hikari left her cup on the table, untouched, her mask never moving from its place. Bolt watched the others for a moment, before throwing his cup back and downing the drink in a single gulp like they had. His throat burned and his eyes watered, causing him to cough and sputter.

Eiji and the others laughed, one man was brought to tears. Bolt didn't think it was that funny as he choked on his saliva.

Hikari sighed heavily at their antics. She placed the palm of her hand on Bolt's back, glowing in a soft, green light. The Mystic Palm instantly soothed the burning in his lungs and let him breathe easier.

"Thanks!" Bolt beamed, turning to face whoever had helped him. "I, uh, mean, thank you, ma'am!" Bolt added quickly, seeing that it had been Hikari. His "master," according to Eiji.

Hikari rolled her eyes. She thought he would have saluted had he not been seated.

Eiji poured him another cup, sliding it across the table towards Bolt. He sipped this one, not wanting to appear rude. Or weak. It went down much easier, and he felt a warmth spread from his belly to his limbs. The others descended into conversation. Bolt sat and listened quietly, taking in the sounds and sights of the tavern. Bolt would never admit it, but it was nice, in a way. Warm and loud, with an almost tangible cheer to the atmosphere.

He flashed Hikari a smile, noticing that she was doing the same thing he was. Her drink remained untouched, and probably would remain so, Bolt thought. She remained motionless, ignoring him.

The large man that Bolt helped on the ship raised his hand, flagging over one of the barmaids. She wore little more than a strip of cloth around her breasts and a skirt that was sinfully short. Bolt's eyes widened comically as the man groped her. The barmaid didn't even bat an eye. She reached for one of the beer bottles she carried and broke it over the man's skull.

Bolt watched as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and was knocked unconscious. He was pretty sure he had a skull fracture, too. Everyone in the tavern roared in laughter at the man's fate. Hikari rose, placing the palm of her hand on my man's head. Her hand glowed green for a moment as she insured that he wouldn't die from his injuries—or stupidity. Bolt watched in surprise as Hikari, who was only slightly taller than himself, and certainly weaker, hoisted the much larger, fully grown man out of his seat and slung him over her shoulder. She carried the man out of the tavern, and from what Bolt could see, headed back to their ship.

Eiji wrapped an arm around Bolt's shoulders, causing him to wrinkled his nose as he was assaulted by the strong smell of alcohol. "That's my girl!" Eiji boomed, his compliment echoing through the room. Bolt's ears rang. "Strong as an ox; best healer I've ever seen! And I've seen some medics in the war, kid."

Bolt just nodded. Eiji pushed his cup towards him. Reluctantly, Bolt took a few small sips, which seemed to satisfy the middle-aged man. "Ya' know," Eiji slurred. "I didn't mean it. What I said. In the place. 'Bout yo' hands. Just scarred ya'."

"Why?" Bolt asked. He didn't think he was lying. He seemed too… innocent, almost, to lie. And too drunk. Far too drunk.

"Seen what yo' daddy can do," Eiji said, taking another sip of the strong alcohol. "Strongest man I ever done seen. Some say he a god. You gon' be strong, too. I can feel it in me bones."

Eiji downed the rest of the drink, leaned back, and passed out. Bolt didn't know what he meant. Moving slowly, assuring himself with every movement that the drunken man wasn't going to suddenly wake, Bolt retreated, slipping out under the table. He easily weaved his way through two women—a barmaid, and another girl—who were rolling around on the ground, scratching at each other's eyes and pulling their hair.

He quickly made his way back to their ship, and found his room. Bolt uttered a silent prayer that no one had stopped him. He hadn't seen a single member of the Crimson Tide, or Hikari. Grinning, he sat cross legged on his bed and activated his Byakugan. Focussing, he peered through the walls. His range of vision was limited, perhaps only stretching twenty yards. But it was enough. He was alone.

Bolt let the Byakugan fade, giddy excitement boiling up inside him. He held his arm out, displaying the sealing matrix on his forearm. The Crimson Tide had noticed it immediately, but had been unable to open it. Bolt smirked, knowing that it was locked to his own chakra. He pressed his index finger into the correct character, channeling chakra into it. The scroll he had received from the Uzukage peaked out, the swirling silver caps at the end of the scroll visible. He deftly plucked the scroll from the seal, removing it. Unfurling it for the first time, Bolt began to read.

The scroll was blank.

Bolt frowned. After a moment of holding the scroll, inky characters spread across it. His beaming smile returned.

" _I imagine you have many questions about what you'll be learning in this scroll, my brightest pupil,"_ Bolt read, his mind supplying the voice of the Uzukage as he read her words. _"What is contained in this scroll is the knowledge I myself have learned over the long years, and a compilation of techniques and wisdom gleaned from the Scroll of Secrets you yourself helped us recover. For which, I, and the rest of the clan, will be forever in your debt."_

" _The first thing you must learn, before continuing your education, is exactly_ why _the Uzumaki clan was feared as we were. Our strong vitality and skill with sealing techniques, of course. All of our clan know that. But it is why we had strong vitality, and why we were skilled with sealing techniques, that is the question."_ Bolt pondered that. He didn't really question why the Uzumaki had more vitality than normal people. He didn't really question why other clans had their unique traits, either.

" _The Uzumaki clan have a strong Yang chakra; the physical energy that governs life. This is our greatest weapon, and the source of our most powerful seals. To master them, you must learn to first knead your chakra into Yang chakra..."_

Bolt read the scroll late into the night, until the lone candle that lit his room had burnt out.

* * *

Bolt awoke the next morning, sluggish and lethargic. He had fallen asleep with a pleasant warmth pulsing throughout his body, courtesy of the drinks Eiji had given him. Now, he felt physically sick, even though he wasn't. Groaning, he sat up in bed.

Bolt yawned. He flailed as his door was practically kicked down. Hikari strode in, looking like a conquering general touring the battlefield. "Get up. If I have to deal with one more drunken fool today…" she threatened.

Bolt dressed and made himself presentable faster than he ever had before in his life. Hikari stormed from his room, stalking down the halls of their ship. Bolt didn't need to be told to follow. He didn't want to imagine what "drunken fool" she had dealt with already this morning. He was probably dead.

Hikari led Bolt down a gangplank and onto the sandy beach of Shipwreck Isle. In the daylight, without the raging storm, the island was nice. Tropical, almost. They must have headed south, from where Bolt had been. Perhaps an island somewhere in the gulf south of the Land of Fire and east of the Land of Wind? It was possible.

She led him away from the small rickety town and towards a cove barely visible in the distance from where they had docked. Bolt saw men and women passed out in the sand. The beach was littered with discarded bottles and articles of clothing.

Eventually, they came upon a secluded cove. Crystal clear blue water pooled in the center, surrounded by white sand with black basalt rocks that loomed over them. A copse of palm trees prevented anyone from spying on them from above.

Bolt found that a ragtag band of Crimson Tide members, including their leader, Eiji, had gathered in the cove. Bolt saw Takeo, the rogue brute that was so prone to violence, and his partner, the technical fighter from the night he had been caught, Hiroki. There were a few others, people Bolt assumed were high ranking members of the company. He didn't know their names.

Bolt snickered under his breath as he came close enough to make out Eiji's expression. He held his head between his hands, massaging his temples, and looking very unhappy to be awake. Hikari coughed, her hands on her hips. Despite the mask, Bolt could tell those hard green eyes were boring holes in the man. The drunken fool had been identified.

"Right!" Eiji yelled, his voice lacking its normal "boom," for which, Bolt was eternally thankful. "Time to whip you whelps into shapes, ya' fools! Our next job is a big one, and we can't have no stragglers! Our client has requested the best of the best, and you lot are it! New blood, you're up! Show us what you can do."

Bolt looked around. Everyone was staring at him. He suddenly felt very nervous. _Of course,_ he thought bitterly. _New blood. That's you. Newest member. Right._

Of course, he wasn't _really_ going to show them what he could do. His Byakugan, Gentle Fist, and sealing techniques would remain shrouded. Instead, he quickly began weaving hand seals, going through the elemental jutsu he knew. "Water Release: Water Bullet Jutsu!" Lances of water hissed through the air, breaking against the stone walls of the cove.

Laughter erupted.

Bolt's cheeks turned a shade of crimson. One of the men, a portly man whose shirt was failing to contain his belly, was brought to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. Eiji wiped a tear from his eye. "Man, you really are from one of the big villages, aint'cha? Never seen war before. Never even been in a real fight, I reckon," he said.

Bolt frowned thunderously at that. He had been in plenty of real fights. "Ain't never fought a man that was tryin' ta' kill ya'. Yellin' like that only makes his job easier. Gotta be real quiet like, ya' see. Make him guess what the seals are for. Trick 'em into thinking you're using fire, then unleash water," Eiji lectured.

"Hikari! Get this brat up to the Crimson Tide standard!" he boomed, his voice back to normal. "We leave in one week! Hidden Mist has a shipment of weapons grade chakra metal comin' in, and we're gonna liberate 'em of it!"

* * *

Sarada panted, her hands resting on her knees. They had searched every island between the Land of Water and Land of Lightning to the north. Every single one. They hadn't found a trace of Bolt.

That left only one option: south. Past where they had circled up to the island where Bolt had been taken, into the gulf between the Lands of Fire and Wind.

There had been no word from the Hidden Mist.

He had to be there.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I am still looking for original character suggestions!** I've narrowed my needs down to two characters: one man, and one woman. They may be as powerful as you like, within reason. One bloodline, _excluding_ eyes. They may hail from any village, of which, I have _not_ used the Lands of: Rivers, Grass, Waterfalls, Hot Water/Steam, Sound, and Frost. If you'd like to submit suggestions, please leave a review or send me a personal message! Thanks.

My plans for this arc in the story: Bolt serves his three years. We won't spend too much time on them, but they are important. We'll likely spend 4 to 6 chapters going through his service, seeing Bolt grow as a person and become stronger. We'll also see a little bit more of Sarada, as well as what she and Himawari are doing during this time.

The Crimson Tide isn't an "evil" organization, per se. They are mercenaries. They sell their services to the highest bidder. Make of that what you will. With "peace" reigning in the nations, there has been a growing demand for services that ninja formerly provided, but no longer do. Of course, where there is a demand, there is money to be made, and thus, people happy to provide the supply. The Crimson Tide are merely one group of these people.

One little "power up" I've given the Byakugan is that it is able to "see" elemental affinities, which is why Bolt gets the impression of water and lightning from Hikari (her affinities). This is taken from Naruto Shippuden: the Movie. Technically, the movies are not canon (with the exception of The Last and Boruto) but I figure this one tiny little thing won't hurt. Let me know what you guys think!

Guest — I'm not sure what you're talking about? Bolt makes his clones the same way as everyone else: by splitting his chakra into 1/x, where x is the number of clones. If a clone were to perform the jutsu, _their_ chakra would also be split into 1/x, where x is the number of clones. On this note, Bolt also won't be using the Shadow Clone Jutsu as extensively as Naruto. He recognizes the weaknesses and strengths of the jutsu more than his father, and as such, will use it accordingly.

Next chapter! Bolt and Sarada are reunited, we see what our new characters are capable of, and some feels. As always, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review, if you can find it in your heart to do so.

\- Musica


	9. Chapter 9

Masters existed in degrees, Bolt came to understand. Some, like his academy professor, Shino Aburame, were instructors. They stood in front of a class and shared their knowledge with the younger generations. Some, like Sarada's father, Sasuke, were more like mentors. They gave hints here and there, prodding their students in the right direction. Then there were _masters_ , like the Uzukage. Strict. Powerful. Knowledgeable.

Hikari was a _master_. She tore apart his style of fighting like a rabid dog tearing into a raw, bloody haunch of meat. Every little flaw. Every little imperfection. Nothing escaped her watchful eyes behind the Hidden Mist hunter mask. They started with his form. He was too rigid, too "formal," according to Hikari. This wasn't the classroom; it was the battlefield. He needed to be loose. Fluid. Flexible. Unpredictable.

Then came her assault upon his proficiency in jutsu. By the time Hikari had broken Bolt of his almost instinctual need to shout the name of his jutsu before unleashing it, he sported a number of black, yellow, and purple welts all over his body.

That was another thing. Professor Aburame would have lectured him on his mistakes. Not Hikari. Hikari said that the body was better at remembering than the mind. After three days of having medical ninjutsu enhanced punches and kicks batter him, Bolt agreed. Like a child remembering that the burners of an oven were hot after touching them once, Bolt eventually quelled the need to verbalize his intent that the academy had driven into him. His techniques were weaker, but they were sudden and swift; no sign to warn his enemies.

"It is a crutch," Hikari had told him. "A tool with which to ease those inexperienced in the control of their chakra. The hand seals and verbalization give them something to do; something to focus on. Something to expect results from. A skilled ninja can reduce both; a master, do away with them entirely. For example, Water Release: Water Dragon. It requires forty-four hand seals by default. Too many to be used in combat. But, masters of the technique can cut that number down by more than half. The Mizukage are infamous for this."

In a way, Bolt had always known that. The Rasengan required no hand seals or verbalization. Merely intent. _Rotation. Power. Containment._ It was simply a matter of learning and applying it to other aspects.

Easier said than done.

Then came the tests. From the basics—transformation to body replacement—to the more intricate; water walking, wall climbing, clones, and shurikenjutsu. To Bolt's immense pride, she had little to find in the way of flaws in those areas. Taijutsu—the one place where he was her better. Even in the Land of Water, the Gentle Fist reigned supreme. He withheld from manifesting his Byakugan, but the fighting style of the Hyūga came to him naturally. A gentle prod here. A caress there. An open-palmed strike. That was all it took for her to admit defeat. She coaxed from him his nature affinities; Water, Lightning, and Wind. Demonstrations of each, adhering to her expectations with hand seals and verbalization, earned him a reprieve from training.

One day to rest. Two days before they left to steal a shipment of chakra metal from the Hidden Mist.

* * *

The ship's timbers groaned in protest as another rogue wave crashed upon it. The first time, it had alarmed Bolt. Now, it was just pleasant static. Something to listen to at night while he fell asleep. Something to focus the mind on, instead of his troubles in life.

He sat, legs crossed, on his bed, reading late into the afternoon. Bolt didn't often have the opportunity to read from the Uzukage's scroll, but he relished every chance he got. The first "lesson" of the scroll was to begin practicing the moulding of Yang chakra.

Bolt simply couldn't figure it out, and it frustrated him to no end. The other elements came easy to him; the soft caress of the wind, the soothing touch of water, and the scorching bite of lightning. It was easy to picture what he wanted his chakra to transform into when it came to the elements. But Yang chakra was different. It was _life_ ; the sun beating down upon his back, the strength of trees as they grew, the ache in his muscles after a long sparring session. How was one supposed to transform their chakra into _that_?

He didn't even know any Yang, or Yin, techniques. Bolt knew that Chōchō and the Akimichi clan used Yang release for their Multi-Size techniques, but it was a secret they guarded closely. Now, he wished he had paid more attention to his classmates. Even knowing more about Shikadai's shadow techniques, which were based on Yin release, would have helped him greatly.

There was a light knock at his door.

Bolt learned he didn't have any rights, especially the right to privacy. He moved faster than he thought his body capable, hiding the scroll away in the seal on his arm. He had successfully fooled any who asked that the seal was for weapons. Bolt hoped the day never came when he had to fish a shuriken out of it.

Hikari entered, her eyes glinting with a hard light behind her mask. "We're mooring at an island to wait out the storm," she informed him with the familiar military efficiency he had come to associate with her. "Stretch your legs. We won't be stopping again until the mainland."

Bolt favored her with a small smile and nodded his head. He figured, if he was going to be working with her—and the Crimson Tide—he might as well try to make friends. His time with the mercenary company would be much more bearable that way.

She bowed to him, ever so slightly, and left him to his thoughts. She was strange, Bolt thought. Hikari seemed out of place among the riffraff that formed the ranks of the Crimson Tide. There were rogue ninja, men and women who had been either banished from their villages for their crimes, or chose to leave willingly before their punishment could be exacted. There were ninja who still swore allegiance to their homes, but who, for some reason, worked abroad for a mercenary company of all things. Much more common, and numerous, were common thugs and bandits. Actual ninja were rare. Bolt estimated them to number under twenty. And they were all brutes, who held little honor or class. They cared only for themselves, and would do any task provided with the proper motivation. Mainly coin.

Hikari wasn't any of that. Which begged the question, why was she there?

Bolt felt the ship come to a stop as their anchor caught on the seafloor. He scampered across his cabin to the door and made his way above deck. They moored just off a small atoll. It was beautiful, really. Everything was, this far south. The waters were crystal clear and so very _blue_. He could see white sand sparkling beneath its surface, and coral reefs of every color of the rainbow. Exotic fish and aquatic animals he had never seen before swam just an arm's length beneath the waves.

Jumping overboard, Bolt jogged at a comfortable pace for the beach. The atoll was a paradise. All white sand and dancing palm trees. The lagoon was a maze of rock that had been hollowed out by the tide. In the basin, there were deep tide pools with scurrying crabs and small fish; mussels, starfish, and sea anemones coated the rocks. Bolt saw a turtle every once in awhile.

It was the perfect place to go exploring. He could get lost there, and knew the ship wouldn't leave without him.

And so, he explored.

* * *

Sarada was lost in her thoughts as she ran. Their group had descended into silence during their long sprints across the vast expanse of water between islands. It hadn't always been that way. They had been away from their home for weeks, living off sparse meals and sleeping in the elements. It wore them down.

But still, they continued on. It was their duty. Their mission to the village. The Hokage had ordered them to find Bolt; it was an official mission. A-class. But, more than that, Bolt was their friend. He was the prisoner of some group of brigands, possibly being sold to the highest bidder. He was an Uzumaki and a Hyūga, son of the Hokage. Sarada shivered at the thought of some monster buying him. Like Orochimaru.

They had to find him.

Overhead, the clouds changed. From snowy white to angry gray. In the distance, she could make out a light sprinkle of rain. Her eyes bled from black to red; her Sharingan whirling in both eyes. Far ahead, she could see the waves grow tumultuous. "The waves ahead look dangerous," she informed Yamato, who led them at the front. As an Anbu, he seemed to have an almost unnatural understanding of direction and the lay of the land. He was never lost.

"We'll stop at the island, up ahead," he informed them. Next to her, Konohamaru sighed in relief. Mitsuki, silent as ever, brought up the rear of the group. Sarada turned her head to take in her teammate's condition. He looked bored, but not tired. Mitsuki gave her a reassuring nod that made Sarada smile. It had begun to feel like she was the only one out here to save Bolt, for Bolt. Konohamaru and Yamato had slowly descended into serious discipline. This had become a mission for them; nothing more, nothing less.

Sarada knew their master cared for Bolt, just like he cared for each of them. She had to wonder why he had become so detached. Maybe that was his way of coping, she thought. Maybe it made the idea of never finding him more bearable. It certainly kept her awake at night. Ever since the old woman had told her that the Crimson Tide had dragged Bolt through the town, unconscious, a new fire had been lit within her. Sarada would find him and bring him home, safe. She swore it.

"I'll scout the island," Yamato told them, as they trudged up the beach. Everyone nodded, too tired to speak.

Sarada slid down the trunk of a palm tree, basking in the comfortable warmth of the sand. "Here," Mitsuki said. He handed her a coconut. She smiled, taking out a kunai and poking holes in the small indentations of the shell. Sarada drank, savoring the slightly sweet, nutty taste of the water. She watched as Mitsuki extended his arm, dislocating his joints and lengthening it with chakra, and snatched another coconut from the tree she sat against. He did the same as she had, drinking from his coconut.

The both of them watched as Konohamaru climbed a tree to fetch his own coconut. They laughed as he gathered several in his arms, before dropping them all. In his haste to not fall himself, he knocked loose a coconut that hit him on the head. Konohamaru dropped to the ground, swaying comically, putting on a show for his students. Sarada and Mitsuki laughed.

Yamato burst through the foliage, startling them. "We're not alone. Single ship, docked on the far side of the island. Numerous men and women on the beach, dressed in combat fatigues. Mostly thugs—handful of ninja," he briefed them, quick and to the point. They got the message. Prepare for a fight. "Red headbands on the ninja suggest possible Crimson Tide mercenaries, based on intel from the Hidden Mist."

Sarada's breath caught in her chest. This was it. She shared a quick glance with Mitsuki. He gave her a single, purposeful nod. They followed Yamato, hiding in the bushes and behind copses of palm trees. Their pace was quick and full of purpose as they came to kneel behind a rocky outcropping just inside the treeline.

Sarada's eyes bled from black to red again. She could clearly see the faces of the men and women lingering on the beach. Four, in particular, caught her attention. One was a middle-aged man, with dark skin and pale blonde hair. He was bulky, but not hulking. From the way the others gathered around them, he appeared to be their leader. Definitely from the Land of Lightning. The other was a girl, dressed in baggy fatigues that wore a Hidden Mist hunter mask. The other two were complete opposites; one short and musclebound, the other tall and thin. All four had headbands, denoting them as ninja. Two—the leader and the musclebound man—had scratched their emblems. Rogues.

They seemed to be having a conversation. Sarada focused, willing her eyes to read their lips. Her mouth parroted theirs, words spilling quietly to her group. "... Where is he? Should have been... back an hour ago," she whispered. "Big man," she added, so her team would know who was talking. They listened with rapt attention.

"He's... probably just exploring... island is beautiful... lagoon is nice," she repeated. "Thin man," she indicated.

"Leader laughs," Sarada parroted. "... Let him, we've got... time in the world. Don't have to be... at the drop point... for another... days."

Sarada watched as the large man growled. "Relax..." she said. "Thin man calming big man," Sarada clarified. "We... won't fail the job... our reputation is... solid. Crimson Tide—"

"It's them!" Sarada hissed.

That was all the information they needed. "Let's go," Yamato commanded. The four of them leapt from their hiding places, crossing the beach in an instant. The few unlucky souls who found themselves between their team and the four "leaders" of the Crimson Tide paid for their sins with great pain.

As fast as they had been, the four had been faster. The big man and the thin man were back to back, covering each other's weaknesses. The middle-aged man from the Land of Lightning stood at the front, hands on his hips and an arrogant smirk on his face. The girl with the mask stood behind him, throwing needles held deftly between her fingers.

They were ready for a fight.

Yamato stepped forward. "You are members of the mercenary company dubbed 'The Crimson Tide', are you not?" he questioned.

"Yes'sir," the boss, as Sarada had dubbed him, said. "That's me—us," he answered proudly.

"By order of the Mizukage, you are wanted men. However, this is not the territory of the Land of Water," he said, surprising Sarada. "We have it on good authority that you have captured a comrade of ours. Return him to us, and we will let you walk free."

Sarada smiled. Yamato did care. The boss' arrogance only seemed to increase at the challenge. "Ya' see, I don't really feel like handin' over our biggest pay day," he boasted. Sarada grit her teeth. He talked about Bolt like he was a walking suitcase of ryō. "I'm of the mind to keep 'im. What you guys think?" he asked, looking at his comrades.

"I still owe the little bastard a thrashing," the large man growled.

From the corner of her eye, Sarada's Sharingan picked up the distinct narrowing of Konohamaru's eyes.

That was all the warning she got before the fighting broke out. Yamato weaved a few quick seals, slamming his hand to the ground. Great roots of wood erupted, seeking to ensnare their opponents. "Holy shit!" Sarada heard the thin man yelp.

"Takeo! Hiroki! You take care of the jōnin," Sarada heard the boss issue commands to the big and thin man. "Hikari, deal with the brats. The Wood user is mine."

Sarada's eyes snapped to the girl, who, she noticed, did not meet her gaze. Smart. "Mitsuki! Let's go!" Sarada called. He was right behind her. The girl—Hikari—launched a barrage of throwing needles at the two of them. Sarada dodged with ease. Her Sharingan tracked each projectile in slow motion, showing her the path they would take. It was child's play. Mitsuki followed his teammate, knowing she wouldn't be touched. And therefore, neither would he.

They closed the gap in an instant. Sarada was distantly aware of Yamato and the boss fighting. Konohamaru fought the two men on the far side of the beach, giving Yamato plenty of room for his wood techniques.

Sarada grit her teeth, channeling chakra into her fist. Just like her mother had taught her. She swung hard and fast. Hikari dipped backwards, evading her punch by a hair. The wind whooshed by her, shaking her mask. Sarada contorted her body as the girl retaliated. Her hand was coated in the distinctive green glow of medical ninjutsu. She wielded her hand like a knife, cutting at her.

Sarada winced in discomfort as the fingertip of Hikari's middle finger grazed her shirt, cutting it and drawing a thin line of blood. Mitsuki was right behind her, flinging both arms forward. From the folds of his robe came six sinuous, white snakes. They hissed and slithered forward faster than the eye could follow, seeking to bind and ensnare their master's enemy.

The snakes found their prey even as Sarada jumped back, weaving hand seals and bringing a fist to her mouth. She breathed fire as fierce as any dragon. Flames spewed forth, turning the sand a cherry red color; incinerating both Mitsuki's snakes and the girl they bound. As the heat and light died, Sarada could see the charred remains of the snakes wrapped around a small boulder. She heard the soft patter of feet running upon sand.

Sarada turned. Hikari came at her swinging, her hands coated in a green chakra that made the air hiss in their wake. Mitsuki was fighting a copy of the girl—a lightning clone, her Sharingan told her. "Mitsuki, don't touch the clone! It's made of lightning!"

Mitsuki stopped weaving seals for the earth jutsu he was about to use. Instead, he reached for a handful of shuriken and peppered the clone. The clone expertly dodged each one with ease that bespoke experience. She took a step forward and burst into electricity as a snake erupted from the sand and sank its fangs into her ankle. The snake was reduced to ash, but allowed its master to rejoin the fight against the original Hikari.

Sarada was on the defensive again, trying everything to put some distance between her and the hunter ninja. Unfortunately for Hikari, Sarada was well experienced in fighting against taijutsu that she couldn't afford to be hit by. Bolt's Gentle Fist was much stronger, and more dangerous, than her medical ninjutsu. Her Sharingan made it even less fair. But all the same, Hikari stuck with her.

Mitsuki placed his palms on the sand and channeled chakra into the stone far beneath the surface. A great earthen wall erupted behind Hikari the same moment three large spikes of rock shot towards her from beneath Sarada's feet. She had no choice but to leap backwards; trapped in the makeshift cage.

A massive wooden root burst through their small battlefield, saplings growing from it even as it rumbled forward. The earthen wall Mitsuki had raised was reduced to rubble. Sarada saw Hikari barely evade the wooden projectile through the dust and sand.

As the debris cleared, Sarada detected a large mass of chakra held by the root with her Sharingan. The man from the Land of Lightning—the one she thought was the leader—held the massive, growing root off with one arm. A thin sheen of chakra and lightning covered him, making his hair stand on end. Electricity arced between him, the ground, and the Wood technique. With a sudden burst of strength, he destroyed the end of the root binding him, making it explode into splinters.

"That's..." Sarada whispered.

"The Third and Fourth Raikage's Lightning Armor, or a derivation of it," Mitsuki supplied for her, in the same calm and calculating manner he always did.

The leader disappeared in a flash. Sarada's eyes could barely follow him. "But not as powerful as the Raikage themselves. Perhaps self-taught from imitation," Mitsuki continued his evaluation, noting the man's clearly slower speed and the diminished intensity of the armor. The Raikage were renowned for the technique; their speed, strength, and reflexes matched only by the Yellow Flash. The Crimson Tide's leader's technique was a pale imitation compared to legend.

Sarada pulled Mitsuki back as throwing needles rained down on them. The tips hissed as they sunk into the sand, causing black clumps of sand to bubble around the tips.

Poison.

Sarada weaved seals and unleashed a great ball of fire that cleared the clouds of sand obscuring her vision. "Fire Release: Fireball Jutsu!"

Hikari came charging at them through the smoke of the fire, green chakra coating her hands. As she ran, it faded. Sarada smirked. She ran forward, seeking to meet her in hand-to-hand combat. Bolt was usually their melee fighter, relying on his Gentle Fist. But, in a pinch, her chakra-enhanced strength she learned from her mother made her a formidable, and unsuspecting, opponent.

Hikari swung her fist. Sarada swung hers. They met in a collision that caused a blast of wind to explode outwards, levelling the sand of the beach and kicking up a cloud of debris.

Sarada retreated, back to the safety of where she last saw Mitsuki. She cradled her right fist with her left hand. The knuckles were mangled, bloody mess; the bones out of place. Her wrist felt like it was broken in several places, and she couldn't feel her fingers. Sarada berated herself. She should have known. Chakra-enhanced strength was derived from medical ninjutsu. Her opponent made no effort in hiding her skills.

She nearly collided with Mitsuki as he materialized out of the dust. He took one look at her hands and pulled her away from the battlefield. "You need to heal yourself," he instructed her. She couldn't even weave seals with her hands like that.

Sarada shook her head. "No, you can't beat her on your own. _I_ can't beat her on my own," she said, shaking him off.

Mitsuki surveyed the beach. Their Anbu escort, Yamato, was engaged in a fierce battle the the man cloaked in lightning armor, whilst their captain was fighting the one remaining man of the duo that had attacked him. Judging from Konohamaru's ragged breathing and tattered clothes, he was approaching his limit. "Retreat is the best option, for now. We know what they look like, and their mode of transportation, as well as range of activity. Hunting them down will be easier, next time," he informed her. Sarada shook her head determinedly.

"You must be his teammates," a disembodied voice spoke through the dust. "A pity."

"A pity?" Mitsuki asked, his ears straining to detect the direction from which their opponent spoke.

"A pity," Hikari said, from behind them. "That you followed him here."

Mitsuki lashed out at the girl as he felt a prick in his back. A white snake flew from the sleeve of his robe, hissing and snapping in the dust as she disappeared, like a ghost. He dropped to his knees as he lost feeling in his limbs.

"Mitsuki! Are you alright!" Sarada yelled, rushing to his side.

"Poison," he informed her, as calm as ever. "Paralysis; not harmful. Be careful." His jaw went slack, though his eyes remained focused on her, trying to communicate some unspoken message.

The dust cleared. Sarada's eyes snapped to her opponent in an instant. The knuckles of her right fist were bruised, an ugly purple-yellow, but she was otherwise unharmed from their previous clash.

Sarada's eyes bled read, whirling. The two of them stared each other down. Sarada could see the disdain the hunter ninja held for them in her eyes; cold and hard behind her mask. As if they dared to come rescue their friend.

Her Sharingan slowed, returning to normal—but they were not the same. Where once there had been one tomoe in each eye, now there were two. Sarada's vision blurred as her visual acuity increased twofold. The world seemed clearer. Slower.

Sarada held her lame right arm to her waist as she dropped her left to her side. She channeled chakra into it, a mass of blue-white energy that flickered in the wind like a flame. Then, she willed it to transform. From energy, to lightning. It was quiet at first, a high pitched squeaking that the ear had to strain to hear. Then, it was louder. Electricity arced between her and the sand. Everywhere it touched, the sand turned to molten glass; glowing a bright orange. The intensity of the sound increased, until it was deafening. As if standing in a storm of birds, all crying out at once.

Sarada sprinted forward with a speed she didn't know she had, ignoring Mitsuki's feeble shaking of his head. She thrust her hand forward like a knife, coated in arcing, screaming lightning. "Chidori!" Sarada screamed, as she thrust her hand at the girl's chest, right where her heart was. It was a technique that her father taught to her, partly in apology for not being present during her childhood.

Sarada watched in grim fascination as the hunter ninja stumbled back, preparing to receive her attack. Her own hand came up, coated in chakra. Her fascination turned to disbelief, then horror, as the girl caught her hand by the wrist, her forearm covered in lightning from her fingers to her elbow, effectively making her immune to Sarada's own lightning.

She watched—in painfully slow motion, thanks to her Sharingan—as Hikari brought up her free hand, fist clenched in what was surely a crippling chakra-enhanced punch.

A flash of black steel and white parchment cut between them, drawing their eyes. A kunai was embedded in the sand, a small tag of paper tied to the end by a string. The paper was covered in writing that glowed a fiery orange color. An explosive tag.

Hikari leapt backwards, leaving Sarada to be blown to smithereens, rolling away from the inferno that she was sure would come.

It never did.

"Stop!" a distinctly young, male voice echoed over the beach.

Bolt appeared, standing atop the remains of one of Yamato's Wood techniques. "Enough!" Bolt yelled. "No more fighting!"

Sarada's breath caught in her chest. Bolt was taller than she remembered. Thinner, too. The result of a life on the run, living off rations. He held several kunai in his hands, each with an explosive tag on them. Her Sharingan pulled her eyes up, to his hairline. He wore his headband in the same style, but that was not what had caught her eye. It was the symbol. It was different. Instead of a leaf, it was the whirling emblem emblazoned on the back of the Hidden Leaf's chūnin and jōnin jackets.

Sarada flinched as she felt a gentle hand pull her to her feet. Konohamaru had Mitsuki hanging over his shoulder. He used his free arm to pull her to her feet and push her behind him. Sarada saw Yamato nearby, both hands gripped in the Snake seal. The two men Konohamaru had been fighting were sporting bruises, broken noses, and split lips. Sarada could tell their faces were going to swell up painfully in the next hour. The leader of the mercenaries had fared better. He appeared untouched, and lightning still crackled over his bronze skin. Yamato's jacket was scorched and torn in several places, but he was otherwise unharmed.

Bolt leapt from the woody root he was standing on, the sand kicking up at his feet met the beach. He jogged over to them, but was intercepted by the leader. Sarada took a step forward, but was halted by Konohamaru's hand resting on her shoulder. The two of them shared a few words, but at the angle she was standing Sarada couldn't read their lips.

The leader stepped aside in short order, a pleased smile on his lips. Bolt continued on his way, running up to them. His eyes flickered between the four of them. "You have to leave," he said.

Sarada opened her mouth. "—Absolutely not," Yamato said, beating her to the punch. "The Hokage has ordered us to rescue you from your captors and return you to the village."

Bolt's expression turned thunderous. "Well, you can tell the _Hokage_ if he wants me back, he should come get me himself! And they aren't my captors, I joined the Crimson Tide willingly!"

Yamato tried to reason with him, but Bolt cut him off. "I've managed to convince our leader to let you guys go as a favor. Go, before he changes his mind," Bolt said, inclining his head to the treeline. Sarada could see the shadowy forms of moving bodies within the underbrush. Her Sharingan pulled her eyes to the ship anchored offshore. She knew that the reinforcements had arrived. The Crimson Tide were no slouches, and now they had the numerical advantage of superior forces.

It was unlikely they would emerge victorious in a battle, even with Yamato and Konohamaru.

"Here," Bolt said, catching her eyes. He held out his hand to Sarada and dropped a small length of wire with a screw attached to it into her hand. "Now, go."

Sarada looked up, and saw that Bolt no longer wore his trademark necklace.

"We can't let you stay, Bolt," Konohamaru said firmly.

"It's only for three years. Think of it as an extended mission outside the village. For training purposes," Bolt said cheerfully.

Konohamaru was about to protest, but Yamato stopped him. "We need to retreat now, while we can," Yamato whispered, nodding at the treeline of the atoll. The Crimson Tide mercenaries were now clearly visible, standing in bushes or trees.

"Right," Konohamaru said. "Let's go, Sarada," he whispered, pulling Mitsuki's paralyzed body into a more comfortable position.

"But—" Sarada protested. Bolt silenced her by flashing her a boyish smile. Then she knew.

He was staying so they could retreat.

* * *

Bolt watched as his friends sprinted out to sea. He was filled with a strange melancholy; one one hand, they had offered him the perfect chance to escape the Crimson Tide and go back home. One the other, he didn't really _want_ to go home. Not yet, anyway. Even if he had to spend the next three years working for the Crimson Tide.

Eiji walked up behind him, patting him on the back. "You made the right choice to stay, kid!" he boomed.

"It'll cost you," Bolt said with a smirk.

"Oh?" Eiji said with a grin.

"Yeah. I want you to teach me," Bolt said with a grin. "We can start with the Hidden Mist Jutsu! No one in the Hidden Leaf knew it, or no one who would teach me. It's a Hidden Mist technique, right?"

Eiji barked in laughter. "Alright, alright. I'll show you a few moves, kid."

The Crimson Tide boarded their ship and continued on their way. The night's watch was doubled, just in case any more Hidden Leaf ninja decided to pay them a visit.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Sorry for the wait, I actually have had this chapter done for like... 4 days? Or so, and I just haven't published it.

Yin and Yang Release, to me, were the most interesting of the nature transformations and they weren't expanded upon, like, at all, in the entire series. All we know is that Yin and Yang are used for techniques which do not broadly fall under any nature transformation, like the Nara's shadow techniques (Yin) and the Akimichi's Multi-Size techniques (Yang). I'll be expanding upon both Yin and Yang during the story which I hope you guys will find interesting.

Was anyone else disappointed in how little we saw Yamato during the last... what? 300 chapters? Like damn, he was the new captain and then he is just gone for the entire war. Huge waste of a character, in my opinion. I hope no one thought Yamato was weak this chapter for not being able to decimate the Crimson Tide. His Wood Release is weaker than Hashirama's, and to me, the biggest weakness of any of the Wood techniques is that they are slow. If you're fast enough, you can just not get caught and there is very little they can do about it. Add on top of that, that both Water and Earth—which make up Wood—are "weak" to Lightning, and you can see why Eiji wasn't beaten easily.

I still haven't decided on the two original characters I still need for my cast. Sigh. It's just so troublesome thinking up _good_ characters. Anyway, I have a question for you guys. What do you think Orochimaru is up to post-gaiden? I've been toying with the idea of him coming back as a villain later in the story, but I'm just not quite sure. Do you guys think he really changed after the war? Right now, he seems to have a "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours," relationship with the Hidden Leaf. He's not their enemy, but at the same time, he's not their ally either. What do you think? **If anyone else would like to submit ideas or suggestions for original characters, which may or may not end up as antagonists, please leave a review or send me a direct message!**

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. If you could leave a review I'd appreciate it. Thanks!

\- Musica


	10. Chapter 10

Bolt yawned.

Watch duty was boring. Blinking away his tiredness, he glanced at the clock. Only 2:39 in the morning. His shift wasn't over until 4:00.

Bolt sighed.

Eiji, apparently, had thought he had "proved" himself, somehow, during the brief clash with his friends. Therefore, as his "reward," he was being given extra "freedoms." Which mostly consisted of extra duties. Watch duty during ungodly hours of the morning. Swabbing the deck. Running into town to buy food—most of which consisted of booze—all under the watchful eye of Hikari.

They were moored just off the shore of the largest island in the Land of Water. It was home to the majority of the country's citizens, as well as the seat of power for the Water Lord and his government. The exact location of the Hidden Mist village was unknown, but was rumored to be on the far east side of the island—which was constantly blanketed in a thick mist, all year round.

All Bolt knew for sure was that at some point in the next one to three days, a shipment of very valuable chakra metal was to be shipped to the Hidden Mist, and they were supposed to liberate the men delivering the metal of their cargo.

Bolt yawned. He couldn't stay awake a minute longer if he was forced to stare out over the misty waves for a ship they didn't even know would be arriving tonight. Bolt stood and stretched, sighing in relief as the joints in his back popped. Taking a quick look around the bridge of the ship and noting that he was alone, Bolt allowed his chakra to flood his eyes. He felt the veins writhing in his temples, bulging with blood in the presence of so much chakra. The disorienting sensation of seeing everywhere at once assaulted Bolt's senses. After a few moments, the sensation passed.

Looking at his feet, Bolt saw through the floorboards. If he focussed, he could see the sleeping forms of men and women several decks below him. Their hammocks rocked with the sway of the ship, but all were accounted for. Even Eiji, passed out with a bottle of rum in his hands.

Satisfied that he was safe for the moment, Bolt resumed his seat before the ship's wheel and withdrew the scroll from the seal on his forearm. As he did, he caught his reflection in the glass that separated him from the harsh cold of the Land of Water and the spray of the sea. His eyes were so very... alien, especially on him. The Byakugan had always been his mom's, or sister's, eyes. Never his.

Now they were. Bolt smirked, and opened the scroll. The scroll had advanced to the next lesson, somehow judging the amount of work he had done to mould Yang chakra to be sufficient—even though Bolt couldn't make _any_.

" _The Elemental Disturbance Seal is, quite possibly, one of the most useful seals you will learn,"_ Bolt read in the Uzukage's voice. _"It is one of the very few seals which can be used with little prior preparation, making it ideal for combat. The function of the seal is thus: to disturb the flow of an opponent's chakra, specifically, making it difficult, or impossible, for them to practice nature transformations. In the war with the Land of Water, this technique was widely feared. The Lava and Boil Release bloodlines, common to the Hidden Mist, were easily defeated once their control of the basic five elements were no longer under their control. The one weakness of the seal is that the user must have prolonged, direct contact with the skin of their target. Be careful when applying to ninja who excel at taijutsu."_

The writing on the scroll blurred, changing to a series of diagrams and instructional passages. Bolt groaned when he saw the seal required nearly fifteen hand seals to use. No one in their right mind would let him touch them for a "prolonged" period of time after he weaved fifteen hand seals while he ran at them. The number of hand seals was apparently necessary, too. _"Each set of three seals corresponds to one of the elements; Fire, Earth, Water, Wind, and Lightning. In total, all fifteen seals must be performed to cover every possible chakra nature. Thus, this seal was especially powerful in the hand of sensors, who could tell a person's chakra natures with a mere glance. Knowing which natures needed to be disturbed, a sensor could cut down the required number of seals to only those needed."_

Bolt sighed and began to go through the motions of weaving hand seals and memorizing their meaning and order. He was glad he had decided to keep his Byakugan activated. He didn't even need to look up to make sure no ship docked at the port they were moored in. "And... Dog—Horse—Tiger," Bolt muttered under his breath as he weaved the seals, allowing chakra to travel to his fingertips.

He gasped as his thumb caught fire; a brilliant azure flame of chakra. He could clearly see the lines of his chakra pathway system flaring to life; from his thumb, to his hand, up his forearm. Bolt smiled. He truly was glad he had awakened the Byakugan, like his sister. "Alright, what's next..." Bolt mumbled, fumbling with the scroll to see the next series of hand seals. "Ox—Bird—"

Bolt nearly jumped from his chair as he heard footsteps in the hallway. His concentration broken, the seal dissipated. Fumbling with the scroll, he managed to just re-roll and re-seal it when the door to the ship's bridge opened. His heart hammered his chest as Hikari entered the bridge, eying it warily as if there were enemies hiding in the shadows at... 4:00 in the morning, already. Shift change. Bolt had lost track of time.

"What are you doing?" Hikari demanded of him, though not impolitely.

"What?" Bolt managed to squeak out. His "master" was wide awake, her eyes sharp as she focussed on his face. She didn't look tired at all. Bolt thought she was secretly some sort of machine. That, or she had pure, liquefied military discipline running through her veins instead of blood. Both were equally possible, in his opinion.

"Your eyes," Hikari said, her own eyes dancing across his temples.

Bolt realized he hadn't deactivated his Byakugan. "Oh, uh," he said with a nervous chuckle. "For the watch! Just to make sure... they didn't sneak by," he said lamely.

Hikari seemed to look him up and down, judging him. "A good idea," she said after a few moments.

No sooner did she say the words did a ship part the mists and enter the bay from the sea. Hikari shoved him up against the glass without a word. "What do you see?" she hissed.

Bolt felt a particularly large vein in his right temple bulge as his Byakugan's visual acuity increased. He could just make out the shapes of men on the deck of the ship. As the vessel drew closer, metal glinted on the men's foreheads in the moonlight. Bolt could just, ever so barely, make out the indistinct markings of the Hidden Cloud. "Hidden Cloud ninja on the deck, maybe four or five of them," Bolt informed Hikari.

"That's them," she said. "I'll wake the men. Prepare for battle."

Bolt swallowed nervously. They didn't say they were stealing from both the Hidden Mist _and_ Hidden Cloud. Nor did they inform him they would be fighting ninja. Just some sailors who were transporting the metal. He left the confines of the ship's bridge, and the hallway was already filling up with grim-faced Crimson Tide mercenaries. They wore their standard issue fatigues, with their trademark crimson colored headbands.

Together, the company made their way onto the deck. They crouched low, hiding behind the railing. A few men leapt into the sails and rigging, or held onto the masts. The Hidden Cloud ship bobbed in the water as it passed them slowly.

By some unspoken agreement, the men in the sails and rigging leapt from their perches and crashed onto the deck of the enemy ship. Calls of alarm were sounded in an instant as the first mercenaries attacked the Hidden Cloud ninja. The men hiding behind the railing threw grappling hooks that caught in the ship's rigging and allowed them to swing over. Bolt jumped from the railing, pushing chakra into his feet. He cleared the distance and slid to a stop, nearly tumbling into the hold. Below, he could see crates with row upon row of metal ingots.

Bolt flinched backwards as a shuriken sailed from somewhere in the hold and nearly blinded him. Turning and wading into the chaos, Bolt drew a kunai. A large, burly sailor appeared from a nearby doorway. His face was slack with sleep, but upon seeing Bolt, his eyes widened in rage as he realized what was happening. Bellowing, the sailor drew a cutlass and charged, his sword held above his head.

Bolt easily sidestepped the telegraphed attack and cut the man for trying to kill him, slashing a deep gash between the sailor's shoulder blades. The man howled in pain and fury, rounding on him with rage in his eyes. Bolt shrunk back, unable to quench the fear of fighting another man.

The sailor went flying. Bolt watched as his body sailed through the air and came to a sudden stop as it collided with the mast of the ship in a sickening crunch. He looked over and saw Takeo scowling at him, his scratched headband glinting in the moonlight. The rogue gave him a quick nod, and rushed off to find another opponent.

Bolt felt the hair of his neck stand on end. He ducked, and a kick of arcing electricity sailed over his head. Bolt turned to face the man—a Hidden Cloud ninja. The man didn't wear any boots or shoes, instead walking barefoot. Lightning covered the soles of his feet, crackling and hissing. Bolt hurled his kunai at him, and the ninja easily dodged and sprinted forward. Evading a kick, Bolt reached up with two fingers and struck the man in the back of the knee. As the kick ended, the man staggered, unable to stand upright. Bolt struck him three more times with open-palmed fists.

The Hidden Cloud ninja's eyes widened as he realized that Bolt's taijutsu was no ordinary taijutsu. The Gentle Fist's touch was light as a feather, but cut as deep as any kunai. Bolt's opponent reached for a fistful of shuriken. Bolt leaned forward, striking the man's arms. He dropped to the deck and floundered like a fish out of water. For good measure, Bolt struck him several more times. The man slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

Bolt surveyed the small, chaotic deck. There were Crimson Tide mercenaries flooding the ship, fighting Hidden Cloud ninja and sailors alike. Bolt saw no more enemies above deck, so he moved below. It was cramped and dark, with crates, spare coils of rope, and hammocks hanging from every surface. Making sure to avoid tripping on the coils of rope, Bolt moved further below deck. A few lonely candles flickered inside metal and glass lanterns, providing the only light. Somewhere to Bolt's left, down a corridor, a man howled in pain. After a moment, he was silenced.

Bolt swallowed his fear and steeled his nerves. He had his chance to go home, and he chose not to. This was his life for the next three years. He needed to get used to it. Moving further below deck, Bolt stumbled in the darkness, tripping over a step in the stairs. He clumsily grabbed the nearest thing to him, a length of white fabric hanging nearby.

The white fabric bellowed a battle cry and leapt at Bolt, pinning him to the ground. The man's hands found their way to his thin neck and squeezed. Bolt immediately raised his own hands and tore at the choke hold, trying desperately to get air into his lungs on instinct. His rational mind kicked in, and Bolt lowered his hands and struck the man in the chest with the Gentle Fist several times. He recoiled, coughing violently. In the twilight of the ship's small corridor, Bolt could see blood running down the man's chin in rivulets.

Bolt kicked the man in the head as hard as he could. The sailor collapsed to the ground with labored, gurgling breathing. Not willing to risk being ambushed again, Bolt allowed his chakra to sear through his eyes. The darkness faded as his Byakugan manifested, parting to give way to the familiar washed out blues Bolt had come to associated with the eyes of the Hyūga.

With the Byakugan, he could easily see the sailor with the cutlass hiding in the closet a few feet from him. Taking a deep breath, he stilled and weaved a series of hand seals. He exhaled, and silently sent a lance of pressurized water through the wood that struck the man in the face. The sailor collapsed instantly, his body dropping like a marionette that had its strings cut.

Smirking, Bolt turned his sight downwards. Below him was a mass of flaming chakra; men and women all standing around one stop in the cargo hold. Since Bolt hadn't seen any Crimson Tide mercenaries follow him below deck, he could only assume they were guards that had retreated below deck to protect the chakra metal they were supposed to steal.

He stilled as his Byakugan saw a figure descend down the stairs he had came from. Hiding in the shadows, he waited. From the silhouette of the person, Bolt could tell it was a woman. She crept along the corridor in perfect silence, stopping when she encountered one of the sailors Bolt had incapacitated. Each time, she flicked her arm at them. Moments later, the ball of fire in their bellies dwindled and was extinguished.

Bolt swallowed nervously as the woman who had killed the sailors crept closer to him. She was no more than a few feet away in the darkness when she spoke. "Good job with the sailors," Hikari whispered.

Bolt sighed in relief. He had heard stories of ninja killing their own allies; either to put them out of their misery, or, and more commonly, to prevent their secrets from being extracted from them. He didn't know anything about the Hidden Cloud, but he wasn't about to risk meeting one of them again. "What do you see?" Hikari asked.

"How can you even see my eyes? There's barely any light down here," Bolt whispered. Her attention for detail was disturbing. The only light this far below deck was the occasional lantern or the twilight rays of the rising sun filtering in between the boards and timbers of the ship's hull.

"Soldier pills," Hikari answered curtly. "What do you see?"

"... There's a group of people below us, in the cargo hold. They're gathered around a spot in the center of the hold," Bolt informed her. "Ten people in all," he added, quickly counting them.

"Good. That should be all of them according to the intel we received," Hikari said. "Here, eat this," she commanded, handing him a small, round pill.

Bolt hesitated. "What is it?"

Hikari flashed him an annoyed, impatient look. "An antidote. Eat it," she answered.

Bolt quickly swallowed the pill, not needing to be told what it was for. Hikari reached into one of the pouches on her belt and withdrew a fistful of small spheres. "If any of them get up, inform me immediately," she ordered him. Bolt nodded swiftly.

Hikari inched along the corridor, her back to the wall. When she came to the stairway that descended into the cargo hold, she peaked down the stairs. Seeing that there was no door, she hurled the spheres into the hold. In an instant, a thick, foul smelling smoke filled the air. Bolt held his breath, but was forced to cough as the gas irritated the nose and throat; almost by design. Focusing below deck, he could see the ten guards falling to the floor. The fire in them was not extinguished, so Bolt could only assume Hikari had used some form of sleeping gas.

"All clear," Bolt said. Hikari nodded and quickly descended into the hold. Bolt followed her, wincing as she whistled loudly. The latticed gate of the deck high above them creaked open, and several men dropped down, including Eiji. Bolt blinked at the sudden burst of light.

Eiji looked around at the unconscious guards and cackled. He stalked over to one of the several large, wooden crates in the center of the hold. Bodily throwing a man from where he slumbered, he tore off the lid of one of the crates. Standing on his toes, Bolt could see the create was filled with dull, gray colored ingots of metal. Eiji held one up and channeled chakra into it. The ingot reacted by glowing blue. "This is what we came for, boys," he boomed. "Load 'em up!"

Bolt watched as thick rope nets and rigging were thrown into the hold. Burly mercenaries hefted the crates into the nets, which were then pulled above deck and presumably moved to their ship.

Eiji turned to face Hikari, and at the same time, Bolt. He smiled at the two. "How'd he do, lieutenant?" Eiji questioned.

"He showed a reluctance to take life, but fought well considering the circumstances. The Hyūga's taijutsu and eyes make him a powerful and unpredictable opponent. You would have found the face the Hidden Cloud ninja made when he realized his chakra points were being sealed comical, I think," Hikari said, breaking down Bolt's performance during the theft. Bolt didn't even know she was watching him.

Eiji barked in laughter as Hikari finished briefing him. "Not bad, kid. We'll make a merc out of you yet," he said, hitching a ride on the last crate as it was sent skyward.

"Another successful mission, boys! Drinks on me!"

* * *

Bolt was in awe. The Hidden Leaf was a bastion of wealth and technology, but the level of opulence displayed in the mansion he, Hikari, and Eiji were being led through was something entirely different.

The floors were wooden, made from a rich, dark red wood. The walls had ornate wooden trim running along the wall and ceiling. There were vases that Bolt could tell were antiques and clearly worth more than most people's houses. Occasionally, there would be a mural painted on the ceiling.

The manservant opened a set of tall doors that led into a large room with a long dining table. A man sat at the far end of the table, at the head. Flanking him were two guards; hulking, burly men that looked more like apes than men. Bodyguards, Bolt noted.

The man sitting in the chair, whom Bolt could only assume was their client, was horribly and disgustingly fat. His chin had somehow multiplied by four, and the chair struggled to contain the man's sheer girth. Fat pooled and bulged between the armrests and the seat, making it appear as if the chair was much too small to seat him. Bolt thought it probably was, but he wasn't about to say anything.

"Mr. Fukui," Eiji said, inclining his head in greetings.

The fat man looked up, his chin wobbling. "Ah, my friends from the Crimson Tide. I trust my order was fulfilled?"

Eiji held up a metal ingot, allowing it to glow a bright blue color denoting that it was chakra metal. "Excellent," the man—"Mr. Fukui," Bolt amended—said.

Mr. Fukui nodded to one of his hulking bodyguards, who left the room. He returned moments later, hoisting four large briefcases over his shoulders. "Your payment, as promised. All five hundred thousand ryō," Mr. Fukui said.

Eiji relieved the bodyguard of the money and opened each, quickly verifying the contents. Seeing that everything was in order, he bowed to Mr. Fukui. "A pleasure doing business with you again, sir," he said. He tossed the spare ingot to the bodyguard, who stared at it dumbly as it bounced off his skull and fell to the ground. Bolt had to bite his tongue in order to not giggle.

The three of them swept out of the mansion as quickly as they had arrived. It was only a short run back to where they were docked at a nearby cove. As Bolt scampered over the railing and fell to the deck, Eiji hoisted him to his feet and shoved a fistful of ryō in his face. "Your cut, kid. Welcome to the crew," he said with a wide smile.

Bolt's eyes widened as he began to count "his cut." It was more money than he had ever held in his entire life. Ever seen, in fact. Two hundred notes of one hundred ryō; twenty thousand in all.

Eiji smirked at his reaction. "Keep it up, kid. You'll be rich by the time you're done with us," he said, laughing.

Bolt nodded. Three years with a bunch of cut throat thugs and mercenaries, where he got to learn new techniques and earn a bunch of money doing it?

That, he could do.

Annoying his father was just an extra bonus.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Fukui means "fortunate." Mr. Fukui is a businessman of some status in the black market; also known as a fence. He buys stolen goods which would otherwise be too hot for thieves to sell themselves, and sells them later at a hefty profit.

I've mentioned ryō a few times, but I figured I should clarify for those not in the know. Ryō was a gold coin in pre-Meiji Japan that was the currency used prior to the yen based system. In the Naruto world, ryō is the official currency, though it is used in paper form. There isn't an official exchange rate of ryō to real currency, so think of 1 ryō as 1 USD. In other words, for Bolt's part in the heist, he earned a nice bonus of twenty grand ($20,000). Not bad for a night's work, eh? Money won't be a huge part of the story, but it will play some role.

I've decided **not** to have Orochimaru be a villain, after much thinking. I read an interesting theory that stated Orochimaru was the sannin that experienced the most change in his character. The reasoning was thus: Orochimaru's main goal in life was to master as many jutsu as possible, and to do that, he needed to become immortal. Death became his greatest fear. After dying, he realized that death wasn't as terrible as he once thought it was. He still wants to collect jutsu and live forever, and he still does all the science and experimentation stuff, but his creation of Mitsuki shows that he has realized something more important: the next generation is the path to true immortality. His legacy will live on in Mitsuki, even if he dies (again) or fails to collect every jutsu. This was the summary of it, anyway. I thought it was interesting, and at least partly true. If so, it wouldn't make sense for him to be a villain.

These next few chapters will focus mainly on Bolt, but we will also get some Sarada/Himawari/Hidden Leaf points of view every now and again and see what they are up to.

A reader messaged me and asked me if I would include a "stats" or "trivia" section to my author's notes that explained characters. Sort of like the databooks, in a way. Would this be something you guys would be interested in, or would you rather have them revealed in the story? This would be stuff like name, birthdate, gender, age, height, weight, blood type, bloodline, affiliations, ninja rank, age of graduations/promotions, family, nature types, examples of learned techniques, etc. Things like that.

Guest — Yes, Genjutsu is indeed a Yin technique. It's really the only aspect of Yin-Yang that is explained, and that is only because of Kishi's love of the Uchiha who are experts in using it. You actually sort of beat me to the punch with medical ninjutsu. I planned (in the future) to classify it as a Yang technique. As for the Ino-Shika-Cho clans, Akimichi is confirmed to be Yang, and Nara and Yamanaka are confirmed to be Yin. But, it is never explained how these techniques work. We're just sort of told that is what they are, and then left at that.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. Please leave a review, I'd appreciate it.

\- Musica


	11. Chapter 11

Winter in the Land of Water was harsh. Gales swept the spray of the sea inland, making a perpetual faux rain pour down upon the land ceaselessly. The weather wasn't the worst thing, either. The Crimson Tide didn't believe in downtime. Even in the dead of winter, they took jobs.

That was how he found himself as the eyes of Takeo and Hiroki. They alone were traveling to a small island far to the south of the mainland. It lay halfway between the Land of Water and the uncharted waters south of the Land of Fire. Few people called the island home, and of those that did, there were only one variety: pirates.

Their job was simple, really. They Crimson Tide had received a request to eliminate a certain pirate captain that had been raiding and terrorizing the people of a small peninsula of the Land of Fire for the past three months. The Hidden Leaf had sent a team to investigate, but the pirates were cunning, and never struck the same place twice, and never in a predictable time frame. There was nothing the ninja could do without an enemy to face. There was only one place the pirates gathered, and that was where Bolt, Takeo, and Hiroki found themselves.

"This isn't worth it," Takeo grumbled, rubbing his arms in an attempt to keep himself warm. "It's only fifty grand. Don't know why the boss took the job."

Hiroki slapped his partner on the back. "Some jobs aren't for the money, but the prestige. The Crimson Tide hasn't failed a job yet, and if we take down this pirate, it'll only add to our reputation," he said.

Bolt didn't pay attention to them. His job was to make sure their target didn't slip out unnoticed. His Byakugan made his task simple. Instead, Bolt focussed on the small planted pot he held between his hands. It was an idea that came to him one night when he couldn't sleep on their ship—his dad, whenever he used his fancy Nine Tails chakra, caused plants to grow at a rapid pace. He remembered hearing somewhere that it was because of its strong Yang chakra. So, to practice making his own Yang chakra, he just tried to make the plant grow.

It was harder than Bolt thought it would be. His training mainly consisted of sitting and staring at the budding plant and straining his body and mind trying to will it to grow. "Oi, kid, you see anything?" Takeo grunted.

Bolt felt his temper flare. "For the last time, no," he snapped.

"Well how'd you expect me to believe you if you keep playing with your little flower?" Takeo grumbled.

The veins in Bolt's temple bulged; an eerily inhuman bodily function that was made more disturbing by the Byakugan. "I can see everything around us for nearly one hundred feet, including through walls. The guy is still there," Bolt informed him. Honestly, he was insulted. It was like these savages had never heard of multi-tasking. "And it's not a 'little flower,' it's a sunflower," Bolt corrected him. They were his sister's favorite, and that made them his favorite. He would never admit that, though.

Takeo scoffed and went back to trying to ward off the chill. The sun was beginning to set and their target had yet to leave the bar that he was known to frequent. Bolt ignored his surly teammates—and he used that term loosely—and focussed on trying to use his chakra to urge the sunflower sprout to grow.

A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. The Byakugan snapped to focus, watching the door of the bar closely. A man stumbled out, nearly tripping on the steps as he exited the establishment. He was garbed in worn, threadbare sailor's garments with an old, beaten tricorn hat. At his waist was a long, curved cutlass, and opposite it was a bulging leather pouch; most likely for ninja tools, Bolt assumed. "That's him," Bolt said. He matched the pirate captain's description.

Takeo and Hiroki sat up, instantly alert. "You sure?" Takeo whispered. Bolt nodded.

"Alright. Remember, Bolt. No Byakugan. No Gentle Fist. Not unless you have to. Don't want prying eyes running off with that intel," Hiroki whispered, as he dropped from the tree they were perched in. He landed on the balls of his feet, silent as the wind. Takeo followed him, and Bolt followed the pair as they crept forward.

Takeo and Hiroki were bold, Bolt had come to understand. Takeo was a taijutsu master. Not trained in any one school, he had a style honed from years of drunken brawls and battlefield experience from the last war. Hiroki was a jack of all trades, and a master of none. He could do anything you asked him with some amount of skill, but not much more than that. His real strength came in reining in his violent, hotheaded friend and directing his rampages into something more productive. Something more profitable.

The two men cut the pirate off while Bolt hid in the shadows of the treeline, ready to step in at a moment's notice. "Ichiro Ishikawa," Hiroki called out. The pirate stilled and seemed to shake off his drunken stupor as the two mercenaries appeared before him.

"What do you want?" the pirate—Ichiro—slurred. His hand crept closer to the hilt of his sword.

With his Byakugan, Bolt could clearly see Takeo and Hiroki smile. "You're a wanted man. We've come to collect," Takeo growled. Bolt tightened his grip on the kunai he had drawn.

In a flash, Takeo had charged forward and descended upon the pirate. In truth, Bolt felt a little sorry for the man. He knew firsthand just how strong Takeo was. His neck still felt a little sore from where he had been strangled.

The pirate drew his cutlass and swung at Takeo's chest. The rogue artfully dodged, rotation on his foot as he sent a wide kick at the pirate's head.

The pirate managed to dodge, either by skill or stumbling in his stupor Bolt would never know. The man managed to fish a kunai from the pouch at his waist and fling it vaguely in the direction of the hulking Takeo, while he turned to face the slower Hiroki who had entered the fray. Bolt's Byakugan caught the flare of an explosive tag at Takeo's feet. An explosion rocked the small dirt path they had chosen for their battlefield, sending up a cloud of dust and dirt.

Bolt swore under his breath and let his Byakugan fade as he crept from his hiding spot. The pirate was busy clashing blades with Hiroki. He saw the flash of Hiroki's eyes, acknowledging him with silent agreement. Bolt stayed low as he stalked forward; his knuckles growing white from the strength of his grip on his kunai.

A twig snapped beneath Bolt's boots. It was painfully loud, even with the clanging of metal. The pirate's head snapped behind him, catching sight of Bolt. His eyes went wide with panic as he violently lashed out at Hiroki and stumbled backwards, trying to find a defensible position against his new opponent.

Bolt watched as the pirate brandished his cutlass at Hiroki as he continued to retreat. He walked backwards into the trunk of a tree and stuck his sword in the dirt. Before Bolt knew what was happening, the pirate had weaved a series of hand seals and spewed mist from his mouth. He expected the mist to be thick and obscure his vision—it didn't. Instead, the leaves that had fallen to the ground turned to a fine dust as the mist crawled over it. Boil Release.

Bolt quickly reached for an empty scroll he kept stored on one of the pouches on his waist while Hiroki began weaving hand seals. Bolt felt the hiss of the wind as his comrade unleashed a gale that blew the mist back at the pirate, whom the acidic vapor past by harmlessly. Opening his scroll, Bolt quickly bit his index finger and drew the character for "Boil" in the center of the scroll before channeling some chakra into it.

The whole scroll glowed orange for a moment before fading. Bolt saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Hiroki was watching him intently; judging him, cataloging what he was seeing. No doubt for a mission report—Eiji's eyes only. "I'll make an opening, then you deal with him," Bolt whispered.

Bolt charged forward, not waiting to see or hear Hiroki's reply. The pirate smirked at him and inhaled heavily, before unleashing another breath of acidic mist. Bolt skidded to a stop, whipped out the scroll, and absorbed the entire technique. The pirate gawked at him. Bolt ducked as he heard the familiar whir of metal cutting air. A shuriken sailed over his head and struck the pirate in the neck. Bolt felt something wet and warm slap across his forehead. Reaching up, his fingers came back crimson.

The pirate grabbed at his throat with both hands as he slid to the ground, his back against the tree trunk where he had made his last stand. Hiroki strode past Bolt and stuck a kunai into the man's neck, ending his suffering. Bolt watched with wide eyes as the light in the man's eyes faded. He knew death was part of the ninja's line of work, but to see it so close, so impersonal, was something else entirely.

Hiroki jogged back down the dirt path and found Takeo nursing a burnt right foot. Bolt followed after him, at a loss of what to do. "Just a flesh wound," Takeo assured the both of them. It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. Hiroki sighed heavily and withdrew a few medical supplies he had brought with him. It was little more than first aid, but it was better than nothing.

"Can you store a body in one of your scrolls?" Hiroki asked, as he bandaged Takeo's leg.

Bolt swallowed. "I, uh, I've never tried... but I suppose I could," Bolt answered lamely.

Hiroki nodded. "Good, do it. I don't really want to have to carry two dead weights all the way back to base," he quipped, shooting Takeo a scathing look. The rogue grumbled and looked away.

Bolt felt a shiver run up his spine as he walked back to the lifeless body of the pirate. He found a blank scroll and began to quickly sketch out a sealing matrix using a length of charcoal he kept with him for improvising seals. Bolt cursed as his hand shook, causing him to snap the end of the charcoal. He could feel the pirate's empty gaze upon him as he worked. Reaching up, he closed the man's eyes and offered a silent prayer. Returning to his seal, he quickly finished. Luckily, the scroll took the pirate's body with ease.

Sighing in relief, Bolt rolled up the scroll and stored it. He patted his newest addition, a scroll containing the Boil Release. That would be a nasty surprise for anyone he had to fight in the future. Hiroki had managed to get Takeo to his feet and had the larger man's arm resting over his shoulders as he helped him keep off his bad leg.

Hiroki raised an eyebrow at Bolt in silent questioning. Bolt just patted the scroll containing the pirate's body, and Hiroki nodded in satisfaction. "Well," Takeo said, as the three began to move back to where their tiny boat was moored. "It wasn't a complete waste of time after all. I knew I knew that guy's name from somewhere. Our friend Mr. Ishikawa fetches a nice price in the bingo book—Hidden Sand wants him, two hundred fifty thousand ryō for his head."

Hiroki smirked. "I won't tell the boss if you don't," he said.

"Deal," Takeo agreed. "What's the split? I'm thinking one hundred for you and me, fifty for the brat."

Hiroki turned to see Bolt listening to their conversation. "I don't know," he said, flashing Bolt a smirk. "I think the kid did more work than you. One hundred for me and him, fifty for you."

Takeo made an unmanly noise in the back of his throat, causing Bolt and Hiroki to laugh. The trip back to base took an extra day. Harsh seas, they had told Eiji. No one questioned why they were just a little more tanned than normal, nor why they were each sporting heavier pockets.

Bolt was quite happy with his newest payday.

* * *

Bolt yawned, lazily stretching. He was laying on his side in bed, one hand cupped around the potted sunflower as he tried to transform his chakra into Yang chakra and promote its growth. He wasn't making much progress. The little budding flower had begun to climb skyward, though that was more to do with the passage of time than any influence of chakra.

Bolt felt his eyes grow heavy as he was tempted by sleep. The noon sun shone through a window, warming his back. It would be all too easy to catch a quick nap, but he knew that if Hikari found him lazing away that there would be hell to pay.

He drifted in and out of a light, dreamless sleep, trying futilely to make the sunflower grow. He wasn't even really trying after a few minutes. He just did it on principle. The sunlight on his back made Bolt dream of warm summers in the Hidden Leaf. He and his sister would play with the other kids, or help their mother with chores, or sometimes visit their father at the Hokage's office.

Sometimes they would bring sunflowers to Uncle Neji's grave. Bolt stood before the grave of the man who was his namesake, and cursed not being able to meet him. From what the history books said, he was the greatest prodigy of the Hyūga in centuries. A bit of an ass, according to his dad, but after the Chūnin Exams, he turned out to be a good friend. Bolt basked in the warmth of the summer's heat as he imagined how strong his uncle was before dying in the war.

Bolt felt his arms grow hot, more so than the sun could warm them. He raised his head from the grave of his uncle and looked at his arms. They looked normal. Blinking his eyes, he found himself awake. His skin was glowing with a warm, orange colored chakra that sang of life and growing things. The little budding sunflower was growing, even as Bolt watched in stupefied amazement.

His amazement shattered his concentration, causing his chakra to flicker out and the sunflower to cease its growth. It had grown no more than a few millimeters, but it was enough for him. "I did it!" Bolt shouted. He thought back to what had triggered the change in his chakra. He had just felt warm; from both the sun on his back and the summer's heat in his dreams. He had unconsciously moulded his chakra to reflect that warmth, and it had manifested as Yang chakra.

Picking up the sunflower, Bolt tried again. This time, knowing what he had to do, and with focus, Bolt felt his fingertips grow unnaturally warm as Yang chakra flowed through them. A few tiny leaves sprouted on the sunflower's stalk. Bolt set the pot down and jumped to his feet, excited beyond words.

Now he could figure out why the scroll wanted him to learn Yang Release.

"What are you doing?" Hikari asked, her voice cold. Bolt stopped his celebratory dancing.

"Uh, nothing, just... you know, exercising," Bolt lied. He could clearly see the girl's eyes roll behind her mask at his blatant lie.

"Whatever," Hikari dismissed him. "We're docking at a small village to buy some supplies. You're free to look around, but don't go too far."

Bolt felt his cheeks redden. She always had a way of sneaking up on him when he was doing something stupid. "Thanks," he told her, but she was already gone. Bolt withdrew a scroll from under his mattress and unrolled it before applying a bit of his chakra to the characters on the parchment. It divulged a small stack of ryō—spending money. Bolt smiled as he counted his newfound wealth. Though the Hokage, his father, was well paid, and his mother, an heiress of the wealthy Hyūga clan, were both wealthy themselves, they had been adamant about giving their children a reasonable allowance. And _nobody_ his age, heir to a clan or not, had an allowance as big as his was now. Of course, most people his age weren't collecting bounties and weren't thieves.

Bolt shivered as he keenly felt the weight of one particular scroll on his waist. Hiroki had taken him aside and asked him to create a sealing scroll—for bodies, in particular. Just in case, he had said. Since Eiji had him working with either Hiroki and Takeo, or Hikari, Bolt thought it was a reasonable, if macabre, request. They were essentially teammates now, though they would never replace Sarada and Mitsuki. So, with a heavy heart, he went through the motions of creating a scroll to store bodies. It was the least tasteful thing he had done with his newfound skill set.

A bell tolled in the distance, and Bolt knew they were getting closer to port. If he strained his ears, he could just make out the dull roar of people going about their day-to-day lives. Looking out the porthole in his cabin, he saw men on dilapidated fishing boats hoisting nets of floundering fish aboard. A few stopped to look at their ship as they passed, some offering nods or waves of greetings to no one in particular.

Locking up his room, Bolt quickly made his way above deck. The mercenaries of the Crimson Tide were furling the sails and tying up the rigging—making ready to dock. The port they were mooring at was larger than any other Bolt had seen so far, though that wasn't saying much. It seemed more of a trading hub than a fishing village, with districts filled with stalls and shops just past the docks.

The mercenaries were all too happy to be on dry land once more. Their ship was a bygone of a forgotten age, rickety and wooden, relying on sails to power it. Newer metal, industrial ships operated on coal, and were much more comfortable. Bolt spied Hiroki helping Takeo limp into town, the larger rogue shooing him away. Their friendship was interesting, to say the least.

Bolt meandered through the shopping districts, idly perusing wares. A few vendors scurried away from the mercenaries, but most were happy to have them as customers. It seemed the people neither feared nor cared that they were mercenaries. There were all kinds of vendors peddling their wares; some sold food, others small knickknacks and trinkets. There were a few vendors that sold scavenged ninja tools and weapons from a bygone age. One such vendor, in particular, had a selection of ornamental scrolls used for sealing. They were similar to the scroll he had stored in his forearm—parchment as white as snow, capped at both ends with engraved metal. They weren't meant for battle, but for storing secrets and valuables. Bolt bought a handful of them and had plenty of money left over to spare.

As he explored the port, Bolt ran across several other Crimson Tide members. Most ignored him, but a few gave him polite nods of recognition. After an hour, and convinced that he had seen at least everything once, Bolt grew bored. Wandering through the winding streets, he worked his way back to their rickety ship for the evening. He'd probably have the place almost entirely to himself, as the older mercenaries tended to drink themselves into oblivion whenever they docked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bolt spied something. It was an older portly woman manning a stand halfway between the alleyway and the street. She had a small collection sweets and cakes on display, casually fanning herself with a small handheld fan. Feeling the weight of his newly purchased scrolls, Bolt got an idea. A stupid one, one that would probably get him in trouble, but one he liked nonetheless. The baker was all too happy to part with one of her freshly made white cakes topped with strawberries. Her eyes were wide as Bolt placed a scroll on the counter and quickly sealed the cake into it.

"Thanks," Bolt said with a smile as he darted back through the town towards the tallest building. He had seen hawks flying to and from the highest room of the building, and knew from his brief travels that it was probably the nearest rookery in the Land of Water.

It only cost him a handful of ryō to have the hawk fly back to the Hidden Leaf.

* * *

"Remember," Eiji chided. "We don't want it to seem like he was assassinated. The client was very specific about this. It has to look natural."

Hikari sighed. "Yes, Eiji. I understand. I _have_ done this before, you know," she said, vaguely pointing at her hunter mask she scarcely removed.

"I know, I know," he said with a small chuckle. "I just worry, that's all."

"About your money," Hikari quipped.

Eiji boomed with laughter that was cut short as Hikari elbowed him in the ribs harder than was necessary. The older man hissed in pain, clutching his ribs. "Be quiet," Hikari commanded. "Do you want everyone in this hovel to know we are here?"

A few patrons of the teahouse they were seated in glared at Eiji for interrupting their afternoon tea. Most, however, were sending glares at a man seated at the rear of the teahouse. Some were envious, some hateful. A tall man dressed in colorful silk robes sat in a large booth. On either side of him were two beautiful women that served him tea and made small talk. He was a successful merchant of some regard in the small port they were docked in. He owned a myriad of stalls and shops that sold supplies and tools vital to life in the Land of Water. Much of his success was attributed to buying out his competition. Unfortunately for the man, whenever that competition refused to sell, he resorted to more underhanded tactics.

Apparently, he had angered one such competitor who had the money to strike back. Whilst the ninja villages no longer provided assassination contracts, as per their peace treaty following the end of the war, mercenaries did—and it was quite profitable.

Hikari stood and deftly weaved between tables and customers alike as she headed to the kitchen. The door wasn't even barred on the other side. She came face-to-face with a startled serving girl who held a platter of tea in one hand and a platter of dumplings in the other. She flinched when she saw Hikari's mask, stumbling and dropping both platters. With lightning speed, Hikari snatched up both platters and placed them on a nearby counter without so much as a sound. Before the serving girl had realized what had happened, Hikari had pricked her with a needle. Instantly, the poison took effect and the girl fell asleep. Hikari caught her and hid her in a nearby pantry.

After assuring herself that no one had seen her assault the waitress, Hikari reached up and removed her mask. She hid it with the unconscious girl and moved to examine herself in the reflection of a nearby piece of fine china. She removed her throwing needles she kept in her hair, allowing it to fall and frame her face naturally. Hikari weaved a few hand seals and watched as her appearance shifted. Her silky black hair faded and became a dull brown, while her skin—naturally pale due to the lack of sun in the cloudy Land of Water, doubly so considering she always wore her mask—darkened, and became pleasantly tanned. Her eyes, normally as green as the sea, turned a warm brown color.

Satisfied that the transformation jutsu mirrored the waitress, Hikari nodded to herself. With a sigh of disdain, she unbuttoned her blouse to expose more pale cleavage than was proper. Turning on her heels, she stalked over to the platters of tea and dumplings. She withdrew a small vial of clear liquid and put a single drop in the cup nearest her hand. Stowing the poison, she took both platters and exited the kitchen. From there, it took her only moments to reach the merchant the Crimson Tide was hired to kill.

Hikari felt the merchant's eyes on her before she saw them. She scowled inwardly as he examined her, but kept a small smile on her lips all the while. She bowed respectfully to him, and then placed both platters on the table. She dipped low as she served him and his escorts their tea and food, allowing him to see down her shirt ever so slightly. She made sure that the poisoned tea was set in front of the merchant.

Straightening, Hikari _almost_ flinched as the man held her by the wrist gently. "I knew you couldn't resist my charms for long," he whispered. Hikari felt the urge to scowl, but resisted. Mostly, she felt sorry for the poor girl whose place she had taken. Having to deal with this kind of scum was a cruel and unusual torture.

Hikari allowed a small amount of blush to tinge her cheeks. "Come, drink with me," he said, flashing her a toothy, charming smile.

The two escorts who had been sitting next to him stood and moved to the opposite side of the booth, allowing Hikari to sit next to their master. The merchant pushed a cup of tea across the table for her. Hikari made sure it wasn't poisoned; not that she was worried. No poison-user used poisons they were not already immune to, but it would be exponentially more difficult to poison the man right in front of him if she had to drink the poisoned tea. Thankfully, it was one of the escort's cups.

:So, tell me about yourself," he whispered to her, as Hikari took a small sip of tea. She cursed, not thinking to get the girl's name earlier. She felt her pulse quicken the longer the silence dragged on. "Shy as ever, I see," the merchant sighed, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

Hikari thanked whatever god of death was watching over her for her luck. "Tell me about yourself," she quipped, her voice purposely soft and quiet. It was a pale imitation of the brief scream of surprise that died in the waitress' throat.

The merchant smiled and cleared his throat before taking a small sip of the tea Hikari had served him. She felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards in victory as the mission was completed. "I'm surprised you haven't heard of me, I'm—"

"There you are!" A stout, portly man shouted, waddling over to Hikari. "Your break isn't for another hour, girl. Back to work!"

Hikari muttered a quick apology to the merchant as she stood and bowed in apology to the owner of the teahouse. She ducked back inside the kitchens and donned her mask, giving the waitress the antidote for the sleeping drug she had given her. Hikari slipped out into an alleyway through the back door. Eiji materialized in the shadow of a building next to her.

Hikari gave him a single nod.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Sorry for the slight lateness of this chapter. Next chapter deals almost entirely with Sarada, Himawari, and the Hidden Leaf? Maybe? Maybe. As for where I'm headed with those characters:

Sarada—more of a classical Uchiha fighter, think Shisui and Itachi pre-Mangekyō. I'm undecided, but I'm thinking about **not** giving her the Mangekyō. I kind of want to move away from the crazy OP eyes and return more to the roots of the series. The whole thing just got more and more ridiculous with Susano'o and the time-space stuff, and the whole reality manipulation genjutsu... yeah, let us not go there again. That is not to say we won't see the Mangekyō Sharingan, just not hers. In the extremely rare event she _does_ end up with the Mangekyō, it will **not** be related to Amaterasu or Tsukuyomi in any way, shape, or form.

Himawari—sort of the spiritual successor to Naruto, but not really. Think more of a combination between Jiraiya and Minato. We'll see all the hallmarks of both characters, with a bit of Hyūga thrown in the mix. Should be some good times.

As for where we're going with the plot, it's kind of hard to say without spoiling future events. Needless to say, peace is not forever, and there will be a new threat for the hidden villages to face. I imagine it will become apparent to some readers when the first hints are dropped a few (10?) chapters from now.

There have been quite a few reviewers clamoring for pairing Bolt and Hikari, and that will largely depend on how you like her as a character. Regardless of pairing, Hikari is a recurrent major character who we will see almost the entire story as Bolt's friend and companion. The tail end of this chapter was her first point-of-view chapter, so we shall see where this takes us. We won't see too many of these POVs, as the story mostly revolves around Bolt, but there will be some, especially as more and more original characters are introduced and their function in the story becomes apparent.

 **As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. In particular, what you thought of Hikari's POV chapter.**

 **\- Musica**


	12. Chapter 12

For Sarada, the march back to the Hidden Leaf was long and tortuous. The small length of wire with a worn bolt attached to it weighed heavily on her as it swayed on her neck. She knew, just knew, that Bolt had stayed behind so that the Crimson Tide didn't hurt them. Everything during their mission just seemed to go so _wrong_. She was one of the strongest ninjas her age, and she hadn't been able to defeat an opponent that couldn't have been much older than herself. The loss was even more crushing considering Bolt's freedom hinged on their victory. They had even been assigned an Anbu by the Hokage, one who possessed the famed and extinct Wood Release, and they still had failed.

But, worst of all, was that Sarada thought she saw something else in Bolt's eyes when he told them to leave. They had known each other since they were young children, as their parents were close friends. After years of friendship, and being in the same team, she thought she knew him well.

Well enough to know that Bolt didn't want to come home with them, even if he could.

The Hokage thought that Bolt was throwing a childish tantrum. He wasn't. Bolt was seriously angry with his dad. Angry enough to run away from the village. Angry enough to take up the headband of another village—even if it was one of their allies. Angry enough to leave his sister behind.

The thought of having to see, let alone speak to, Himawari made Sarada feel sick. Bolt's sister had been inconsolable upon learning that Bolt had ran away because of what their father did during the Chūnin Exams. The only time she wasn't seen wallowing in sadness was when she trained, and even then, her face was one of fierce determination mixed with sorrow. In class, she was quiet and sullen. She didn't hang out with her friends as much, anymore. Even the civilians in the village had taken note of their princess' depression.

Sarada shivered at the thought of crushing her hopes of seeing her brother again when she learned that their team had failed. That feeling of dread only compounded itself as the towering walls of the Hidden Leaf came into sight. Their journey took them through the winding forest paths that converged onto the main road. Ahead of them, several jōnin were guarding the front gate. The two on duty nodded in respect to Yamato as he passed them. "Konohamaru," Yamato said, drawing Sarada out of her dark thoughts. "Come with me. We need to report to the Hokage immediately."

Konohamaru glanced back at his two students. Sarada gave him a weak smile that assured him they would be fine and that he should see to his duties. The two of them quickly sped towards the Hokage's office with haste.

"I'm going to home to rest," Mitsuki informed her. "I still feel sluggish from that poison."

Sarada nodded. "Get well soon," she said in farewell. She decided that she would go home, too. As she wandered the streets of the village, Sarada saw a handful of friends and acquaintances from the academy pass her. They waved and said quick greetings, which she replied to halfheartedly.

By the time Sarada had found their new apartment, she had to drag herself up the stairs. In that moment, she regretted having angered her mother enough to destroy their house with her chakra-enhanced strength. Sarada fell against the door, pushing it open in the same motion. She blinked her bleary eyes as her mother seemed to materialize and pull her into a hug. "You're back!" Sakura yelled, squeezing her daughter tightly.

Sarada felt her back pop. "Mom," she hissed. "Too tight."

Sakura released her daughter immediately. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Here, let me look at you," Sakura said, her hands glowing green.

Sarada shooed away her mother's advances. "I'm fine, mom," she sighed. She actually felt a little better, in a way. Sarada wasn't entirely convinced her mother hadn't used some sort of healing on her while the life had been squeezed from her body. The fatigue she felt was dulled greatly.

"Good," Sakura said, with a smile. "How did your mission go?"

Sarada's face fell. "That bad, huh," Sakura whispered. Sarada nodded.

"Come on, let me tell you a story," Sakura said, pulling her daughter along after her. Sarada plopped down on their couch and her mother placed a cup of tea in front of her.

"I know Sasuke and I haven't been very forthcoming about his past, but that was to protect you. We didn't think you'd understand. Not until you were older, at least," Sakura began. Sarada listened intently, her tea forgotten. "When we were young, Sasuke left the village, not quite in the same manner as Bolt, but I imagine it feels the same," she said, her gaze resting on her daughter. "It hurts to know that someone you care for may never be in your life again."

Sarada nodded wordlessly. "Sasuke left the village for different reasons than Bolt. He wanted revenge and the power to achieve that vengeance. He left in pursuit of that power, and it took years before Naruto and I managed to bring him back. Bolt left because he's scared, and he's trying to teach Naruto a lesson. He'll come back, eventually. With or without you bringing him back," Sakura said sagely, nodding her head to herself.

Sakura cleared her throat. "What I'm trying to say is... don't beat yourself up over this. You didn't fail, you just haven't succeeded yet. You'll always have another chance," she said.

The corners of Sarada's lips turned upwards. Her mother was right. She did have another chance. All she had to do was get stronger. And she knew right where to find Bolt and his cohort. "Thanks, mom," she said. Sarada stood and stretched, feeling much lighter than she had before. "I think I'm going to take a walk. I'll be home tonight."

Sakura smiled and waved as her daughter dashed out of the house. She watched as Sarada ran north, towards the forested training grounds.

* * *

A very nervous Yamato and Konohamaru stood stiffly before their Hokage. Naruto had his head resting in his hands, staring at his desk. He had been that way for several minutes, and neither man had the courage to disturb him. A cup of ramen sat discarded. It had been steaming when the two had delivered their report. Now, it sat cold.

Suddenly, Naruto sat upright and quickly began to rummage through a pile of scrolls that were discarded. Finding the one he was looking for, he unrolled it and quickly began to skim its contents. Konohamaru could see the Uzumaki clan seal emblazoned on the back of the parchment.

Konohamaru flinched as Naruto violently slammed the scroll on his desk. "I knew it," he hissed. He pushed the scroll towards the both of them. On it was a list of names, men and women. A census, perhaps, Konohamaru thought. At the very end was a single name: Mitsuki Uzumaki. "When I met with the Uzukage a few months ago, I asked if she had seen Bolt. She said she hadn't, but that they did find a few more Uzumaki clansmen. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but it was possible that Bolt stopped there under an assumed name," Naruto explained.

Yamato and Konohamaru nodded. "It's what I would do," Yamato said. "They would never have questioned him once he revealed his surname. The seals protecting their island make them complacent."

Konohamaru remained wisely silent. The knowledge of the Uzumaki clan and the rebuilding of the Hidden Eddy was a S-class secret, punishable by death. In his opinion, the less he knew, the better.

"So, he stops at the Hidden Eddy. Why take on their headband?" Naruto pondered aloud.

Yamato cleared his throat. "If he planned to travel beyond the Land of Fire's borders, he would have known that, eventually, he would have to defend himself. Wearing our headband would make him easily identifiable on the wanted posters. Wearing the Hidden Eddy's, on the other hand..."

"Would let him use ninjutsu without drawing the suspicion an unmarked ninja would," Konohamaru managed to squeak out.

Yamato nodded. "Right," he said.

"Then what? How does he go from being in the Hidden Eddy to part of a band of mercenaries and thugs?" Naruto demanded.

Yamato and Konohamaru shared a look of concern and unease. "He said he joined them willingly, though it is certainly possible he was coerced into service," Yamato explained. "It could be either. I didn't have long to analyze him, but elements of both were present in his speech paterns."

Konohamaru was starting to understand more and more why the Anbu were so widely feared. Their training in every discipline of the ninja arts made them invaluable.

Naruto sighed heavily. "What do I do," he whispered.

Konohamaru shifted on his feet uneasily. He hated to see his surrogate brother like this. "Well, he did say he wouldn't come home unless you came and got him. Maybe..." Konohamaru trailed off.

Naruto took one look at the mountains of paperwork building up on both sides of his desk and shook his head. "I can't leave, not right now. The village needs me. The Chūnin Exams just ended and the alliance is having another Kage Summit soon... I just can't," he said.

"Might I suggest that you leave him to his own devices," Yamato suggested. "I do not think the mercenaries will harm Bolt. On the contrary, I think they mean to make him stronger. I don't know for what purpose, but I did not discern any ill intent from my banter with their leader during our battle."

"What about Sasuke?" Konohamaru asked.

Naruto sighed. "Sasuke left for a mission while you were gone. As much as I hate to admit it... his mission is more important than Bolt," he said, before descending into contemplative silence. Konohamaru wondered what exactly could be more important that your missing son. Whatever the reason was, he hoped Naruto really believed it.

"... You said he told you he was only joining for three years?" Naruto asked.

Yamato and Konohamaru nodded stiffly. Konohamaru could see Naruto's jaw working up and down as he tried to formulate the words of his decision. "... Fine," Naruto whispered, his voice hoarse. "Bolt can stay with them. But, I want an Anbu team stationed in the Land of Water. Their sole mission is to make sure nothing happens to him."

Yamato nodded, his face serious. "I'll reassign Sai and have him assemble his team," he assured the Hokage.

"Dismissed," Naruto uttered, his hand automatically reaching for another scroll to read and either sign or reject.

Yamato and Konohamaru shared a brief look and a nod before quickly leaving their Hokage to his duties. As they walked down the hallway of the Hokage offices, they sighed. "Why can't they just see that they both care for each other," Konohamaru groaned. Everything had just gotten so out of hand during the Chūnin Exams. Naruto took his duties as the Hokage too seriously, and Bolt wasn't understanding of his father's position, and too blinded by anger to see that he loved him and his sister.

Yamato smirked. "They're both more alike than they want to admit," he said. "When Naruto was younger, he was thickheaded too. Bolt is the same way."

Konohamaru scoffed. "What do you mean, when he was younger? He's still dull as a brick," he said.

Both men laughed.

* * *

Sarada weaved through the trees as she sprinted through the forest towards the third training ground. It had sort of become tradition. Their parents had been trained there, and Konohamaru taught them there as well.

It was a nice place, Sarada thought. A small, slow river wound through the countryside, with forest in every direction for miles except for a small clearing on either side of the river. Further into the forest were several old growth trees—good for climbing and chakra control exercises. The clearings were well worn, the grass grew short from decades of boots treading on it. Three stumps sat in the center, the bark worn down by countless punches and kicks.

Sarada smiled as she leapt over a large pit in the forest floor. She recognized it as the aftermath of a powerful chakra-enhanced strike. The earth had shattered under the strength of her mother's attack and caved in upon itself. No one had bothered to patch it up. The entire series of training grounds bore the scars from decades upon decades of training by Hidden Leaf ninja.

Sarada began her training as she always did. Practice with shuriken and kunai, using tricks her dad taught her. Using one shuriken to deflect another into striking a tree she couldn't see. When she emptied her pouches, she moved on to ninjutsu. She breathed fire, sending waves of flames cascading over the flowing river. She sent blasts of fire into the air in rapid succession, decreasing the time between breaths as she went.

When her lips were blistered from the heat, she began practicing her second element: lightning. She went through the motions of creating a Chidori; coating her hands in chakra, and allowing it to transform from energy to raw lightning. Her fist crackled as she increased the intensity. Sarada's chest was heaving after forming and reforming the technique three times.

Even then, she didn't allow herself a break. Next was taijutsu. Like those that came before her, she stood before the three stumps and began to batter them with punches and kicks. She went through the motions of her style, a combination of the classical Uchiha hand-to-hand combat and the brute strength she had learned from her mother. Bark was stripped from the tree, revealing a layer of white flesh underneath.

Sarada fell into a daze. Her body moved on instinct as she let her mind wander. She planned and plotted, thinking of her task at hand. She was certain the girl she had fought was the second-in-command. The two men Konohamaru had fought were weaker than the masked girl had been, of that Sarada was fairly certain. That meant her task was doubly difficult: she had to be strong enough to beat the hunter ninja, and then face their leader, the man who possessed the Raikage's lightning armor. Or a variation of it, according to Mitsuki.

One step at a time, Sarada reminded herself. The hunter ninja first, then the leader. She needed to find counters to her opponent's strengths. She was a master of throwing needles, a medic whose Mystic Palm was so honed that it could be used to cut flesh, and could use chakra-enhanced strength similar to her own. That wasn't even touching the other ninja disciplines. She displayed some proficiency in the manipulation of lightning chakra. Strong enough to block even her Chidori.

Sarada needed to be faster. She needed to be able to avoid those throwing needles. They were poisoned, and it would be impossible to know which poisons she used to immunize herself. The best defense was to not be hit. She increased the speed of her punches and kicks. The wood cracked under her strength. Sarada didn't notice her knuckles begin to bruise.

The counter to the Mystic Palm was to avoid it, or become as proficient in it as her opponent. Maybe she could ask her mom to teach her, or volunteer at the hospital. Sarada's speed doubled.

She could work on her Chidori. There was still room for improvement. More chakra, higher density, higher voltage. Sarada's eyes bled red as her Sharingan manifested. Lightning coated her right hand in an instant. A high pitched chirping echoed across the clearing as Sarada darted forward and thrust her arm through the stump.

Her arm caught in the wood. The Chidori raged inside the stump, burning it away from the inside out. Sarada placed her free hand on the stump and pushed with all her might, trying to free her hand. After a few seconds, she fell backwards as ash and charcoal billowed from the wound she had inflicted upon the old stump.

Sarada lay there, panting heavily. The clearing was bathed in the warm, orange light of the setting sun. It really was quite beautiful. Once her breathing evened out and her heart ceased its racing, Sarada pushed herself to her feet. The stump seemed to glare at her for her act of defacing it. She simply stood there and stared back for a few minutes, lost in her thoughts.

In a sudden bout of anger, Sarada raised both hands and screeched as she slammed them to the ground. Her chakra-enhanced strength caused the earth to shatter and explode, uprooting the three stumps and burying them under the rubble. Leaping away to safety, Sarada focussed on calming herself.

A twig snapped in the forest behind her, and Sarada rounded on it. Himawari stepped out from behind a tree. "Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't think anyone would be here this late."

The one person Sarada didn't want to meet. She noticed that Himawari was dressed in clothing fit for training. "I was just... letting off some steam," Sarada explained. Looking at the partially destroyed clearing, her explanation felt hollow.

Himawari nodded. "I was going to do some Gentle Fist training... but since you've destroyed the dummies, I was wondering if you wanted to train together?" she asked.

Sarada felt her cheeks grow warm. "Sure," she quickly agreed. She quickly made her way to the center of the clearing, away from the ruined stumps.

"Did you find my brother?" Himawari suddenly blurted.

The hope in her voice made Sarada's chest tighten. "We—we did, but we couldn't bring him back," Sarada answered nervously.

"What happened? Dad won't tell me anything," Himawari asked.

There was a slight pout to her voice that Sarada couldn't resist. With reluctance, she retold everything that had happened on their mission to the Land of Water. Strangely, Himawari didn't seem saddened by their failure. "You're not... angry at us for failing?" Sarada asked with disbelief.

Himawari shook her head. "My brother is going to be the strongest ninja in the village one day. If he chose to stay, he's not in any danger," Himawari said. "The only danger he is in is the beating I'm going to give him when he gets home for leaving me behind," she added, a slight smirk on her lips that said she meant it.

"I don't know about that," Sarada said with a smile. Himawari's absolvement of her failure took a weight off her shoulders she didn't know was there. "I've beaten Bolt plenty of times when we've trained as a team. And besides, the strongest ninja in the village is the Hokage, and _I'm_ going to be Hokage one day," she said.

Himawari crossed her arms. "There's no way you're stronger than my brother," she stated defiantly as she looked Sarada up and down, judging her.

Sarada stood taller at the challenge. "Why don't you be the judge of that? You said you wanted to train, right?"

Himawari frowned seriously and slid into a Gentle Fist stance, lowering her center of gravity. Her eyes grew focused and Sarada could see the veins around her eyes pulsing; her Byakugan barely restrained.

With unspoken agreement, the two leapt at each other. Himawari was a little over a year younger than Sarada, but she didn't _move_ like it. Her movements were fast and precise—not the movements of an academy student. Bolt was just like that, too, Sarada thought. Years of grooming with the Hyūga clan in their taijutsu style had that effect on people.

Sarada expertly ducked and weaved as she felt the wind rush past her face from Himawari's open-palmed Gentle Fist strikes. Sarada retaliated with careful punches and kicks, wary of being caught and having her chakra points blocked.

Sarada stumbled on the uneven ground she had created earlier. Himawari lunged forward, index finger extended, as she gently prodded her in the abdomen. Sarada flinched and jumped backwards, but her stomach felt like it was tied in knots. The two of them stared each other down as both of their eyes began to change; Sarada's bleeding from black to red, and Himawari's from blue to a pale violet.

Their second spar went to Sarada. With her Sharingan, she could follow the movements of the Gentle Fist more easily. If she couldn't be touched, the Gentle Fist wasn't dangerous at all. Sarada dodged a wide swing and kicked Himawari in the stomach, causing her to fall to her back. She leapt up instantly, the look in her eyes more determined than ever. It was kind of scary, in a way.

Himawari leaned back, inhaling deeply as she weaved hand seals. Sarada's eyes read the hand seals in slow motion as her body leapt for the river they fought next to. Just as she submerged, a wall of flame roared over the water's surface. She weaved her own hand seals underwater, and when she surfaced, she spat lances of flames that scorched the grass and lit up the clearing.

Himawari danced, evading each one. Even with her back turned, she knew where each bolt of fire was. Sarada ducked back under the river as Himawari hurled a handful of shuriken at her. Sarada shot out of the water and broke into a sprint as Himawari breathed another wall of fire at her. She withdrew two kunai and channeled her chakra into them. The knives arced with lightning as she hurled them at Himawari.

Himawari dodged them, as Sarada expected. But it forced her to stop breathing fire. Sarada created a shadow clone, and had it throw her at her opponent with her chakra-enhanced strength faster than she herself could run. With her Sharingan, Sarada saw Himawari's violet eyes widen in surprise. Sarada flipped herself midair, pushing her leg out for a kick. She watched as Himawari kneeled, weaving hand seals as she did.

Both of her hands touched the ground, and an earthen wall was erected between her and Sarada. Sarada's kick pulverized the wall, turning it into a fine dust. Sarada coughed, her vision obscured.

That was not the case for Himawari and her Byakugan. Sarada flinched as she felt two index fingers trike her, one at the waist, the other at her shoulder. "Two palms!" She heard Himawari yell. An instant later, she felt four more Gentle Fist strikes connect. Her chakra felt heavy and unwieldy in her body. Sarada flailed backwards, her body not responding to her commands.

Mercifully, the blows stopped. The dust cleared, and a very proud and arrogant Himawari looked down upon Sarada. "Told you," she gloated. "My brother is the strongest."

Sarada hissed as she tried to stand and found her legs were weak. Himawari took pity on her, striking her in the places her chakra points had been closed, releasing her. "You got lucky," Sarada quipped.

Himawari grinned. "Up for round two?" she asked.

Sarada nodded. As she dusted herself off, the two heard the cry of a hawk overhead. Looking up, a messenger hawk descended on them. The hawk flew straight to Himawari, landing on the ground before her. In its claws was a small box.

The two girls shared a look with each other. Neither knew what to make of the hawk. The bird squawked, offering its foot with the box clutched within. He shaked it angrily at Himawari the longer she stared at him.

"I think it's for you," Sarada commented.

Himawari nodded and took the box. The hawk squawked happily and took to the skies, heading east. Opening the box, Himawari found an ornate scroll with parchment a pleasant shade of yellow that reminded her of her namesake. Unfurling the scroll, Himawari flinched as it emitted a puff of white smoke. Sarada, with her Sharingan still activated, lurched forward and caught the object it spat out. A cake.

Himawari caught a scrap of paper as it floated down. Sarada peered over her shoulder as she read it aloud. "Since your last one was ruined... - B," Himawari said.

Himawari turned to see the cake Sarada held with both hands, a beaming smile on her face.

Sarada couldn't help but smile too. Even in another country, Bolt was still the doting older brother.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I kind of imagine Bolt as the protective older brother, and Himawari as having a slight brother complex. Her cheering him on during the Chūnin Exams was cute as fuck.

Himawari's chakra natures are fire, from Hinata, and earth, randomly (similar to Bolt's water nature). I think if Hinata wasn't as crippled by her awkwardness, she would have been the prodigy of the academy during her year. Or, at least, given Sasuke a run for his money. Himawari is that version of Hinata.

We also see the start of a beautiful friendship between Himawari and Sarada.

Next chapter, Bolt and the Crimson Tide get into more dubious shenanigans.

TheGangstaOfLove (Steve Miller?) — Bolt's moral compass is and will constantly shift as the story progresses. I like to use the alignment system from D&D when I create my characters, as it sort of helps me make choices as them, instead of as me, the writer. Obviously, in the beginning, he was what I would call "lawful good." He was the stereotypical good guy, like Naruto was. Then, as his journey continued, his alignment changed. When he stole food on the island, he moved from lawful good to chaotic good. He was still a morally righteous person, as he was motivated to help the people of the town shake off their oppressors (the CT at the time), but to do that, he needed food. He was willing to do something illegal in order to help them (steal). Now, he is sort of wavering between "neutral" and "lawful evil." He is torn between his morals and his duty. He doesn't want to kill people, and doesn't want to see them killed. He was raised in the Leaf, after all. But, at the same time, he's not a Leaf ninja anymore. He's a mercenary. He can and will be asked to do some "evil" things. To more concretely answer your question, like most people, he will find his "line" after he crosses it. I guess if what you're asking is if Bolt will kill people or talk them to death like Naruto, it is the former. Hope that answers your question sufficiently.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it.

\- Musica


	13. Chapter 13

Bolt closed his eyes and sighed as he went through the motions once more. He felt the afternoon sun beating down upon him, and heard the birds chirp in their trees as they watched the intruder of their homes. He drew a vague swirl in the dirt of the forest floor to help guide him through the steps.

Truthfully, he thought the Uzumaki taijutsu style was more of a dance than a fighting style. It certainly felt like it as he practiced. The scroll the Uzukage had given him had detailed all the steps for the basic forms, instructing him to use the symbol of their village as a guide and to hum a tune in order to get the pacing right. If he performed it correctly, his forms should vaguely resemble the whirlpools their country was named after. Fluid and flexible, yet powerful and unyielding.

Bolt didn't need to learn it, of course, but he was interested. Kohaku's use of the style to deflect his Gentle Fist was an infuriating way to combat the style of taijutsu he had become accustomed to. While he would never use the Uzumaki style over the Gentle Fist, there was merit to incorporating the strongest stances and forms into the Gentle Fist to improve the style further. It didn't help that his own training in the Gentle Fist was woefully inadequate, on account of his fleeing of the Leaf and his lack of Byakugan at an early age. His grandfather had taught both he and his sister, though Himawari had always received extra lessons since she had awakened their family's eyes.

Bolt's ears twitched as he heard an almost imperceptible _giggle_. Opening his eyes, he found that Hikari had snuck up on him—again. Not that Bolt was surprised. She was as silent as Death itself most of the time. Her eyes betrayed no mirth, but there was no one else around to laugh at him. The sound was unnatural coming from the girl whom Bolt had come to associate with nothing but the utmost rigid military discipline, which did not include laughter.

"What?" Bolt snapped. He had the distinct feeling that she was smirking under her mask.

"Why are you dancing in the middle of the forest?" Hikari asked.

Bolt felt the veins in his temples bulge. "I'm not dancing! This is the ancestral taijutsu style of the Uzumaki clan! It is not a dance!" Bolt yelled. He was _not_ dancing.

The slight sparkle of mirth in Hikari's eyes told Bolt that she didn't believe him. "Lunch is served," she informed him. "It would benefit you to return to camp before the barbarians devour it all."

Bolt scowled but let her previous comment slide. He knew all too well that it was first come, first serve when it came to food among the mercenaries. Reluctantly, he followed Hikari back through the small animal trail he had used to find a secluded space to practice.

Along the way, Hikari would stop every so often, kneeling and examining a flower, bush, or weed. Sometimes she would collect them, sometimes not. "What are you doing?" Bolt asked.

Hikari revealed a small pouch on her waist that was bulging with various plants. "Collecting ingredients," she said, placing a herb in the pouch. "This island has many herbs and flowers that are useful for poisons and their antidotes."

"Ah," Bolt commented. It was a little scary how much Hikari knew about poisons and anatomy. He recalled an incident with one of the thugs, in which she had incapacitated him by applying pressure to a handful of nerves. The man still walked with a limp in his gait, two weeks later. When he challenged her authority the second time, she had slipped something in his food that prevented him from controlling his bowels. He died when he defecated on another mercenary's sleeping bag, who killed him in his anger.

"Don't worry," Hikari said, her tone almost playful. "I won't poison you. Unless you do something stupid, that is."

Bolt gave her a weak smile. It was of little assurance. Personally, he hoped that the cook—an older, gray haired man who only had one leg—would prevent her from poisoning him. Bolt had quickly befriended the man shortly after joining. The cook was an old sailor who served in the Water Lord's personal armada, transporting the lord and his family between the islands. He was a veritable library of stories, which Bolt listened to in order to pass the time on the ship. The old man was happy for the company, complaining that the young never respected their elders these days.

Hikari suddenly kneeled, running her fingers through a small flowering plant. It was a shade of dark violet, reminding Bolt vaguely of the Byakugan, shaped like a bell. "Aconite," Hikari said, as she grasped the plant by the base and pulled it up. She withdrew a kunai, cutting off the roots. "When ingested, causes numbing of the nerves and weakness in the limbs. Eventually, it leads to a rapid and irregular heartbeat, and decreased blood pressure. If the antidote isn't taken, the victim dies of heart failure."

Bolt wore a false smile and nodded his head in some small measure of acknowledgement and understanding. As Hikari stood, Bolt could tell she was amused by his discomfort. The two of them followed the animal trail back into the clearing in which they had made camp. Tents were erected around roaring campfires. The largest of which had a large metal pot that the old cook loomed over, stirring slowly. The Crimson Tide mercenaries stood in an orderly line holding bowls, waiting for the cook to give them their rations.

Bolt laughed under his breath as some of the new recruits—common thugs, unable to use chakra—pushed their way to the head of the line and demanded to be served by the cook. The old man whipped a ladle across the first man's face, knocking him out. He exhaled fire, burning his two friends. If there was one thing Bolt had learned, it was that you didn't anger the person who prepared your food. That was a recipe for disaster. From the slight rise and fall of Hikari's shoulders, he could tell she found their misfortune to be amusing, too.

The two burning men rolled around on the ground, extinguishing the flames. They quickly grabbed their unconscious leader and retreated to their tent. Bolt doubted they would get food for a week, unless they foraged it themselves.

The cook raised his hand, waving Hikari over as the two entered the camp. Perks of being a ranking officer. You ate first. Bolt separated, heading for the end of the line. With a sigh, he realized it would be a long wait. Bolt gagged as his shirt's collar was tugged from behind. Hikari beckoned for him to follow her. He followed her to the front of the line, where the cook served them happily with a toothy smile.

Bolt tried to make himself invisible as the mercenaries in line scowled at him for the preferential treatment. Thankfully, they kept their mouths wisely shut.

"Why's the girl and her boyfriend get to eat first, huh?"

Or not. Bolt turned and watched as the wiser, older mercenaries parted, exposing the man who had made the comment. He looked around, as if surprised at the sudden lack of friends. He opened his mouth to say something—probably something that would get him killed, Bolt guessed—only to scream in pain as a throwing needle pierced his kneecap. The mercenary fell to the ground, holding his injured knee and wailing. The line reformed, stepping over the wounded man. No one offered him help.

Hikari was already making her way to a small campfire near the edge of the camp. The man and woman who had been chatting around the fire quickly made themselves scarce as she approached. With great reluctance, Bolt followed and quietly sat opposite her. He hoped she didn't mind.

The soup was good, at least. Bolt looked over the rim of his bowl at Hikari as she half removed her mask, allowing just her lips and chin to be exposed. It was a bit of a game the two of them played. She was always reluctant to remove her mask, and Bolt was curious about what she looked like. After his first few weeks, it had become apparent to Bolt that Hikari _never_ removed her mask. Not to train. Not to eat. He wasn't daring enough to see if she slept with it, as he was sure being caught would entail his certain death, but if he had to bet, he would bet she slept with it, too. All he had learned over the long four months was that she was pale with a sculpted chin and thin, red lips.

Finishing their meals, Bolt and Hikari sat in silence, staring into the campfire. They weren't quite friends, Bolt would say, but they were each other's closest acquaintance within the ranks of the Crimson Tide—barring her relationship with Eiji, which Bolt still wasn't entirely sure what that exactly was. The awkwardness was unbearable. Without food to occupy Bolt's thoughts, the mercenary's words hung in the air. The longer he sat, the more uncomfortable he felt. Desperate to talk about something, anything, Bolt asked the first question in his mind. "How did you get so good with your throwing needles?"

Hikari peered at him through the slits of her mask and Bolt felt immediately less intelligent for having spoken. He was surprised, then, when Hikari actually deigned to answer him. "I've always been good with throwing weapons," she said. "Even in the Academy. When I was eight, I was recruited into the Anbu. My chosen weapon became throwing needles, as many operatives specialized in. They are useful in many applications where kunai and shuriken are not."

Bolt nodded, a little surprised that she had answered him and revealed so much. It was impressive to be recruited into the Anbu at all, let alone at the tender age of eight. That made her a genius in Bolt's mind, maybe even a prodigy.

Hikari tilted her head. "Would you like to learn?" Hikari asked, holding out a fistful of throwing needles.

Bolt looked at the tips of the needles intently. "They're not poisoned," she assured him. Good. Bolt didn't want his first experience with the weapon to end with him being poisoned and hoping Hikari had the antidote on her person.

Gingerly, Bolt took the proffered needles. Hikari gestured to a tree near their edge of camp. Bolt didn't need more instruction than that. He stood, cocked back his arm, and hurled the first needle forward. It traveled about two feet away before it sunk into the ground.

Bolt heard a slight nasally exhale over the crackle of the campfire. His cheeks burned as he pocketed the needle. "It's more of a slinging motion than a throwing one," Hikari said, taking pity on him. This time, the needle soared off into the forest. "Better," she commented.

Bolt _slung,_ not _threw,_ the next several needles. The more he practiced, the closer they got to hitting the tree. Bolt held his breath as he held the last needle between index and middle finger. Ever so carefully, he hurled the needle forward. He was rewarded with a satisfying thunk as steel met wood.

"Not bad," Hikari said. "For an Academy student. Go find my needles."

Bolt swore under his breath as he tore the needle from the tree and moved to walk through the bushes. Night had begun to fall, and soon it would be dark, and finding the needles would be impossible. He was spared from his task as a mercenary sprinted up to them. "Lieutenant," he said, saluting her. "You and Bolt are wanted by Eiji in the command tent."

Hikari sighed, gesturing for Bolt to follow her. Bolt thanked whatever deity was looking out for him. The command tent was the largest tent in their small encampment, home to a large table with maps, bingo books, and wanted posters spread all over it. Eiji loomed over the table, plotting out their company's next course of action.

Takeo and Hiroki stood at attention to Eiji's left. They both were battered and bloody. "What happened to you two idiots?" Hikari drawled, storming into the tent as she swatted the flap open.

Bolt had to bite his tongue in order to not laugh as both men's cheeks turned scarlet. "These two _idiots_ ," Eiji spat the word, meaning every bit of it, "managed to not only lose their bounty, but also get caught in a skirmish fighting her home village."

Hikari's cold gaze bored into Takeo and Hiroki. Both men straightened and looked ahead resolutely, refusing to meet her gaze. "And how did this happen?" Hikari asked, fearing the answer.

Eiji frowned thunderously. "Dumb and dumber thought the girl was actually _interested_ in them. She caught them with their pants down and escaped in the night," he explained.

Bolt snorted as Takeo and Hiroki's faces turned as red as the Uzumaki clan's hair. Hikari sighed deeply. "I suppose Bolt and I are on damage control," she asked.

Eiji nodded, handing her a flier. Bolt peered over Hikari's shoulder to read the wanted poster. "Tamako; female, 5'6", weighing between 110 and 130 pounds. No distinguishing characteristics, user of Wind Release. Jōnin of Nadeshiko Village. Two million ryō alive, one million dead," Eiji explained for them.

"What's she wanted for?" Bolt pipped up. If someone earned a bounty of one million ryō or higher, they weren't small fry.

Eiji smirked. "Our girl has quite the love for priceless shiny things, and isn't afraid to borrow them," he said. A thief, Bolt thought.

"We will depart in the morning," Hikari informed their leader.

Eiji just nodded and waved them out. "Take these two with you. Make them do dishes for a month," he said.

Bolt felt genuinely bad for Takeo and Hiroki. There were _a lot_ of dishes left over after each meal. The Crimson Tide wasn't a large organization by any definition, but it was still a sizable number of people. Bolt followed Hikari as she herded the two men towards a small stream at the far side of their camp. They lumbered forward with a massive tub of bowls, spoons, and cups held between them.

The dishes clanged loudly as Takeo dropped his half of the tub and waded into the water. "Wait," Hiroki hissed. "Be quiet."

Bolt turned to poke fun at Hiroki, but the words died in his throat at the serious look on the man's face as he peered over the creek and into the shadows of the forest. Hiroki straightened suddenly, his eyes widening in alarm. "Anb—" he yelled, before the hiss of metal cut him off. He dropped to the floor, a kunai lodged in his throat.

Bolt heard Takeo roar and slosh forward through the stream as his Byakugan flared to life. "Anbu! We're under attack!" Hikari shouted. Men barrelled from their tents, weapons in their hands.

A shadow leapt at Bolt from a branch above him. With his eyes, he dodged the attack without looking up. He could tell the man was surprised as she shoved his palm into his sternum. The Anbu's eyes widened comically behind his mask as Bolt showered him with Gentle Fist strikes, leaving him boneless on the river bank.

Hikari was dealing with two masked Anbu a short distance away while Takeo brutally slammed another's skull into a rock in the stream, cracking it like an egg. Bolt withdrew two shuriken and sent one flying into the forest. He loosed the second a moment later, chasing its twin. The second collided with the first, causing it to swerve and strike one of the Anbu that Hikari was fighting from behind. She capitalized on the man's pain as her hands glowed blue with chakra. A quick swipe, and her Chakra Scalpel slit the man's throat from ear-to-ear.

Bolt saw Takeo grappling with three more masked Anbu in the stream. He had several shuriken imbedded in his back,staining his shirt with blood. Bolt flashed through the hand seals. The stream rose up from its bed, forming a massive, raging dragon of water. The dragon descended upon the Anbu, swallowing them whole and keeping them submerged. One of them weaved seals, and the dragon exploded into rain as it was dispersed. By that time, Takeo had recovered, and his anger fueled his attacks. Bolt heard a roar as the rogue unleashed an arcing wave of lightning that caught the Anbu as they fell, electrocuting them.

Takeo whirled around, looking for his next enemy. "There's no more here!" Bolt shouted, running past Hikari as she dispatched her last opponent with a well placed throwing needle that pierced the Anbu's eye through the slit in his mask. "They're attacking the camp!"

Bolt, Hikari, and Takeo sprinted back towards the camp, where all hell had broken loose. Anbu had descended upon them in droves, killing scores of mercenaries who were normal men and women that couldn't use chakra. The survivors were grouped together around the few ninja the Crimson Tide employed. Among them, Eiji was sending out bolts of lightning to keep their attackers at bay.

Hikari threw a hail of throwing needles at their masked assailants as Takeo charged them like a bull. Bolt weaved a series of hand seals and sent a stream of water gushing from his lips that picked up an Anbu and flung him into the forest. As he passed overhead, a common bandit raised his sword and slashed the man's belly open.

The Anbu turned to face the new threat, realizing that their comrades had failed the ambush. The veins in Bolt's Byakugan bulged as his eyes focused on every opponent at once. The first Anbu—a woman, whose mask resembled a rabbit—was incapacitated with a few well placed Gentle Fist strikes. The second never managed to reach him, as Takeo picked the man up by the waist, hoisting him high and slamming him into the earth with as much strength as he could muster. Bolt heard every bone in the man's body shatter. The taijutsu style of the Land of Lightning shone through, brutal as it was.

Bolt let Hikari and Takeo take the front lines; elegant assassin and brutal brawler clearing the path. He withdrew a handful of shuriken in both hands and let them fly. Most missed their mark, but several found their way into the backs of the Anbu fighting Eiji and his allies. Eiji capitalized on each shuriken, dispatching or crippling each opponent with startling efficiency.

In a matter of moments, the small force of Anbu had dwindled to only three men. Their leader, Bolt presumed, was a tall, lean man with a head of blonde hair that wore a bull mask. "C," Bolt heard one of the other two survivors whisper, apparently addressing their leader. The Anbu with the bull mask nodded once and his hands were forming a seal before anyone could react. The man glowed with a blinding white light. All at once, the remaining Crimson Tide hurled whatever weapons they had at the Anbu.

The light died, revealing three dead men. Eiji marched up to the nearest body and kicked the mask off, revealing a Hidden Cloud headband. He scoffed and turned to face his company. "Check for survivors, ours and theirs. Note any who have a bounty on their head," he commanded. The Crimson Tide limped away, going through the motions of checking the dead.

Eiji began to walk away when Bolt caught a flicker of movement with his Byakugan. The Anbu with the bull mask stirred, and the shuriken imbedded in him faded to nothing. Genjutsu, Bolt realized. The Anbu sprinted forward, a short sword in his hand, intending to impale Eiji from behind.

Bolt's body moved with a speed he didn't know he had. His right hand sent a lance of chakra from his fingertips that disabled the man's wrist and sent the sword flying, and his left reached up and buried itself in his chest. The Anbu fell backwards, hacking up blood and clutching at his heart. After a few seconds, he dropped to the ground, and did not rise.

Bolt dropped to his knees and vomited. His stomach emptied of his contents, he began to cough and retch as the realization that he had just killed a man. With his Byakugan, he could see Hikari looming over him in his moment of weakness, insuring no other Anbu took advantage of the lull in combat. Takeo caught the two other Anbu, killing them before they could escape using their leader's genjutsu. Eiji kneeled next to Bolt, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Don't lose sleep over this scum, kid. Everyone has to make their first kill at some point, better it be this guy than some no name your village orders you to off," Eiji said. It did little to assuage the feelings of disgust and guilt Bolt felt welling up inside him.

Eiji cleared his throat, patting Bolt on the back in an attempt to get his breathing under control. "You saved my life, Bolt," he said. "And I pay my debts. Anything you want. Name it, and it's yours. You can be a free man if ya' want."

Bolt wiped at his eyes, determined not to let anyone see him cry as his Byakugan faded. He really didn't have anywhere to go, and he wasn't ready to go home and face his parents just yet. Doing his best to ignore the dead man at his feet, there was one thing that Bolt wanted. He had only seen it once, ever so briefly, but he wanted it all the same. "Lightning armor," Bolt managed to gasp out. "Teach me how to use the lightning armor."

Eiji's slight frown turned into a toothy smirk. "You got it, kid," he said, patting him on the back and pulling Bolt to his feet. He managed to spin Bolt away from the body of the Anbu before he could look at it. Eiji passed him off to Hikari, giving her a single nod. "Get some rest. When you get back from your mission, you start training," he instructed Bolt.

Bolt nodded feebly and felt a small prick on his neck. He looked over to see Hikari withdrawing a needle. He only had a second to gasp in complaint before he fell unconscious.

"It'll wear off in ten to twelve hours. You'll thank me later," Hikari assured Bolt's sleeping form as she dragged him to his tent.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Another one.

Has anyone been keeping up with the teasers for the Boruto manga? My god, I'm half hyped, half terrified. The art looks so incredibly bad. I feel like we're going to have art similar to early Naruto chapters and that just seems like a disservice to the series. I hope Kishi helps draw at least a little of the series, or gets more helpers to help the new dude draw.

Some people were a little confused about how Hikari looks based on the last chapter. If it wasn't clear, she was performing a transformation jutsu to imitate the appearance of the waitress. Hikari herself appears similar to Haku; pale, with black hair and green eyes. She is what I imagine a combat medic would be like in the Narutoverse. Imagine an amalgam of Kabuto (pre-Shippuden) and Tsunade. We see just a tiny bit more of her character this chapter, I hope you guy's like her. There was so much wasted potential with Sakura as a character, and I hope to rectify that by writing my own strong female lead.

Aconite, more commonly known as Wolfsbane or Monkshood, is actually extremely poisonous. The Ainu of Japan used it as poison on their arrows. The more you know!

I think we'll do... two more, maybe three, chapters with the Land of Water and the Crimson Tide. Then we move on to bigger and better things! I want to do at least one chapter with Nadeshiko village, and one chapter exploring the Land of Hot Water/Steam (I'll probably call it Steam). Then, we'll have the grand finale of this arc, and move on. Next chapter will have a small Sarada/Himawari POV.

Person — This is false. Hinata's elements are Fire and Lightning. Whilst Kushina does have Water, I find it unlikely that her DNA would influence Bolt's enough to create the elemental affinity. There also isn't a direct, proven link between chakra natures and genetics, except in the case of bloodlines. Either way, I'll be sticking by my decision to give Himawari the Earth nature, because I believe it's one of the underrepresented natures.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

It was quite a feeling, the first time you killed someone.

Bolt would never forget it. The way the Anbu's eyes widened and clouded beneath his mask. The sound of blood gurgling in the lungs as he breathed his last breath. The way he clutched at his chest in disbelief and horror.

Everyone always talked about how they saw the faces of those they killed in their dreams. On more than one occasion, Bolt had eavesdropped on a few of the grizzled veterans of the third war. It amazed him that they could remember the details so _intimately_ after so much time. Now, he didn't doubt them. Bolt would remember that night in the small forest clearing on the peninsula of the Land of Lightning until his dying day, that he knew.

But, what the veterans never talked about, was the feeling of _uncleanliness._ His left hand felt like it didn't belong. His skin felt tight, as if it was worn incorrectly. Bolt's fingers twitched as he recalled the sensation of chakra leaving their tips and piercing the Anbu's chest. He felt the overwhelming need to wash his hands, but no amount of soap and water ever made them feel cleaner.

The aftermath of the Anbu attack on their camp was dealt with swiftly and efficiently. When Bolt woke up late the next morning, the bodies had already been been catalogued and piled. The Anbu who had prices on their heads were loaded onto the the ship, and the rest burned in a great pile. Those that died from among the ranks of the Crimson Tide were given proper burials in the forest in unmarked graves, to prevent any grave robbers from disturbing their rest to collect their bounties.

It was a somber feeling, Bolt decided. The very air felt depressing in the wake of so much death. Takeo had sulked around the camp, picking fights with whoever was stupid enough to anger him. Bolt couldn't find it in himself to blame him. He didn't know what he would do if Sarada or Mitsuki had been killed on a mission. He would probably go mad.

Hikari had summarily shoved a plate of food in his face, giving him only minutes to eat, before dragging him out of the camp before Bolt could ask any questions or wallow in his own misery. They had a long journey ahead of them, made longer by the late hour of the day in which they found themselves. The island of Nadeshiko laid far to the south of where they had camped in the Land of Lightning. It was one of the largest islands in the Land of Water, yet remained its sovereignty due to its own fledging ninja village. Whilst the Hidden Mist would no doubt emerge victorious in a war between the two, there had never been enough support to do so—especially with the third and fourth wars, and Yagura's bloody purge of bloodlines.

"Keep up," Hikari chided him. Bolt shook his head, trying to focus on the trees as they leapt through the forest. Hikari glanced back at Bolt as the forest thinned, giving way to rocky hills and gullies. He was taking it much harder than she herself did the first time. Given, he was born in an era of peace in a village that promoted non-violence, and she was recruited into the Anbu hunter program before she had even graduated from the Academy. No one was there to hold her hand and guide her through her own tumultuous emotions, so she didn't know what she could do to comfort her brother-in-arms.

The two of them continued in a strained, awkward silence as they blitzed through the countryside. Blissfully, they encountered no foreign ninja. Rocky crags and gullies gave way to smooth, sandy plains as they reached the coast of the Land of Lightning. Both continued on, channeling chakra through their feet as they sprinted across the waves. Hikari kept her pace brisk yet subdued, always looking back to make sure Bolt followed her. He had withdrawn inwards, and no amount of prodding would bring him out of his shell for long.

Hikari's training ate at her. A distracted mind in a potential combat situation never ended well, for him or his team. Slowing her pace, Bolt continued running on autopilot. Hikari weaved a few hand seals as she kneeled, placing the palm of her hand on the surface of the ocean. A small stream of water reared its head and slammed into Bolt's face before he could react. Hikari was rewarded with the sound of sputtering and yelping as Bolt was rudely awakened and sent sprawling below the waves.

Bolt swam to the surface, his arms flailing for purchase on the water's surface with his chakra. He took in a great gasp of air as he hauled himself out of the water, now thoroughly soaked. He flashed his companion a murderous look, the veins in his temples writhing unnaturally. If Hikari hadn't been wearing her mask, Bolt was sure she would have an infuriating smirk plastered on her face.

Hikari inclined her head, gesturing to continue their journey. Bolt grumbled under his breath and began to wring out his soaked clothes as they ran. After he had removed as much moisture as he could, there was little left to distract him from returning to his dark thoughts. He kept a sixth sense trained on Hikari, however, wary of being drenched again. "The Hidden Mist Jutsu is formed by the seals for Ox, Snake, and Ram," Hikari said suddenly. "The user gathers chakra in their lungs, using nature transformation to turn it into water vapor. Imbued with chakra, it is thicker than natural mist and obscures dōjutsu to varying degrees."

Bolt was startled upon hearing her speak. "Uh, yeah, I guess," he commented. Hiroki had taught him the jutsu shortly after he joined. It was a staple of all Hidden Mist ninjas, and an invaluable technique for stealth.

"Now you explain one," Hikari prompted, before Bolt could go back to torturing himself.

Bolt's brows furrowed as he began explaining the Water Release: Water Bullet Jutsu. For the remainder of their trip to Nadeshiko, the two went back and forth, explaining the hand seals required for each jutsu and how exactly it functioned. It became a sort of game, where each stretched their knowledge of techniques to the limit.

Both were equally relieved as the shores of Nadeshiko came into sight. Bolt and Hikari had gone through their entire repertoire of techniques and were struggling to improvise new techniques from their brief battles with other ninja and what they remembered from their time in the Academy.

Bolt hid a small smile as he realized Hikari had played the game to distract him from his sorrow.

* * *

Sarada's eyes flickered back and forth as her Sharingan tracked Himawari's fists. She ducked and weaved, evading each strike of the Gentle Fist. The air hissed as the younger girl's hands expelled chakra. Even a single touch would be debilitating, especially when they weren't holding anything back.

She grabbed Himawari's wrist as an open-palmed fist swung wide. Heaving, she threw Himawari across the training grounds like a rag doll. Sarada heard her yelp in surprise and began to weave hand seals.

Himawari recovered, chakra glowing as her feet touched the ground and anchored her there against the force of Sarada's grapple. She darted forward, using the chakra in her legs to give her a burst of speed. With her Byakugan, she saw Sarada's eyes widen in surprise as she appeared inside her guard. "Two palms!" Himawari yelled, striking her friend in the sternum and abdomen. She hesitated as the strikes felt wrong. Sarada seemed to bulge as smoke leaked from her mouth and ears.

Himawari leapt backwards, her hands flashing through hand seals. An earthen dome erupted and covered her as the clone of Sarada burst into flames, incinerating the grass for several tens of feet in every direction. She could feel the heat through her earthen defense. Had she not blocked the fire clone's explosion, she was sure Sarada would be rushing her to the hospital.

But that was the cost of power. Both girls had agreed to hold nothing back when they started training together several months ago. As a result, both improved markedly. With her Byakugan, Himawari could see Sarada standing behind her, inhaling a great breath of air. Himawari bit her thumb and slammed her palm on the ground.

A large toad burst forth, shattering the earthen dome. Without Himawari having to speak her intent, the toad spewed forth a wave of water that countered Sarada's fire technique. The training grounds were covered in a thick steam, but that didn't hinder Himawari's vision. The toad leapt into the air as Himawari inhaled. Gamami needed no instruction as she felt her summoner's fire chakra flare. She spit a globule of oil at the same time Himawari breathed fire. A roaring inferno descended over the training grounds, thoroughly scorching and charring the earth beyond what a normal fire technique could do.

As the toad and her summoner fell to the earth, the ground rumbled under their weight. Sarada chose then to emerge from her hiding spot behind a tree trunk at the far edge of the clearing. She unleashed a wave of arcing lightning that moved faster than the eye could follow. With her Sharingan, Sarada saw the muscles in Himawari's back go rigid as the lightning approached. No doubt her Byakugan could see the attack coming, but her body wasn't fast enough to react to it.

The toad burst into smoke as it was electrocuted, leaving Himawari to fall to the ground as her muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Sprinting forward, Sarada was at her opponent's throat in a moment. She held a kunai to Himawari's neck with a pleased smile on her face. "Give up?" Sarada asked.

Himawari nodded feebly as Sarada put the knife back in its pouch. Her hands glowed green with the Mystic Palm as she soothed Himawari's pains away. "That was a good one," Himawari managed to gasp out as her muscles stopped spasming.

"Thanks," Sarada quipped. "I couldn't afford to hold back with you using toad oil. That stuff is nasty. My mom had to throw out the last shirt that got stained with the stuff."

Himawari giggled at the thought of Sakura scrubbing futilely at the toad oil. According to Gamami, it was a highly flammable variant of the oil the toads bathed in on Mount Myōboku. Whilst the original couldn't be taken from the toad's ancestral home, the flammable oil used for combat could. After a quick demonstration on its properties, Himawari had demanded her summon to always carry some. The heat from the combination of toad oil and fire was enough to blister her own skin, even at a distance.

The green chakra surrounding Sarada's hands faded as the treatment ended. "Better?" Sarada asked, helping her opponent to her feet. Himawari nodded several times. "Up for round two?"

Himawari shook her head. "No, I was going to go bother my dad after we finished," she said.

Sarada had to stifle a giggle. "Your dad has it rough. First Bolt, then you pick up his bad habits," she said.

Himawari just smirked. "He'll give in and train me eventually," she said.

"Or he will just go insane and retire at an early age," Sarada countered.

"That's fine too," Himawari declared.

"You know," Sarada said, as the two of them walked back to the village. "You could always ask Konohamaru to teach you. He taught the Rasengan to Bolt. I'm sure he'd be happy to teach you if you asked."

Himawari made a small noise that told Sarada she hadn't really thought of that. "Plus," Sarada continued on. "Imagine the Hokage's face when you bust into his office with a Rasengan in your hand."

Himawari stopped walking, causing Sarada to stop as well. She watched as an evil grin spread across her friend's face. In that moment, Sarada felt sorry for her teacher and the leader of their village. Himawari began to skip happily through the woods as they headed not for the Hokage's office, but for the Sarutobi clan district and, presumably, Konohamaru's house.

Sarada shook her head and pushed her glasses up as she followed her friend. She knew how demanding Himawari could be, and if she was going to torture her teacher, she wanted to be there to watch. And learn, of course. She was still determined to be the next Hokage.

* * *

Nadeshiko was an interesting place, Bolt decided. There was no towns or villages on the island, save for one: Nadeshiko itself. Nestled on the tops of two towering mountains of stone, the village was connected by a large bridge that spanned a ravine between the two mountains. The entire island was covered in a dense forest, crawling with wild animals. There was no clear path through the forest, leaving him and Hikari to wade through the dense underbrush; cutting and hacking their way through.

"Can we go back yet?" Bolt asked as his sword caught in a thick vine for the hundredth time. He was infinitely glad Hikari had revealed a small sealing tag that contained a handful of spare weaponry, among which, were two swords they used as machetes.

"No!" Hikari snapped, swinging at a bush violently. "The Crimson Tide has never failed a mission before, and we won't start now. Especially after last night's raid."

Bolt sighed and allowed his Byakugan to manifest. Focussing his chakra in his eyes, Bolt's vision swam as he scoured the forest for an easier path. His gaze was drawn to the mountains upon which Nadeshiko sat. They were two faces of sheer rock, with no discernable path up. That meant they would either be looking for another path, or using chakra to scale the mountain. Both were equally exhausting, considering the difficulty in which they navigated the forest.

"See anything?" Hikari asked, as she violently cut down a sapling with ruthless precision.

Bolt shook his head, even though she couldn't see him. "No, nothing. Looks like we'll have to scale the mountain," he said. He could hear her audibly sigh. Bolt was beginning to question whether the two million ryō bounty was worth it for the trouble they were going through. Both he and Hikari had agreed they would be claiming the bounty for their target—alive, not dead. It was more for the reputation than the extra million ryō; the money was just a bonus.

Hikari barreled into Bolt, knocking him to the ground. Before he could even sputter an indignified response, she was already hauling him to his feet and throwing him behind a tree. With his Byakugan, Bolt saw a flash of pale skin dart into the underbrush. Looking at the tree he was hiding behind, Bolt saw that there was a dart sticking out of the bark—right where he had been standing. "Pay attention!" Hikari hissed at him. "Or I'll pluck those eyes out and sell them to someone who will actually use them!"

Bolt mentally reprimanded himself before he set about looking for their would-be assailant. The world became a blue monochrome as the trees and bushes became incorporeal; marked only by a faint, gray outline. Whoever had attacked them didn't anticipate facing a Hyūga. Bolt saw their chakra pathway system as clear as day, hiding in the branches of a tree not twenty paces away. Bolt fished a handful of shuriken out of the leather pouch on his waist and hurled them at their attacker. The disembodied chakra of the person leapt out of the way at the last moment. Bolt could see their chakra points flare as they leapt from branch to branch deeper into the forest.

"This way!" Bolt called, jumping after their target. Hikari followed him, a handful of throwing needles in each hand.

Bolt's eyes noticed an irregularity with their attacker's chakra as they chased them through the forest. "I think I managed to hit him with one or two shuriken back there," he informed Hikari, who only grunted in acknowledgement.

The chase lasted for nearly half an hour. After the first ten minutes, Bolt wanted to laugh as their target became increasingly desperate as they realized Bolt's eyes couldn't be fooled. Finally, their target gave up. Too tired to continue on, they stopped in a small clearing and made their final stand. Bolt and Hikari stopped, perched on a tree limb that loomed over the clearing. Their target was a man wearing a headband emblazoned with a stylized flower; the symbol of Nadeshiko. He didn't look particularly strong, but nor did he appear weak. Bolt estimated him to be a chūnin.

Hikari dropped to the forest floor. "Why did you attack us?" she questioned.

The Nadeshiko ninja remained silent as he gripped a kunai tightly. "How do we enter Nadeshiko village?" Hikari asked. Bolt scanned the surrounding area with his Byakugan, ensuring no one caught them unawares again.

The man hurled his kunai at Hikari, who dodged it and threw a fistful of throwing needles in return. The man cried out in pain as they pierced his legs, causing him to drop to the ground. Bolt sighed and dropped to the ground, seeing no other enemies in sight. Hikari strode up to the man, kneeled, and stabbed him with a needle. Bolt watched as his pupils dilated and his muscles slackened. "Why did you attack us?" Hikari asked, again.

The ninja opened his jaw and began to lazily drawl out the answer to her question. "Red colored band," he slurred. "Enemies. Attack on sight."

Hikari fingered the fabric of her headband, the standard color of those in the mercenary company. She slipped it off her neck and deposited it in a pouch on her waist. "How do we enter Nadeshiko village?"

The man's head lolled as he drooled. Hikari slapped him, causing his eyes to flutter. "Hidden entrance," he slurred. "Base of mountain. Rock like tree."

She stabbed him with another needle, and the man passed into blissful unconsciousness. "Can you find it?" Hikari asked Bolt.

Bolt nodded and placed his hands into the Ram seal before channeling more chakra into his eyes. The veins in his temples bulged and writhed as his Byakugan's visual acuity increased twofold. He scoured the mountainside, looking for the secret entrance to the village. He found nothing, but eventually came to a rock formation that vaguely resembled a dead, leafless tree. "I think I found the marker to the entrance," Bolt said, jogging through the trees towards the base of the mountain. Hikari followed closely behind.

The marker was little more than a cropping of rock formed from cracks in the face of the mountain. If Bolt wasn't looking for it, specifically, he would have never found it—even with his Byakugan. With a little imagination, the cracks appeared to take the form of a dead, leafless tree. Once their attention was drawn to it, Bolt and Hikari didn't think the Nadeshiko ninja could have been speaking of anything else.

"What now?" Bolt asked, as he fumbled with the cracks in the stone. He didn't find anything that looked remotely like a hidden passage.

Hikari drew back her arm and slammed her fist into the stone, causing Bolt to yelp in surprise. The rock gave way and revealed a dark cavern. "I guess that works," Bolt commented as he trailed behind her. Looking around, Bolt could see numerous tags stuck to the stone with sealing matrices on them. That was why his Byakugan didn't find the passageway. A ruined mechanical door lay next to the cavern entrance where Hikari had broken it.

"Shouldn't we, you know, be more quiet?" Bolt asked as they ventured further into the cave. Bolt saw her pop a soldier pill—probably to help her see in the dark. Not for the first time, Bolt thanked the gods that he had been born with the Byakugan.

"Probably," Hikari whispered. They came upon what appeared to be an old mineshaft hewn into the rock that led upwards. At the very top, they could see a warm, yellow-orange light. A wooden floor sat at the bottom of the shaft, with two sets of wires anchored to the center. A complicated looking series of mechanical gears attached the wires to the wood.

Hikari gingerly stepped on the wood. No traps activated, she reached out and tugged on the wires. They held. Bolt followed her, watching as she gripped the wires tightly and pulled. The wooden platform moved up ever so slightly. It was a very crude, manual elevator. Moving to the wire opposite her, Bolt pulled down. The platform moved up, again. The two of them fell into a rhythm; Bolt pulled his wire down, and Hikari pulled hers up.

In a matter of minutes they had reached the apex, without using any chakra. They emerged into what appeared to be a utilitarian warehouse with bare, metal walls. A single lantern burned in the corner, sitting upon a small, worn wooden stool. "Security is lax," Hikari commented. "What do you see?"

The veins in Bolt's temples writhed as he scanned the area. "We're in some sort of industrial district," he said. "Lots of empty warehouses. Not many people. I can't see any civilians, so we must be several hundred feet away from the village proper." Bolt sighed audibly, wishing his eyesight was as good as his mother's. She could see for miles in every direction.

"Stay low and stick to the shadows. Keep your eyes open and actually pay attention to what you see," Hikari commanded. Bolt nodded several times to assure that he would, in fact, keep his eyes peeled.

Together, they crept through the series of warehouses and made their way deeper into the village. Soon enough, Bolt was close enough to the village to see with his Byakugan. "We're near the village now," Bolt informed his companion.

"Transform into one of the women," Hikari instructed him. Bolt did so, reluctantly. Hikari immediately copied his appearance, and bid him to pick a man to masquerade as. The two of them emerged from an alleyway as a nondescript pair of civilians. Together, Bolt and Hikari scoured the village for any sign of their target. "Tamako" was a ninja of some renown within her village, and would no doubt be in hiding, or well protected, after her near capture.

A sudden commotion ahead drew Bolt's attention. The crowd of civilians he had been navigating had begun to thin and part, making way for some sort of procession. Bolt and Hikari stepped to the side, mirroring the citizens of Nadeshiko.

A woman strode through the streets, tall and proud. She had her black hair held up in a ponytail, proudly displaying her headband with the stylized flower on it. Her eyes were a piercing shade of dark green that Bolt hadn't seen in anyone. She wore a flowing gown of white that reminded Bolt of the ceremonial robes his father wore, minus the gaudy hat. Behind the woman trailed another, younger woman who couldn't have been much older than Bolt himself. Hikari elbowed him discreetly. Sharing a look, both nodded. The girl appeared to by a younger version of the older woman, but she fit the description of Tamako's wanted poster perfectly.

Hikari trailed the two women and their comrades, with Bolt following close behind. They weaved through the throngs, keeping their target within eyesight. Tamako and, who Bolt assumed to be, her mother, travelled through the village until they came to the tallest building in the village. They entered through a small door, with two of their guards taking their posts outside. In wordless agreement, Bolt activated his Byakugan. He watched as the pair ascended a stairway that led to a sprawling complex of offices and, what appeared to be, barracks. "I think Tamako might be the daughter of their Kage," Bolt informed Hikari.

He heard her curse under her breath. "We'll have to take her at night, then. I'm not risking a fight with a village leader," Hikari decided.

Bolt's eyes drifted to a small house outside the Kage's office. "That house is abandoned," he said, pointing it out. "We can wait there until night."

They didn't have to wait long. Day came and went, and then the cover of darkness descended. A small guard of ninja remained behind, but their number was vastly reduced from earlier that afternoon. No doubt they felt safe enough to not warrant the extreme security measures the larger villages had. There was no war, and Nadeshiko was too small to be considered a threat by any of the five great nations.

Bolt and Hikari stealthily crept from the abandoned house they had hidden in, scaling the walls of the office and sneaking past the guards. Channeling chakra into their feet, they sprinted and ran up the walls, vertically. "Fourth room from the top," Bolt informed Hikari. His eyes began to ache from the continued use of his dōjutsu.

Hikari picked the lock on the window with quiet ease, and the two of them slipped into a small bedroom. A bed lay on the far side of the room, with a body occupying it. With his Byakugan, Bolt could see the chakra pathway system of a human clearly. He nodded to Hikari, who withdrew a single throwing needle whose tip was a shade of purple. Before she could throw the needle, Bolt saw the person's chakra points in their arms flare to life. He opened his mouth to warn Hikari, but was stopped by a gust of wind that threw him into the wall with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. "Nadeshiko Style: Gale Fist," he heard a feminine voice intone.

The next sound he heard was the sound of stone shattering, as Hikari got to her feet and delivered a punch that missed and destroyed an entire wall. Bolt staggered to his feet as "Tamako" danced across the room, evading every swing Hikari made. The second Gale Fist came, and this time, Bolt made sure not to get hit. He rolled out of the way, using an evasive maneuver from the Uzumaki taijutsu style. In the same motion, he withdrew a kunai and hurled it at the girl's right leg.

Tamako kicked the knife away, causing it to sink deep into the stone wall behind Bolt. The enclosed space didn't allow Bolt to use any ninjutsu without potentially hurting Hikari, so he darted forward, hands raised for open-palmed Gentle Fist strikes.

Tamako was not limited so. She unleashed two Gale Fists in quick succession, causing gusts of wind to buffet Bolt and Hikari. The pair were forced to channel chakra into their feet in order to stay anchored to the ground in the face of the powerful wind. The winds subsided, and the fight spilled into the hallway. A guard from the lower levels must have heard the fighting, for a man rushed out of a nearby stairwell with a kunai in his hand. Hikari's fist met his face in an echoing crunch that sent the ninja to the ground, where he lay sprawled.

Bolt attacked Tamako, chakra lancing from his fingers and piercing her chakra points as they did battle. She quickly realized a taijutsu battle with Bolt would be a fight she would not win, and quickly retreated further down the hall. Tamako came to an intersection, where one hall met another. There was a breeze and a flash of black fabric as Bolt was roughly thrown into the wall once more. His Byakugan saw a woman appear, her leg being brought down in a vicious kick upon Hikari.

Hikari raised both arms to block, but was sent through the floor by the strength of the woman's kick. A gust of wind rushed down the hallway in the wake of the attack. "Hikari!" Bolt yelled. He did not receive an answer.

"Naruto?" a voice called. Bolt turned and came face-to-face with the woman he assumed to be the village's Kage.

He jumped backwards, slipping into a defensive Gentle Fist stance. "Who are you?" Bolt questioned, slightly annoyed that he had been mistaken for his dad. Honestly, Naruto was the Hokage, and much taller than Bolt. Who could mistake them?

"Shizuka," the woman said, taking in his appearance in the dim light. "You must be Bolt. You look so much like your father, you know. Your wanted poster doesn't do you justice."

Bolt darted forward, intending to block her chakra points before he had to fight a Kage on even footing. He was rewarded with Shizuka exhaling a gust of wind that swept Bolt off his feet and sent him careening into the wall. Bolt flipped himself and used his legs to prevent himself from crashing into a wall for the second time. Weaving hand seals, he sent a bolt of lightning arcing from the tips of his fingers down the hall.

Shizuka waved her hand, sending a gust of wind that tore the lightning to pieces. Bolt was already weaving another set of hand seals before the wind had even faded. He spewed forth a wave of water that rushed down the hall and dissipated harmlessly well before it reached Shizuka and Tamako.

Bolt smirked as Shizuka raised a lone eyebrow at his antics. She went rigid as lightning coursed through the water, electrocuting both her and Tamako. Hikari climbed back up through the hole in the floor where Shizuka had kicked her, lightning arcing from her arm. Another benefit of the Byakugan: you always knew where your allies were. "Grab her!" Hikari yelled.

Bolt didn't need to be told twice. He ran down the hall, his footsteps sending great splashes of water skyward. Bolt scooped up Tamako as Hikari led him to the far end of the hall. Hikari sent a chakra-enhanced punch at the wall, creating their own door. Bolt grunted as he felt a fist connect with his sternum, sending a gust of wind into his chest that made him see stars. When his vision cleared, he was laying on his back with the water of his own technique soaking his shirt.

He saw Hikari grappling with Tamako near the hole in the wall and struggled to get to his feet. Bolt gagged as his shirt was pulled taut against his neck from behind. He felt a strong arm wrap around his chest, and the cold touch of metal under his chin. He didn't even have to use his Byakugan to know that Shizuka had a kunai to his throat. "Stop!" Shizuka commanded.

Hikari and Tamako ceased their squabble long enough to see Bolt's predicament. Hikari huffed audibly as she withdrew the fist she had been about to pummel Tamako with. "Why did you come here?" Shizuka questioned both of them.

"This girl is a wanted woman in the Land of Lightning for theft," Hikari informed her. "You are not authorized to detain us for lawful bounty hunting," she added with anger.

"She is my daughter," Shizuka quipped. "I don't care about the law. And she hasn't stolen anything." Bolt could see Tamako's face grow red.

"The Lightning Lord would disagree. I think you'll find that she has several artifacts from his country that your daughter has acquired," Hikari snapped.

Shizuka looked from Hikari to Tamako, then back again. "I don't care," she said. Bolt sucked in a breath as he felt the edge of the kunai press against his neck. "Release her, and leave."

Hikari and Shizuka stared each other down, neither willing to submit. Bolt frantically locked eyes with Hikari, trying to convey some unspoken message. Peering through the slits of her hunter mask, he imperceptibly shook his head. _Don't release her_ , he said.

Taking a deep breath, Bolt closed his eyes and thought back to all the lessons his grandfather Hiashi put him and his sister through. He saw the technique clearly in his mind; never performed by him, only practiced by his sister, their grandfather, and some of the other elite Hyūga clansmen. Steeling his resolve, Bolt felt for the chakra points in his own body. He felt the disturbing sensation of being stretched in every direction at once as he tapped into them. All at once, in a burst of motion, he expelled chakra from as many of the points as he could and spun on his heel.

Bolt heard a grunt of pain as the air was forcibly expelled from Shizuka's lungs as the woman was sent flying backwards and crashing into the wall. He heard the stone crack under the pressure of the chakra he was expelling, and if it weren't for his Byakugan, he was certain he would be incapacitated by a fit of dizziness from rotations of the Eight Trigrams Palms: Revolving Heaven.

Bolt fell to his knees as the technique ended, leaving him drained of chakra and breathless from exertion. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hikari pricking Tamako with a needle. The girl promptly collapsed into an unconscious heap. Bolt was pulling himself to his feet when Hikari slid to her knees next to him. "Don't move," she commanded.

Bolt stilled as she raised her hands to his neck. They glowed with the green chakra of the Mystic Palm, and that was when Bolt felt a warm liquid running down his chest. Panic set in. "Oh god," he exhaled. "How bad is it?"

Hikari looked from Bolt to the gaping gash that ran from his ear to his shoulder. "Not bad," she lied. "Just a flesh wound. Shut up and let me heal it." Her chakra flowed through his neck, stimulating the cells to knit themselves back together. Personally, she was amazed his carotid artery hadn't been cut wide open.

After a few minutes of intense anxiety, Hikari removed her hands. Bolt gingerly reached up and felt a long line of sensitive skin running from just below the lobe of his ear to the crook of his neck and shoulder. His eyes went wide. "Just a flesh wound," Hikari reiterated. "Next time, don't do something so stupid."

Bolt nodded as Hikari pulled him to his feet. A handful of guards arrived as the two of them hoisted Tamako off the floor. They received a bone shattering kick from Hikari as a parting gift as the two of them jumped from the makeshift door Hikari had made earlier.

It was a long night as the two of them sprinted through Nadeshiko, avoiding ninja and civilians alike as they made off with their two million ryō bounty.

* * *

It was a rainy afternoon several weeks after he and Hikari returned from turning in the bounty of Tamako that Eiji finally cracked and began teaching Bolt how to use the Lightning Armor the Raikage were famed for.

Bolt was bouncing on the balls of his feet, despite the poor weather. He had seen first hand how powerful the technique was, and the history books had plenty of information about the Fourth Raikage and his battles with Madara and Sasuke Uchiha. But, in his opinion, the coolest was the Third Raikage, whose Lightning Armor was so powerful it allowed him to go toe-to-toe with the Eight Tails.

Eiji sighed heavily at how enthusiastic his young student was. Hikari was lounging under a nearby tree, out of the light drizzle that was slowly soaking the leader of the Crimson Tide and Bolt. "The first thing you gotta know, kid, is that _you've_ gotta be careful with this technique. You. You specifically," Eiji warned.

"Why?" Bolt demanded.

Eiji tapped his temples. "When someone thinks of the Hyūga, they always think of them eyes. Most people ain't considering their second bloodline: the ability to expel chakra from every one of their chakra points," he said.

"The Lightning Armor functions by expelling chakra from these points and using nature transformation to transform it into lightning. That's actually its greatest weakness, and greatest strength," Eiji elaborated. "Few ninja can control their chakra points outside of they hands n' feet. Those that do, can only use a handful of others. The more chakra points you use, the stronger the armor is, the more likely you electrocute yourself. That's why Hikari is here," he said, nodding at the masked girl. "If you're successful, the armor will make you faster and stronger than any normal person. It'll increase your reaction speed by stimulating your nervous system."

Bolt nodded. "Good," Eiji said, a growing smirk marring his features. "Tell you the truth, I'm pretty excited myself. Ain't nobody seen what a Hyūga could do with this kinda technique before. Either you gonna kill yourself spectacularly or you gonna surpass the Raikage."

Bolt paled at that. "Don't worry, brat. We'll start slow and small. Baby steps," Eiji reassured him. The larger man held out his fist. "Use your Byakugan," he commanded.

With his dōjutsu activated, Bolt could see chakra leaking from the chakra points in Eiji's forearm. Nearly every point in his hand was expelling chakra, but only a handful on his arm were. "Believe it or not, I've actually got pretty good chakra control. Nowhere near the Raikage's level, but enough that I can imitate the technique," Eiji said. "You wrap your chakra around your body, insulating it almost. You try."

Bolt held out his own fist and began to methodically expel chakra from every chakra point from his hand to his elbow. He could see the looks of interest Eiji and Hikari showed as a faint blue glow began to surround his arm. Unlike Eiji, Bolt's chakra was so potent it could be seen with the naked eye when expelled in such quantities. "Good, good," Eiji boomed, his laughter echoing through the clearing. "Now, the hard part. You've gotta transform it into lightning, just like any regular jutsu, but without hand seals. And don't electrocute yourself."

Easier said than done, Bolt thought. His brows furrowed as he attempted to will his chakra to transform. All the while, he continued to leak chakra from his forearm. After ten minutes, Bolt gasped and wiped away the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead. He had done nothing but waste chakra. There hadn't even been a single arc of electricity.

"Don't sweat it, kid," Eiji said, laughing a bit at his own joke. "Nobody gets it on their first try. Hell, it took me months to even get a spark."

Bolt straightened and flexed, expelling chakra from his arm once more. His fingernails bit into his palm as he clenched his fist and forced his chakra to transform its nature. From the tips of his fingers to his shoulder, Bolt's arm was aflame with blue chakra. His chakra was so dense that it was visible to the naked eye.

It was ten minutes later when the smallest arc of lightning leapt between Bolt's thumb and index finger. "Yes!" Bolt yelled, cutting off the chakra to his arm. He immediately felt his body burn from exertion, but he was too excited to care. He had succeeded, in some small way.

"I'm impressed," Eiji said. "This isn't a technique you learn in a day, or even a week."

Bolt beamed and puffed out his chest proudly. "You're looking at the person who learned the Rasengan in only three days! And that was nearly two years ago, this is nothing!" Bolt boasted.

"Pace yourself, kid," Eiji warned. "You don't _want_ to learn this in three days. You'll end up killing yourself if you aren't careful." He decided not to share the fact that he was impressed that Bolt had learned the ultimate shape manipulation jutsu in three days. Bolt had a big enough head as it was.

Bolt ignored him and shifted into a more comfortable stance as he expelled chakra from his arm again. Now that he knew what it felt like, nature transformation came more easily to him. It started with the smallest arcing bolts around his fingers, but spread up his arm before dissipating. Bolt grit his teeth and forced the lightning to be contained around his body, using his experience with shape manipulation from the Rasengan to aid himself. He focussed on his index finger, forcing his chakra to wrap around itself and keep the lightning held in place.

He was rewarded with a single finger wreathed in arcing, chirping lightning. He moved on to his middle finger next. What originally took him nearly half an hour to do, he eventually narrowed down to mere minutes. Before Eiji knew what had happened, Bolt's arm was covered in a passable attempt at the Lightning Release Armor.

"A true prodigy," Hikari whispered to Eiji as she appeared next to him.

"Yeah," Eiji muttered. Talent like Bolt's only appeared once in a century. Eiji was born and raised in the Land of Lightning. He went to school there, and trained to be a ninja in their Academy. History had been a favorite subject of his. The tale of how the Third Raikage had fought the Eight Tails to a draw, only to face ten thousand enemy soldiers and later perish, was one of his favorites. But, the Third Raikage, powerful as he was, didn't learn the technique he would later become famed for in a day.

So lost in their thoughts were Eiji and Hikari, neither noticed as Bolt leapt headfirst into the shallow end of the pool. He expelled chakra from every point on his body and allowed his chakra to mirror that on his arm.

Bolt screamed, startling Eiji and Hikari. Lightning danced across his chest, burning his shirt and charring his skin. Eiji darted forward, lightning coating his arm as he prepared to act as a lightning rod. Hikari was right behind him, her hands glowing green with the light of the Mystic Palm.

Bolt fell to his knees as the technique went out of his control. He grit his teeth as the lightning began to cook him from the inside out. He wrestled for control of his own chakra; a disturbing feeling, almost like someone, or something, else was controlling his body. He methodically went through the motions of taking control of the chakra points in his body, forcing his rampaging chakra to return to his control.

Even as control of his chakra returned to him, Bolt felt like he was moving in slow motion. Each chakra point felt as if it took more time to wrest control of than the last. After what felt to be a lifetime of pain, the lightning coating his body no longer pained him. Instead, it wrapped around him protectively, giving off a sensation that was both warm and cold at the same time. He felt goosebumps ripple across his skin, despite being pleasantly warm.

Bolt opened his eyes and saw Eiji rushing at him, his hand outstretched to, what he assumed, was to cancel the technique. Hikari was right behind him, fists aflame with the Mystic Palm. "No need to worry, guys. I got it!" Bolt declared loudly as he pushed himself to his feet. He opened and closed his fists, trying to get used to the sensation. It was very different, he decided. Bolt looked up when neither Eiji nor Hikari answered him.

They hadn't moved.

"Guys?" Bolt asked, a hint of worry coloring his tone.

That was when Bolt noticed other irregularities. The rain, a light drizzle, had stopped. Not stopped raining, but that the rain had stopped—mid air. Bolt reached out for a raindrop near his eye. Gingerly, he extended his index finger and _pushed_ the drop. He was rewarded by slightly altering its path. As he watched it, the raindrop continued its descent ever so painfully slowly.

Bolt realized, then, what was happening to him. As Eiji had told him, the Lightning Release Armor functioned by augmenting his nervous system. Lightning chakra was coursing through his muscles, making him faster; stronger. His neural synapses were sped up severalfold, augmented by the lightning stimulating his brain. That was why everything seemed so painfully _slow._

Bolt smirked as he realized he had succeeded. He looked around, trying to find something to test his newfound technique on. He saw a leaf falling from a tree at the far end of the clearing he was training in. Bolt ran forward—frowning, as he didn't appear to be any faster than he normally was—and struck the leaf with a simple Gentle Fist strike. The leaf burst into dust; obliterated.

Bolt walked back to the only other people in the clearing, a smile on his face. He allowed his chakra points to close, cancelling the technique and dispelling the lightning. The disorienting feeling of the world speeding up made Bolt dizzy as he returned to the world of the present. He was empty with exhaustion and his body burned from exertion. Combined with the pain from the brief failure to control the technique, Bolt collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Eiji and Hikari skid to a stop as their vision was obscured by a blue light. Where Bolt had been kneeling in agony, now he was laying face down. Eiji blinked, not believing his eyes, whilst Hikari kneeled and removed the tattered remains of Bolt's shirt and began to heal his burns.

"I don't believe it," Eiji muttered, after several minutes. "Is he going to be okay?"

Hikari nodded. "He will be, in time," she said. "But no more of this training for several weeks."

Eiji nodded absentmindedly. "I didn't see anything but a bolt of blue lightning," he commented.

Hikari laughed lightly as the glow around her hands began to fade. "Lightning Bolt... Inazuma," she said.

* * *

In a jail cell in the Land of Lightning, Tamako sat on her very stiff mattress and contemplated the choices that had led her to this point in her life.

She had a very tough decision to make when she got out of jail and paid the fine for stealing from the Lightning Lord.

Does she marry Bolt, or the masked girl?

* * *

 **A/N:**

Another one.

This chapter is extra long because I already had the training bit at the end written and I was too hyped to cut it from this chapter. Next chapter we go to the Land of Steam and explore a little bit of a religious plot that Kishi never expanded upon. Also, timeskip? Timeskip.

A reader voiced concerns that Bolt was somehow becoming "evil" due to his association with the Crimson Tide. I wanted to clarify a few things. First, the mercenaries are not inherently evil, and in fact, many of their jobs benefit the people at large. The pirate from the last chapter, for example, was terrorizing villages on the coast of the Land of Fire. On the flip side, sometimes they do things that aren't going to be on the up and up. Stealing a shipment of chakra metal that the Cloud and Mist were trading? Not too good of an idea. Second, Bolt is a **rogue ninja.** He's not exactly a law abiding citizen anymore. He's going to be going around, doing his own thing, whether or not the law says it is okay or not. Also, by definition, a **rogue ninja** does not go back to their village. That's the point of being a rogue. Your village isn't your home anymore. Stop asking when he's going back.

Shizuka isn't "really" a Kage level ninja, which is why she lost to a point blank Revolving Heaven. Despite being filler, I actually liked the Nadeshiko arc in the anime. Of course, Shizuka eventually has to move on, and finds someone other than Naruto. For those that didn't watch... women from Nadeshiko fight men from other villages. Those that manage to beat them are brought back to the village to marry them. They're very Amazonian in that sense. This is why Tamako is lamenting her fate at the end of the chapter.

I drew the inspiration for the slow-mo scene from X-Men: Days of Future Past. Quicksilver was my favorite character in that movie, and his scene in the kitchen was awesome. I've taken some creative liberties with just exactly how the Lightning Release Armor functions, as it isn't exactly clearly explained/stated. Bolt's sobriquet is "Inazuma," or "lightning bolt." It's a fun play on words I liked.

 **As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!**

 **\- Code Musica**


	15. Chapter 15

Bolt sighed.

The Land of Steam was a _nice_ country. Of all the places he had been in his short life—the Lands of Fire, Water, Lightning, Frost, and unnamed islands dotting the oceans—it was the most beautiful. Towering crags of beautiful white stone with verdant green forests. Half the Land of Steam was mountainous, rocky terrain. The other half was thick with vegetation.

But none of that was why it was Bolt's favorite. It was the _hot springs_. Towards the north of the Land of Steam, deep in the mountains, there was a large volcano. The biggest on the continent, by far. Lava tubes snaked underneath the entire country, filled with bubbling magma. They heated large underground reservoirs of water, which bubbled to the surface in the forms of hot springs.

And they were _heavenly_. Bolt was tempted to purchase one; he had the money. Bounty hunting for the Crimson Tide had treated him well, and turned him into one of the wealthiest people he personally knew. Of course, with the villages lack of bounty hunting, combined with his last year and a half of constant hunting, he was bound to make a small fortune.

Bolt wiggled his toes, enjoying the feel of the hot stone under them. The Hidden Steam was the single largest resort on the continent, and their hot springs were of the highest quality in all the land. Bolt thanked the gods that they were not a ninja village anymore, or he would never have been able to experience them. The Hidden Steam had disbanded their military sometime after the Third War, becoming the "village that had forgotten war," as some said. Instead, they promoted themselves as a tourist destination, and after tales of their hot springs spread, they become even wealthier than when they had a functioning ninja village.

Unfortunately, Bolt wasn't in the Land of Steam for pleasure. He was there for business. And nobody liked when the Crimson Tide was visiting you for business—and business was _booming._ The world was beginning to forget the horrors of the Fourth War and return to their old habits. Greed. Murder. Hate.

That meant lots of work. Including Bolt's current mission: finding a psychopathic, sadistic murderer that has been plaguing the Land of Steam for months. Three solid months of scouring the country, and all he had to go on was vague eye witness reports and crime scenes that were weeks old by the time he got to them. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"How long are you going to stew?" Hikari asked, looming over Bolt as his head lulled backwards. Opening one eye, he saw her looking down at him with the same cold, impatient eyes as always.

"It's not like we're going to find this guy anyway," Bolt chirped, closing his eyes and enjoying the hot spring.

"We definitely won't if you keep lazing about," Hikari countered.

Bolt made a small noise of disagreement. Hikari pointed her finger at the water and let a bolt of lightning arc between them. The water crackled with electricity, but Bolt didn't even seem fazed. "That actually felt pretty good," Bolt commented, sinking lower into the water.

Hikari made a noise of disappointment in the back of her throat. She hadn't expected him to be hurt—let alone _injured_ —by her lightning, but it still annoyed her that he shrugged it off so easily. The nickname she made for him on impulse, half a pun on his name, had turned out to be surprisingly fitting. Inazuma; _lightning bolt._ "Just hurry up," she commanded.

Bolt hummed and nodded. It was a few weeks after his fifteenth birthday, and given that he hadn't been able to celebrate at the time—annoying Cloud ninjas—Bolt was milking their current mission for all it was worth.

Bolt had to bite his tongue to stifle a laugh as other customers filtered in; bewildered looking men with wide eyes in the wake of having a woman in their half of the hot spring. Bolt huffed and got out of the hot spring, making sure to dissipate the electrical charge in the pool. Didn't want some unsuspecting civilian to get the shock of their life.

He dressed in common, worn clothes. Neither he nor Hikari dressed in their combat fatigues or wore their headbands. On-the-run murderers were usually on the watch for ninjas. They never expected the man and woman dressed like they had just finished a hard day's work. The rough fabric never ceased to irritate Bolt. It wasn't high quality, designer fabric like the clothes he had become accustomed to wearing, and it didn't allow the freedom of movement his combat fatigues offered. In a word: annoying.

Hikari seemed to know he'd be along shortly, as she was waiting for him outside the dressing room. "Alright," Bolt sighed. "Let's go." She practically _dragged_ him out of the bath house before Bolt could change his mind.

The two of them wandered the streets of the Hidden Steam, keeping their ears open for any ill spoken gossip. They frequented bars and tea houses and small food vendors. It was amazing how much you could learn from the common people's gossip. They might not know they were talking about sensitive information, but to a ninja, even the smallest hint was enough to track their prey.

Ironically, the information came to them. A short, balding man approached them in the street, blocking their path. He eyed Bolt and Hikari warily, his beady eyes flickering between them. Judging them to be the pair he was looking for, he handed them a sealed scroll and bowed respectfully before scurrying off.

Bolt handed the scroll to Hikari, who read as they continued to roam the streets. "This way," Hikari called, tugging at the sleeve of Bolt's shirt. Bolt watched as she scrutinized the map and weaved between alleys and worn dirt paths that led deeper into the city, away from the tourist trap and into the suburbs.

They eventually found their way to a house with broken windows that was surrounded by men in uniform. The men wore a band around their upper arms with the character for "steam" emblazoned in red stitching. The Land of Steam's secret police, who answered only to the Steam Lord himself.

At their approach, one of them stiffened and saluted. "Lieutenants Hikari, Inazuma," he greeted respectfully. Bolt instantly liked the man. Addressing him by rank? Good first impression. He used his nickname in lieu of his given name—too many wanted posters with his real name had been spread around the continent. Pretty much everyone knew the Hokage's errant son was _somewhere_ in the Land of Water's vicinity. It was the worst kept secret in the east.

"What's the situation?" Hikari asked, nodding in her own small recognition of, who Bolt assumed was, the captain of this squad.

"Five victims. Fits the descriptions of the other crime scenes; we were just informed hours ago by a report. The neighbors hadn't seen them for days," the captain recited. Bolt sniffed the air and could smell the metallic tang of blood.

Hikari nodded and strode forward. The police guarding the house parted, allowing them entrance. Bolt followed close behind, and even after two years of grizzled service with the Crimson Tide, he still balked as he entered the bloody, ransacked home. A middle-aged man and woman were on display prominently in the center of the living room. Both had been stripped naked and systematically dissected. The man's chest was wide open, a cut from both shoulders meeting in the center of his chest before heading south had opened his chest cavity wide. His innards had pooled on the ground before him; his face locked in a horrific expression of agony and terror.

The woman was worse. Her belly was mangled and sliced in so many places there was nothing but a meaty pulp left. Her intestines had been roughly thrown to the side of her body, sliced in two almost as if someone had been _digging_ through her. A meaty sac was left lying on the ground before the woman's knees. Bolt didn't want to think of what it was. "Fuck," Bolt swore. Hikari was nodding slowly next to him.

"That isn't all," the captain said, from behind them. Bolt hadn't even heard the man follow them.

And still it got _worse_. The captain had said there were five victims. And so there were. Three small bodies, hardly recognizable as human, were huddled in a corner of the kitchen. Children. No older than six or seven. Bolt felt something vile bubble in his gut. He held a hand to his stomach and willed it to settle. Wouldn't do any good to vomit on the crime scene.

It was at times like these, rare as they were, that Bolt thanked the gods his partner was Hikari. She had a way of taking command of hard situations that sheltered him from some of the more gruesome facets of their work. "Blood trail leads from the living room to the kitchen, indicating the parents were killed first," she said, following the practical river of dried blood on the floor.

"Children hid in the corner. Assailant killed them in a single swing," she continued on, pointing to the single, long gash in the wood of the cabinets that matched up, roughly, with the bisected corpses.

"Stayed only long enough to brutally mutilate the bodies," Hikari said, turning away from the children. "Returned to the living room," she said, following the fresh trail of blood. "Could indicate the parents were alive, merely wounded. He returned to finish the job."

"Probably silenced the kids," the captain offered. "Their crying could have annoyed him, or drawn attention from the neighbors."

That was a disturbing thought. Hikari nodded as she knelt to inspect the bodies of the man and woman. "The woman was killed first. Rest of the body is in relatively good condition. Assailant cut his way through her abdomen and intestines before removing her uterus," she said. "The man was killed last. His expression could be from watching his wife be killed. These cuts are similar to the ones used for autopsies. Could indicate a degree of medical knowledge."

"Judging by the degree of decomposition and the appearance of the blood, these killings could have been performed anywhere between seven and ten days ago," Hikari summarized. Bolt shivered, a combination of the gruesome nature of the civilian deaths and at the blatant display of the Mist's hunter ninja training. Why the Mist needed such thorough training in an era of peace was beyond Bolt's understanding. Hikari couldn't have been older than him by a year or two, three if he was really pushing it, and she knew things no one his age should ever know.

The captain nodded slowly, his eyes roaming the room but never settling on the bodies. "Can you find him? The Steam Lord grows weary of these killings, as I'm sure you can understand," the captain asked.

Hikari nodded. "This is the first crime scene we've managed to catch in such a small time frame between killings," she said. "He couldn't have gotten far. We'll find him."

The captain looked relieved and quickly showed them out. Just as they were about to close the door, Bolt saw something out of the corner of his eye. "Wait," Bolt said, walking back to the living room. He crouched, resting on the balls of his feet. "Look," he said, pointing at the floor.

Hikari crouched next to him, bowing her head to look at the correct angle. It was faint, barely recognizable, but it was there. Underneath the blood, or perhaps _in_ the blood, was a crudely drawn symbol.

"A circle with an... upside down triangle?" Bolt half stated, half questioned.

"Correct," Hikari confirmed. "Good eyes. This hasn't been at any of the other crime scenes. That, or we didn't notice it." Which was fair. There _was_ a lot of blood. A symbol drawn in the blood would have been hard to find.

"What do you think it is?" Bolt asked.

"That is what we were paid to find out," Hikari told him, both quickly leaving the house. While they had investigated the bodies, more police had arrived. A squadron of men filtered into the house with body bags and copious amounts of water and soap. Bolt didn't envy their job.

Bolt sighed heavily. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight," he commented. That kind of cruelty had a way of burning itself into your mind, whether you wanted it to or not.

Hikari grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down the street—opposite the way they came. "Behind us," she whispered. "Alley between the two houses. Eight o'clock."

Bolt's cerulean eyes faded to a pale violet as his Byakugan manifested. In an instant, they had found their target. A man stood in the shadows between the two houses, watching the police go about their work with a wide smile adorning his features. "Male, aged between twenty and thirty. Brown eyes, dull gray hair. Dyed, possibly, or chakra mutation," Bolt whispered. "Chakra pathway system indicates he has some form of training. Three serrated knives; one in his boot, one on his waist, and one in his jacket sleeve."

Hikari's eyes narrowed. "On three," she whispered back. On the third count, both of them turned on their heals and thundered down the street. The stone beneath their boots cracked from the force of their chakra-enhanced speed. Bolt saw the man's eyes widen in surprise before he turned and fled down the alleyway.

Bolt leapt to the rooftops, with Hikari not far behind. Like a cat stalking a mouse in the grass, they hunted the man. He wove through the Hidden Steam with familiar ease at a pace that even ninjas would have trouble matching. But, before Bolt's eyes, there was no escape. Bolt could hear the man's furious panting as he gasped for breath.

The man must have realized that escape was futile, for he kept looking skyward. Each time he saw Bolt on the rooftop, not even a few feet behind him, his eyes were wide with fear. Eventually, his path began to take him to the outskirts of the village. Hikari leapt through the air and sent a barrage of throwing needles hissing through the alleyway, cutting off his path of escape.

In a desperate attempt to flee, the man leapt through a window and burst through the front door of a couple's home. He sprinted through the streets and found himself cornered on a rocky crag overlooking the forest far, far below. A low fence was all that separated him from certain death. "Surrender," Hikari barked, three needles in both hands. Bolt had worked with her long enough to know they would paralyze the man in an instant with their toxins.

The gray-haired man turned to face them, a look of wild bloodlust in his eyes. He reached for the knives in his sleeve and at his waist, drawing them. Hikari's eyes narrowed as she threw her needles. Surprisingly, the man weaved through all six without a scratch and charged at them, screaming maniacally. "For Lord Jashin!" he howled.

Bolt was a blur as he darted forward. He struck the man in the chest four times before he could blink, blocking the first and second coronary chakra points as well as the two primary pulmonary chakra points.

The man dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. He laid on the ground, face down, struggling to even _breathe._ The way his heart struggled to beat probably didn't help things much. When you combined the Gentle Fist with the utilitarian medical knowledge taught to Mist hunter ninjas, it was a deadly combination. Those lessons had been particularly helpful in advancing and refining Bolt's taijutsu.

Bolt grinned in satisfaction as Hikari knelt and plunged a number of needles into the man's pressure points. He howled in pain for a moment before descending into mad, raving laughter and moans of... pleasure? "Who are you? Did you kill those people? Do you know who did?" Hikari hissed.

The man continued to cackle, not answering the question, despite the copious amounts of drugs flowing through his system. Hikari withdrew another needle and stabbed him in the neck. The man's cackling turned to a gurgling as he drooled and struggled to form conscious thoughts. "Who are you? Did you kill those people? Do you know who did?" Hikari repeated.

"Lord... Jashin! I give you these sacrifices," the man managed to slur. Bolt grabbed Hikari by the collar and hurled her backwards as he leapt away from the man. His body exploded in a thunderous boom of light and heat that scorched Bolt's skin.

The only thing left was a charred lump of flesh and scorch marks on the stone. "Damn," Bolt swore. "Swallowed explosive tags."

Hikari appeared next to him and helped Bolt to his feet. "It wasn't a complete loss. That man was either the killer, or knew the killer. Now we have a new avenue to investigate," she said.

Bolt raised an eyebrow in askance. "Who this 'Lord Jashin' is," she answered the unspoken question.

* * *

Naruto suppressed the urge to fidget in his seat. He sat next to a _very_ stony faced Gaara, and opposite of an emotionless Tsuchikage. Neither was acknowledging the other. Hell, they refused to even admit they were in the same room together. Just one of the many things that annual Kage Summit's were good for. Easing the tension.

Especially when skirmishes over borders were involved. Naruto didn't even know why either country cared. The border between the Land of Wind and Earth was nothing but rugged mountains. There were no places to farm or settle, and the only worth in the land itself was in mines that had long ago been stripped and stripped again. The five great nations may have been young, but people had been living on the continent for thousands of years. The mines were practically dry that far up in the mountains.

It started with a few heated words between border patrols, before descending into small fights between a squad or two. When word reached their respective leaders, both Gaara and Kurotsuchi had sent more men to reinforce the border. That only escalated things. That wasn't the worst part, either. There had been many summits over the years, but not once had any of the Kage brought bodyguards.

This year, they had.

It spoke volumes of the current state of peace. A tense Kankuro and Temari stood behind Gaara, their backs straight and their gazes boring into the wall. Akatsuchi and another jōnin from the Hidden Rock stood behind Kurotsuchi.

Of course, when everyone had learned that the Kazekage and Tsuchikage were feuding, the rest also brought their own guards. That was how Naruto found himself seated in a small room at an even smaller table with a tense atmosphere with his and Sasuke's daughters looming behind him.

Both had practically demanded to be allowed to guard him. And when your angry daughter kicks down your office door, Byakugan piercing your soul and a Rasengan clutched in the palm of her hand, you acquiesced. Naruto had been regretting his decision to train Himawari and Sarada, but he just couldn't get work done with the two of them pestering him all day. Then they started to get violent. The first time Himawari had slipped and knocked his mountain of papers over, it had been accident. The second time? A coincidence. The third and fourth times? Naruto knew when to surrender, begrudgingly teaching them both a few things here and there. His paperwork was blissfully undisturbed from that day forward.

"So," Darui said, breaking the ice. "Can you two kids play nice?"

Or not, Naruto thought. Gaara was as stony faced as ever, but Kurotsuchi scowled. "Watch your tongue, Raikage," she snapped.

"Now, now," Naruto tried. It only served to have the anger of the entire room focus on him. He quickly shut his loud mouth before it could get him in trouble. It didn't help that everyone knew he was on Gaara's side. The two of them were close friends and their countries were staunch allies ever since the end of the Fourth War.

"We've had peace for nearly twenty years and you two are going to ruin it over a bunch of rocks?" Darui questioned the two of them. Even Gaara frowned at that. His country might be a desert wasteland, but still, it was his country. He loved it.

"The Sand invaded our territory; we responded in kind," Kurotsuchi declared.

"The Rock attacked our border patrol, unprovoked," Gaara countered.

"And whose fault is that?" Kurotsuchi asked. "You received the same mission report I did. The Sand taunted my men. I hardly call that "unprovoked." They can't be blamed for their actions."

"We are not strangers to pre-battle banter," Gaara chided. "That is not an excuse to attack my men."

Both looked ready to jump the table and do battle right there. Naruto decided to nip that conflict in the bud. He allowed the smallest fraction of Kurama's chakra to flood his system; a few incorporeal flickers of orange-yellow chakra drifting off him. "We can settle this peacefully," he stated. It wasn't a question, or an option. He wouldn't let them fight. It was too soon for the peace he and everyone had fought and bled for, end.

Gaara settled into his usual stony mask and Kurotsuchi scowled, but neither continued trading verbal blows. Naruto felt a little bad about playing the Kurama card, but if it prevented wars, he'd use it. He didn't like to loom over the other nations with his power. The only other country who had a Tailed Beast was the Cloud, and even then, the Eight Tails was weaker than him alone. With Sasuke, there wasn't a force alive who could match the Leaf.

Looking between the two, Naruto could tell they wouldn't be able to hash it out on their own. He sighed. "Why don't both of you start by withdrawing your reinforcements from the border and telling your men to stand down," he suggested. "Neither of you want a war, I know that."

Gaara nodded after a few moments of consideration. The Tsuchikage rolled her eyes but agreed. "See, that wasn't so hard?" Naruto said with a bright smile, trying to lighten the tension.

Darui made a quiet noise that Naruto thought might have been a scoff. "We have other problems, as well," Chōjūrō spoke up. "The mercenaries are running rampant, not just in the Land of Water, but every country. Our stance on missions is driving people to them in droves. If we don't do something, we'll begin to face mercenary companies whose strength rivals our own."

Darui nodded. "I've had my Anbu hunting down any who trespass into the Land of Lightning, but we've met with little success," he said.

 _This_ subject, in particular, set Naruto on edge. _Technically,_ Bolt was "missing." He had "forgotten" to inform his allies that he was, in fact, no missing, but part of one of the same mercenary groups that were causing trouble. So far, Sai and his team had managed to keep him relatively safe by throwing off the other Anbu tracking him. But there was only so much he could do.

"We can't start taking those kinds of requests again," Gaara said, cutting off the Mizukage. "When we formed the Shinobi Union, we decided that they promoted war," he reminded everyone.

"War between us, yes," Darui stated. "But not war between us and upstart mercenaries and smaller villages. You know as well as I do that Grass, Waterfall, Sound, and Frost are all rebuilding and recruiting for their own ninja corps."

Naruto sighed. "I don't think we should consider taking assassination and espionage missions," he said firmly. Everyone listened when the Hokage talked. "But we can make a show of force. Show the world that the five great nations aren't resting on their laurels."

"What do you have in mind?" Kurotsuchi asked.

Naruto grinned. "You see, it's like the Chūnin Exams, except for every nation. Instead of competing for ranks, we compete simply to see who is _better_ ," he said. "Taijutsu, ninjutsu, genjutsu. All the ninja arts. Only the best are recognized."

"It's a competition," Gaara stated. "Only the winners get global recognition, and by extension, their village. Interesting."

"It could work," Chōjūrō thought aloud.

"And it will let our men blow off some steam," Kurotsuchi said. Everyone nodded. Ninja were born and bred for war. The extended peace was starting to make them restless. Restless men and women who could burn houses down by exhaling was never a good thing.

"All in favor?" Naruto asked.

Everyone raised their hand.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I was always a little sad that the whole Jashin religion was never expanded upon. Hidan was my favorite Akatsuki member. This mini-arc will be my attempt at exploring the religion.

Kurotsuchi was always a little bit of a bitch, in my opinion. She just had that vibe about her.

Next chapter we finish up Bolt's 3 years, and then we're back to the Leaf! In case you didn't catch it, Bolt is just over 15 (so we skipped a little over 1.5 years).

The Ninja Olympics was something I thought was pretty cool. In an era of peace, especially prolonged peace where war would be shut down by Naruto and Sasuke pretty quick, the entire way of life for ninja would be under rapid change. People who knew nothing but war and were trained for nothing but war, suddenly had no wars to fight in? Recipe for trouble. War was, quite literally, their entire culture.

Guest — The Lightning Armor doesn't make Bolt OP. There are several foils to his power: many characters are faster or as fast as he is. Naruto and Sasuke (and any other space-time users) are all faster than him by nature of their techniques. The Raikage are all in his league, and have decades of experience on him. Wind techniques completely negate any defense the armor offers, and running full throttle into a blade of wind will result in a nasty bisection. Characters with dōjutsu, like Sarada or any of the more powerful Hyūga clansmen, won't be caught totally unawares by his speed. Additionally, he is still subject to things like the Nara's shadow techniques, which prevent him from moving entirely. The Eight Gates (Metal & Rock Lee), as well as the dude from Sand who has the breathing technique, all won't be helpless against his speed. The armor is a nice power up, to be sure, but it isn't anything that will make him unbeatable by any stretch of the imagination.

 **As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!**

 **\- Musica**


	16. Chapter 16

It was three weeks later that the next murder occurred.

Bolt and Hikari had received a messenger hawk from the Steam Lord's police and made their way north, deep into the mountains, to a small remote village nestled between two towering peaks of stone. By the time they arrived, the crime scene was nearly two weeks old. It was the same methodology as the previous murders: random victims, brutally mutilated, assailant painted the home with blood. Upon further inspection, the same symbol—the circle and triangle—was found drawn crudely on the floor upon which the bodies rested.

It was unfortunate that they had not been able to reach the remote locale sooner. The assailant could have been any one of the numerous travellers they had seen on their way to the village. But, he could also have been lingering in the area to see the reaction of his kills. The last man had seemed inordinately pleased with the police's reaction to his killings.

Bolt and Hikari prayed this one had the same psychological defects as his predecessor. It would make him that easier to catch.

Hikari watched Bolt with thinly veiled scrutiny as he read, once again, from the blank scroll. His blue eyes roved over it as if reading, but every time she caught him, the parchment was as white as snow. "I thought your elaborate prank would have ended months ago," she commented.

Bolt couldn't hide his smirk. She had caught him reading from the scroll the Uzukage gifted him during one of their longer assignments. It was only a matter of time, really, until he was caught with it. That was when he found out one of the more interesting seals placed on the scroll: it couldn't be read by anyone except an Uzumaki. "I'm in it for the long con," Bolt quipped. He knew it irritated her.

He ignored his partner's muttered ranting as he continued to read, at length, the details of the Uzumaki clan's own branch of Cursed Seals. They were quite useful, if morally ambiguous. The one he was researching was the Cursed Seal of Sincerity—the same one the Uzukage had used on him when Kohaku dragged him before her—that prevented the target from lying. Well, it didn't _prevent_ them from lying, but the pain it put them through was a good deterrent to it. The next time they caught one of the Jashin freaks they would be getting answers out of him, that Bolt could guarantee.

Bolt peered over the scroll, watching as Hikari laid a pestle and mortar on the table they sat at. She withdrew several handfuls of herbs, roots, and flowers, before beginning to turn them into pulp. The pungent scent of plant matter irritated his nose. "What are you making?" Bolt asked, curiously.

"A stronger truth serum," Hikari answered. "The previous culprit seemed resistant to it. A stronger dosage should prove more effective, assuming the culprits are linked in some way."

Bolt winced. Her truth serums were a derivative of a secret formula used by the Mist. It tended to leave the drinker in a near vegetative, if cooperative, state. Bolt stood and opened a nearby window to allow fresh air in. The small cabin they had been given for the duration of their stay didn't allow for much ventilation. Bolt had no interest in discovering if the fumes from Hikari's concoction worked just as well as her poisons.

"Who do you think these guys are?" Bolt asked, conversationally, as he sat back down.

Hikari never ceased her grinding of the herbs. "Given the degree of dedication and the zeal in which the previous culprit defended himself, Jashin could be a subversive element of the Land of Steam. Possibly an angry former member of the Lord's court, or a former ninja with a grudge. People are often motivated by such leaders to go above and beyond the call of duty," she answered succinctly.

Bolt sighed. He hoped it wasn't another disgruntled revolutionary. They had already had to put down one of those in the Land of Frost. It had been long, grueling, _boring_ work. The only reason Bolt stuck with it was the pay. Ten million ryō was a lot of money. "I hope not," he commented, his eyes flickering back over the hand seals required for the Cursed Seal of Sincerity—one hundred and two in total. Bolt's memory was a little hazy, but he didn't think the Uzukage used that many. No doubt a powerful demonstration of her mastery over the discipline of sealing that she was able to cut so many seals.

A _snap_ echoed in through the window of their cabin. Bolt stiffened and Hikari stilled her pestle and mortar. The two shared brief nods. Bolt deposited his scroll back into the seal on his forearm and activated his Byakugan. Bolt nodded and flashed through a series of hand signs. _Two men. Tree line. Armed._

Hikari nodded, message received. Both stood and made their way to a dark corner of the small cabin; Hikari near the rear, perfect position to throw her needles, and Bolt near the door, close enough to their would-be attackers to use his Gentle Fist. Bolt watched as both men crept from the trees and inched closer and closer to their cabin. They both stood in front; listening, waiting, watching.

Bolt thought they were going to back off when they both took a single step forward and inhaled. "Fire Release: Fireball Jutsu!"

Bolt and Hikari leapt through the windows of their small wooden abode just in time to avoid being incinerated. Bolt was livid. Though he hadn't left anything of great value in the cabin, the scrolls containing their food, water, and other supplies were, and, more importantly, the clothes he had laid out for the next morning. They were designer brand—Tanaka—and cost more than these two poor soul's lives were probably worth.

Hikari, on the other hand, was furious. She lost a good supply of herbs and roots that would take time and effort to replace. She appeared before one of their attackers in a blur of body flicker and slammed her fist into his chest before he could react. There was a loud, echoing _crunch_ that everyone could hear, and the man flew across the clearing and slammed into a tree trunk. He fell, boneless, to the ground.

"A curse upon you, blasphemers!" Bolt heard the other man howl. "Repent now for killing one of Lord Jashin's faithful, and you may still choose the path of righteousness!"

Bolt descended upon the man in an imperceptible blur. Their would-be attacker didn't even register Bolt's body flicker as he struck him along the spine several times, blocking his spinal chakra points and paralyzing him. The man flailed as he fell to the ground. Bolt's eyes roamed and pierced the man's body. There, in his gut, just like the last assailant, was a smooth stone with characters etched into it. They began to glow a fiery orange. "Lord Jashin, I offer you these sacrifices!"

Bolt weaved a few hand seals, placing his palm on the man's abdomen. The glow ceased; disarmed. Bolt smirked as the would-be suicide bomber realized his technique had failed. "Where is your Lord Jashin now?" Bolt questioned, kneeling next to the man and flipping him over. Hikari hovered over his shoulder, cracking her knuckles menacingly. They both enjoyed the look of fear that came over the man.

"You should never challenge an Uzumaki with seals," Bolt warned, as he began to weave hand seals. It took him half a minute to finish them all, and when he did, he extended his index finger. It was aflame with an inky black chakra. "Uzumaki Art: Cursed Seal of Sincerity," Bolt intoned as he pressed his finger into the man's forehead.

With his Byakugan, Bolt could see his chakra infiltrate and consume the man's chakra, integrating itself into his pathway system and spreading throughout the body. An inky black circle appeared on the man's forehead, with six arms spiraling towards a single point in the center; the symbol of the whirlpool. Finishing the seal, Bolt formed the Ram hand seal.

The cursed seal activated, glowing an angry red color. "Who are you?" Bolt asked.

"Fuck you! Lord Jashin will—"

"Wrong answer," Bolt chided, as the seal did its work. The man howled in fury and pain as Bolt's foreign chakra wreaked havoc on the man's chakra pathways. "Who are you?"

"Fuck—" more howls of pain. Bolt sighed. At least he wasn't taking masochistic pleasure in his pain, like their assailant in the Hidden Steam did. That would have been awkward.

"Who are you?" Bolt asked, for the third time.

The man whimpered. "I—Initiate Hikaru," he managed to spit out. "Oh, Lord Jashin, forgive me, for I have sinned!"

"Who is this 'Lord Jashin'?" Bolt questioned.

A look of pure zealous ecstasy overtook initiate's features. "Lord Jashin is the one true god of this world! He demands that we bring death and destruction upon you heathens!"

Bolt nodded, like he understood the nut job. Religious fanatics. Great. "Why did you attack us?"

The man looked like he was struggling to fight against his desire to serve his lord, and his desire to not experience the pain of the cursed seal again. "We—"

He was cut short as a knife sailed through the air and caught him in the throat. Bolt's and Hikari's heads snapped to the opposite side of the road and saw the man who Hikari had slain had, in fact, not been killed. "I thought you killed him!" Bolt yelped.

"I did," Hikari hissed. She was sure of it. She heard, and felt, every bone in his body break under the power of her chakra-enhanced strength.

"Lord Jashin, forgive us, for we have failed you," the man chanted, holding his arms skyward. "I enter into your embrace willingly, with the fires of my life wreathing destruction in its wake!"

Bolt didn't like the sound of that. His eyes widened as his Byakugan saw the man's chakra rapidly empty into a burning inferno in the man's belly. "Amen!"

The night was lit up with a burst of fire so hot that it was nothing but a flash of white. Bolt yanked Hikari close, pushing her into his chest. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him as Bolt expelled chakra from every point in his body and spun. Hikari clenched her jaw at the sudden, violent sense of vertigo that assailed her. The rotations of the Revolving Heaven threatened to make her violently ill. Still, she held on, for fear of the raging fire that was only separated by a thin veil of rapidly spinning chakra.

When the heat died down, Bolt was covered in a thin sheen of sweat that soaked his shirt; half from the heat, half from the exertion of maintaining the Revolving Heaven for an extended duration. Peering through the rising smoke, Bolt saw nothing but scorched earth all around them. Entire trees had been turned to ash, and their cabin was simply gone.

Hikari pulled Bolt to his feet and began to wander back through the forest, her eyes locked on the ground. She kneeled, pushing aside a small pile of fallen leaves, revealing a footprint. "They hiked up the mountain," she told Bolt, who followed her obediently. "I might be able to track them all the way back to where they came from if they didn't cover their tracks."

Hikari led Bolt on a meandering hike through the untamed wilds of the Land of Steam. They followed an animal path, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding shrubs and bushes, through ravines and gullies, up mountains, and through dark caves. Whoever the people were who attacked them had traversed a great distance through rugged terrain in order to kill them.

Dawn was breaking when they finished their trek, having walked through the night. "We're here," Hikari told him. They hid behind a small copse of trees, standing before a wide plain of grass that separated them from a base of a towering mountain of stone. In front of them was the gaping maw of a cave. Bolt heeded the unspoken command as his eyes faded from blue to white.

Whilst the Byakugan was heralded as the All Seeing Eyes, Bolt had quickly discovered that looking underground made him ill. It was incredibly disorienting to not be able to see the ground you stood on, and thus, he, and Bolt assumed, many other Hyūga clansmen unconsciously restricted their vision above ground. Bolt's eyes followed the cave as it meandered deep beneath the mountain, before splitting off into numerous tunnels that snaked off in every direction.

One tunnel, in particular, led to a large, underground cavern where Bolt could see a number of chakras burning brightly. "Found them," he told Hikari.

Together, the two of them crept through the dark tunnels, working their way ever downwards into the depths. Had Bolt not seen their destination with his own eyes, he would have never suspected that there was anyone or anything below the mountain. The tunnels appeared natural and deserted; no markings, no worn path, no torches to illuminate the way. The Jashin cultists had chosen their lair wisely.

But it was all laid bare before the Byakugan. As Bolt steadily closed the distance between the antechamber, he could see the details more clearly. Rows of worn, wooden pews were lined up in the cavern, providing ample sitting space. There were bouquets of herbs burning, hung in wrought-iron catches that were bolted into the stone walls. They provided the dimmest twilight in which the cultists could see. At the fore of the room, there was a large slab of black stone that reminded Bolt of obsidian. Resting on the slab was... a woman. Her body did not burn with chakra like the others; she was dead. A corpse.

Bolt could see chains and manacles attached to her wrists and ankles that held her to the slab. Looming above the dead woman was a massive face that had been carved into the very stone of the cavern. It was the visage of a man, his features contorted in anger and wrath. He had a gaping maw of fangs and four eyes; one set of two sitting just above the others. It was demonic, Bolt thought. "We're getting close," he whispered to Hikari.

Hikari nodded. Bolt could see her chakra flare as she prepared for whatever battle they were about to wage. Bolt's attention moved to the men in the cavern. There were seven in total; six sitting in the pews, and one kneeling before the corpse of the dead woman. Bolt felt his stomach knot as he realized the slab of stone was, in actuality, an altar. The cultists were worshipping... death?

There was a dull light at the end of the tunnel as the two of them came to a stop at the cavern opening. A deep humming noise vibrated through the stone. Bolt realized they were praying; perfect. Bolt and Hikari shared a quick look of unspoken agreement. Months of partnership culminating in being able to formulate a plan without words. Both stood, weaving hand seals. Hikari inhaled, her cheeks and chest expanding. Bolt brandished both hands forward as Hikari exhaled a wave of water that surged forward and swept the cultists up. Lightning arced from Bolt's fingertips, coursing through the water and electrocuting the cultists.

Bolt winced as he heard the men howl in pain. They flailed in the water, desperately trying to free themselves to no avail. After a few moments, they stilled. Bolt and Hikari ceased their attack. The waters died down, quickly dissipating without chakra to sustain them. Stray arcs of electricity danced across the remaining puddles; remnants of Bolt's lightning.

"Well, that was easy," Bolt remarked, staring down at the bodies of the cultists. "Think there are any more of them?"

"It's possible," Hikari said. "The murders were widespread across the Land of Steam, indicating an organization of many people, or several highly mobile killers."

Bolt flinched and narrowly avoided an elongated metal spike that hissed through the air and imbedded itself in the stone. Both turned to face a man who staggered to his feet. He wore tattered black robes that revealed a necklace of beads with a strange symbol—the circle with the triangle—made of silver worn around his neck. Angry burns and charred skin decorated his chest. "No way! I put enough volts into that attack to fry these guys alive," Bolt said.

"You _heathens!_ " the cultist spat. "In the name of Lord Jashin, we will experience the ultimate pain together in penetance for defiling his temple!"

Hikari withdrew several handfuls of needles and peppered the cultist as he sprinted at them. "That hurts!" the man howled, as he charged forward, heedless of the needles.

"Use your poisoned ones!" Bolt yelled.

"I did," Hikari hissed, withdrawing more. Both of them were forced to dodge as the cultist hurled more metal spikes at them. Hikari expertly sunk needle after needle into the man as she weaved between the spikes. Still, the man kept coming at them.

"I am the High Priest of Lord Jashin! He protects me from your pitiful attacks!" The cultist screeched as he drew a long, serrated sword from within his tattered robes.

Bolt appeared behind the priest in a blur of body flicker. His hands lashed out, index fingers striking him in the back with lances of chakra. The cultist fell to the ground, and did not rise.

Bolt sighed. "Freak," he commented, extending a hand to pull Hikari over the body of the priest.

Hikari shoved him backwards, narrowly avoiding having his arm cut off as the priest flailed and screeched, staggering to his feet. "That's impossible," Bolt yelped. "I hit his heart. He should be dead!"

"He has some sort of regenerative ability," Hikari summarized, pointing at the cultist's chest. Bolt saw that the burns from his lightning were faded, almost as if they weren't even there.

"In the name of Lord Jashin, I will make you _suffer_!" the high priest roared, reaching into his robes and producing another retractable metal spike. He charged them, sword swinging wildly.

Bolt and Hikari ducked and weaved, nimbly avoiding every hack, slash, and stab the cultist threw at them. They retaliated in kind; Gentle Fist strikes that should have blocked chakra points and ruptured organs, and poison-laced needles that would have given even the greatest of beasts trouble. Still, the priest continued his furious assault.

"This isn't working," Hikari yelled, over the din of the melee.

"Hit him hard!" Bolt barked, striking the priest in his pressure points. With the Gentle Fist, he was forced to drop the spike. The cultist swung at Bolt wildly, trying to kill him. Hikari appeared in a burst of speed and slammed her fist into his back. Her chakra-enhanced strength sent the priest careening into the cavern wall with such force that the stone cracked.

There was an audible crunch that echoed back up the tunnels as the man fell to the ground, boneless and lifeless. Bolt sighed. "Finally," he muttered. "Let's get out of here and pick up our reward..." Bolt trailed off. He saw the priest's extinguished chakra flare back to life, like a dying ember that had been breathed new life.

He turned back to see the priest rise on unsteady legs. Bolt and Hikari watched as the man's wrecked and deformed body _popped_ back into place, like it hadn't been broken in the first place. Bolt's eyes were wide with disbelief. The cultist had shrugged off electrocution, having his heart struck by the Gentle Fist, and now having nearly every bone in his body broken by Hikari. Something wasn't right.

"Oh," the high priest moaned. "Lord Jashin, I thank you for this gift of unending pain!"

"We just have to hit him _harder,_ " Hikari said, cracking her knuckles menacingly.

Bolt nodded, brandishing his right arm with his palm facing up and his fingers half-curled. A sphere of whirring chakra began to form; blue and white and angry. Both of them blurred forward as the priest howled and raged and swung his sword blindly. Hikari appeared behind him, and kicked him with enough force to send him sailing into the cavern wall on the far side of the room. Before he could fall, Bolt appeared and slammed a Rasengan into his chest. The cavern exploded with light and pressure, causing dust to fall from the ceiling.

Bolt hopped backwards, pleased. There was no way the priest was getting up from that. As the debris cleared, it revealed the cultist, robes completely disintegrated, with mangled flesh that exposed bone. He slumped to the ground, and did not rise. With his Byakugan, Bolt could see that the fire of his chakra had died. He was dead. "We are charging extra for this one," Bolt griped.

"Double the normal fee," Hikari agreed. Both made their way to the entrance of the tunnel, eager to be rid of the dank cavern.

Bolt didn't believe his eyes. He watched, the veins in his temple writhing, as the priest's chakra flared back to life. "That's not possible," he exclaimed, whirling to face their enemy once more. Hikari, too, watched in disbelief as the man rose after being struck, again, with her strength, and a Rasengan.

The cultist broke out into hysteric, maniacal laughter at the two looks of blatant disbelief. "Fools! You cannot kill me! I am the faithful of Lord Jashin!"

"Immortal," Hikari concluded. "Either a forbidden technique or some sort of regenerative ability that prevents death in all but the most extreme circumstances. Perhaps both."

"What do we do?" Bolt asked, a little rattled. It wasn't very often you had to put down an aberration of nature. Life was, by definition, demarcated by death. What was one without the other?

"We need to do more serious damage," Hikari instructed. "Remove limbs. Behead him. Destroy his body at a cellular level. He can't heal from _everything_."

"Right," Bolt said, confidence restored with a plan of action. He reached behind his shirt and withdrew a scroll that he kept hidden there; one of several. The priest howled with madness and charged them even as Bolt unfurled the scroll and hurled it at the man. "Release," Bolt intoned.

The scroll glowed with chakra as its seal was undone. A thick, heavy mist seeped from its paper. The cultist barreled ahead, heedless of the danger. By the time he had crossed the room and emerged from the mist, his skin had been eaten away, exposing nothing but angry pink muscle and rapidly regenerating skin. Not even Boil Release had put him down. Hikari weaved a few hand seals and spat a blade of pressurized water at the priest that bit deep into his flesh and knocked him to his feet.

At the same time, Bolt drew two shuriken and channeled his chakra into them. They glowed blue and Bolt raised them to his lips before exhaling on them. They began to spin at great speeds around his fingers, enhanced by Wind chakra. He hurled both of them at the prone form of the priest, aiming for his arms and legs. One shuriken cut his sword arm off from the forearm down, the other maiming his left leg, leaving it attached by a small length of flesh.

The priest growled like a feral dog and began to crawl forward. Bolt could see the madness in his eyes; the single-minded desire to inflict pain upon them in the name of his god. Hikari appeared in a blur of speed above him and brought her heel down upon his back. Bolt could see, with his Byakugan, every bone in his back shatter and turn to dust. Before the cultist could do anything, Hikari had kicked his leg, finishing what Bolt started, and leapt away to safety.

The priest lay there, writhing in pain and frothing at the bit. He stared up at the two of them with hate filled eyes, wanting nothing less to inflict pain on them. Hikari motioned for Bolt to finish the job. He held out his hand, chakra condensing into a sphere once more. In a burst of speed, he slammed the Rasengan into the man's already ravaged back. The stone cracked, fissures erupting outwards in a star pattern.

Bolt watched as the priest's chakra died, again. He watched, and waited, and watched. And, sure enough, a few moments later, it kindled back to life. "This isn't going to work," Bolt said. He quickly ran through a number of the seals he had been slowly learning over the past few years. There were many seals designed to incapacitate an opponent, or seal _chakra_ into someone or something, but nothing to seal a person. At least, not without them being dead first.

"What are we supposed to do, then?" Hikari asked petulantly.

Bolt looked around, and smiled. He withdrew another scroll and retreated to the entrance of the cavern, even as the priest's flesh was slowing knitting back together. He could hear the man's low rasping as he weathered the pain. "Here," Bolt said, handing Hikari one end of the scroll and pushing her to the left side of the tunnel. He took the other and stood at the right side. A length of scroll was exposed, covered in the archaic characters of the sealing scrawl.

"Be ready to run," Bolt informed her. He channeled some of his chakra into the scroll, powering it and releasing the seals. "Release," he intoned. A hail of kunai were expelled from the scroll, their blades sinking into the stone from the force behind them. A paper tag fluttered from the hilt and Hikari's eyes went wide with the sheer number of explosives that Bolt had just divested.

"Run!" Bolt barked, already heading towards the surface. Hikari was quick to follow.

"No! Lord Jashin demands vengeance! Heathens! Blasphemers!"

That was the last thing either Bolt or Hikari heard before the sound of explosives rocked the mountain and collapsed the cavern. They dove from the entrance of the cave as the tunnels collapsed behind them, sending debris and dust chasing after them. For good measure, Bolt plastered a few explosive tags on the cave entrance and collapsed it.

Bolt and Hikari shared a weary, exasperated look. "Triple the price," Hikari agreed, with a nod. The Steam Lord owed them a great debt.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Bolt's a spoilt child. I've kind of alluded to that as a common theme since the beginning of the story, but we see a few more glimpses of it here and last chapter. Since Momoshiki doesn't attack, he never comes to appreciate why some ninja's clothes are so worn and threadbare. Just a little facet of his character I wanted to preserve.

The bit about the Byakugan not seeing underground was a little headcanon, which also explains why Neji lost to Naruto in the Chūnin Exams in part 1. Despite being able to see in nearly 360 degrees, some things we just wouldn't want to see. Not being able to see the ground, even if you don't look at it all the time, would really mess with your sense of balance.

The Jashin religion has always been fascinating, to me. It's based on the real world Thuggee religion who worshipped Kali. Followers committed ritualistic murder in her name, and I've tried to replicate that a small bit in this mini-arc. The Jashin religion will appear again, later in the story, but for now, Bolt and Hikari have put down this small sect.

Where are we headed next? There will be a small event next chapter, followed by a little bit of action in the Leaf. From there, we get to see the "Ninja Olympics" that Naruto proposed last chapter (I'm still working on a good name for this, any suggestions?). That should last us another... 5-7 chapters? We'll see what Bolt and friends have learned in their three years. Then we're on to bigger and better things, including the introduction of our antagonists and the conflict of our plot.

 **As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. If you could leave a review I'd appreciate it. Thanks!**

 **\- Musica**


	17. Chapter 17

Bolt idly watched as several new members to the company danced drunkenly on one of the bar tables. It wobbled unsteadily, threatening to throw them off, but through some form of drunken debauchery, their footing held. They were singing some kind of folk song from the Land of Frost, their home, but Bolt didn't understand what it was about. Something to do with the finest ale coming from a tavern called the "Green Dragon." They were all celebrating the completion of a job well done. For the past few weeks, every man and woman who wore a crimson headband had been running an operation in the Land of Lightning to reduce the influence one of the Lightning Lord's court members held. It was easy, well paid work. The best kind.

Not for the first time, Bolt wondered why the Crimson Tide spent so much of their money on booze. Eiji seemed to take any excuse to dock and get the entire company drunk off their asses for no other reason than because they had the money. If they had saved, or invested, their profits, Bolt had no doubt they would all be very rich men. As was the case, Bolt was one of the very few who cared to think for the future. Takeo had grown disenfranchised with the mercenary life after the death of Hiroki some years ago and began to save, probably for retirement. Bolt didn't know what Hikari did with her share of the profits, but she certainly never indulged in anything obvious.

Bolt closed his eyes, allowing his focus to shift inwards as he continued to mould his chakra into the familiar warmth he came to associate with the Yang element. The scroll had never told him why, exactly, he needed to practice creating Yang chakra, but it hadn't led him astray so far. So, he continued to dutifully practice.

"You're doing it again," Hikari said.

The corners of Bolt's mouth turned ever so slightly upwards. "The scroll said I needed to continue the training," Bolt countered.

Hikari made a disbelieving, frustrated noise. She still didn't believe the scroll actually said anything. As it was, anything related to his training in seals was treated as a practical joke told at her expense. It continued to be a source of amusement for Bolt.

Bolt cracked open his eyes as he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. A moment later, a hand struck him in the back several times with enough force to make him wince. Eiji's booming laughter made his ears hurt as their illustrious leader appeared behind him. "Kid! You gotta see this!" Eiji yelled, pulling him to his feet. Bolt wrinkled his nose at the heavy scent of alcohol.

Eiji dragged Bolt over to several of the newer ninjas they had recruited some months back. Two of which were from Cloud. It was those two that Bolt found sitting in a dark corner of the bar, facing each other, with their friends looming over them and snickering. They had lightning arcing between their fingers, and every so often, it would arc out and zap one of their friends that were watching them, prompting them to yelp.

"They been tryin' to figure out _the armor_ ," Eiji whispered to Bolt. Most anyone with lightning affinity did, once they saw Eiji use it. "All they manage to do is shock the shit out of each other though!" Bolt winced as Eiji laughed loudly.

Bolt watched as the two former Cloud ninjas focused intently on their fingers, trying in vain to accomplish what he had already mastered. Their chakra fluctuated wildly, and every so often, electricity would lash out. To be fair, it was harder than it looked.

"That's it!" Bolt heard one of the men shout. He stood, gripped his right wrist with his left hand, and his chakra flared. An arc of lightning shot from his hand and electrocuted his friend, causing him to yelp in pain. The man bellowed and dove over the table, tackling him and starting a brawl.

Bolt laughed a little at their expense. Honestly, they would have had a better chance of performing the technique if they were sober. But telling mercenaries not to drink was like telling the rain to not be wet. It just wasn't done.

The door of the bar opened and was slammed into the rickety walls of the bar, courtesy of the raging wind outside. A handful of cloaked figures entered the bar, soaked and shivering. A waitress herded them to an empty table. "Another round of drinks, on me!" Eiji boomed. A round of applause went up. "Including our new friends!" Eiji said, raising his mug to the new arrivals. The men nodded in thanks.

"So," Eiji said, conversationally, as he staggered to a nearby table. "You made up ya' mind yet?"

Ah, yes. The reason Bolt hadn't wanted to get drunk in a small bar with their leader. He had decisions to make, and he didn't want to make them. His three years were almost up. "No, not yet," Bolt said.

"Thas' too bad," Eiji commented. "Could always stay with us, ya' know. We could use a man like you runnin' things. Takes more than me n' Hikari to keep these idiots in line."

As tempting as that sounded, the Crimson Tide had outlived their purpose. Bolt had learned all he could from them; new water and lightning techniques, urban stealth, tracking, and taijutsu being the least of all. He'd made enough money to be able to live comfortably, no matter what he chose to do. Most valuable of all, however, was _experience_. He had not only learned techniques, he had learned how, and most importantly, when, to apply them. Something his friends back in the Leaf wouldn't have.

At the thought of the Leaf, Bolt frowned. He felt the twinge of longing in his heart for his home after being so long away. He missed his friends and his family. And, as much as Eiji wanted him to stay, and as much as he feared going back to the Leaf, Bolt knew the choice was already made for him: given the chance, he would go home.

It didn't make telling his new friends any easier. Bolt would miss having Hikari as his stoic partner on missions. He would miss Takeo and his brooding and irritable temper. And, in some small way, he would miss Eiji and his annoying, booming laughter. It grew on you, somehow.

Bolt sighed and sat down at his and Hikari's table as Eiji danced back and forth between the tables, checking on his men. Bolt picked up his cup to take a drink, but faltered as he saw Hikari over the rim. Her eyes were trained on the cloaked men that had entered the bar; cold, calculating, clinical. Bolt had been on enough missions with her to know what that meant: threats.

He held his cup to his mouth, allowed the liquid to touch, but not pass, his lips, then set the cup back down. Bolt shared a barely imperceptible nod with Hikari, and allowed his eyes to fade from blue to white. His Byakugan immediately focussed on what they had under their cloaks. Short swords, leather pouches filled with shuriken and kunai, and, above all, masks.

Porcelain masks with three slits, one for the mouth, and two for the eyes. Mist Anbu; hunter ninjas. Bolt raised his cup, again pretending to take a sip. With his index finger, he tapped his cheek several times. Hikari's eyes widened ever so slightly as realization dawned upon her. They wore the same mask as she herself did.

Before either of them could do anything, one of the mercenaries, a common thug, staggered over to the Anbu's table. He stumbled, tripping of his own gangly limbs, and fell to the floor. As he did so, his arm flailed out, grabbing the only thing it could. The man's cloak. The fabric fell to the ground, exposing the man's Anbu mask for the entire bar to see. Naturally, everyone turned to see what the commotion was. Even drunk, the mercenaries' instincts didn't allow their eyes to pass over the hunter ninja mask.

The bar was as silent as the grave.

Then, it wasn't. Shouts of alarm went up as the Crimson Tide collectively jumped to their feet, drawing whatever weapons they had. In a flash, the Mist Anbu had donned their masks. One of them blew a whistle, the sound of which was too high in pitch for Bolt to hear. His comrades darted forward, hurling throwing needles and shuriken at the first man to get in their way.

Bolt weaved a single seal and inhaled. He spat a lance of water that collided with the Anbu that had used the whistle, cracking his mask and knocking him unconscious as his skull bounced off the wall. All around him, chaos erupted. The door was kicked in, revealing more Anbu. Through the windows leapt more masked men, this time bearing the distinctive masks of the Cloud Anbu. A joint operation, Bolt realized. Mist and Cloud working together against a common enemy. Them.

Bolt threw a shuriken at an Anbu that had one of the mercenaries pinned, catching him in the ribs. The distraction allowed his ally to throw his attacker off. Bolt turned, narrowly dodging the swing of a sword as a Cloud Anbu attempted to cut him to ribbons. He ignored the Anbu, who hadn't realized that one of Hikari's needles was lodged in his shoulder. The Anbu collapsed in a heap of limbs after a few moments.

Darting forward, Bolt found the nearest Anbu and began a dance of Gentle Fist strikes that left the man a boneless pile of whimpering flesh on the floor. Three more stepped forward, enraged by their comrade's demise. Bolt dispatched two of them in the same manner. The third rushed him, sword outstretched. He was tackled to the ground by the hulking Takeo, who bodily hurled the masked man through the wall of the bar and into the raging wind and rain outside.

Bolt and Takeo shared a nod of wordless agreement as the two settled into a defensive formation. Takeo was the heavy hitter, Bolt was the cleanup. Anbu rushed them in droves, falling to Takeo's rugged Cloud taijutsu and brute strength. Those that didn't were dispatched by a gentle prod to their vital chakra points by Bolt.

And still more came. Anbu veritably flooded the bar. Everywhere Bolt looked, he saw nothing but masked men and women battling the Crimson Tide. They were heavily outnumbered, two or three Anbu per mercenary. It was a battle they were quickly losing.

Bolt leapt away as Takeo roared. "Liger Bomb!"

The Anbu he slammed into the ground was reduced to nothing but a fine, meaty pulp. The planks of the floor shattered, exploding in splinters. The Anbu took notice of the threat amongst their ranks, turning and swarming Takeo. Bolt was a whirlwind of open palms and pointed fingers as he struck down as many as humanly possible with the Gentle Fist.

That was when the fire started. One of the mercenaries, hopelessly outmatched and outmanned, panicked, and exhaled a hasty fire jutsu. He incinerated his foes, but set the bar ablaze. His actions undid the dam, and the battle erupted in earnest as both sides began using jutsu. One of the Mist hunter ninjas exhaled a great wave of water that extinguished the fire and collapsed one wall of the bar.

"Everyone out!" Eiji yelled, as the other walls began to give way. The entire establishment was coming down around them.

"Takeo, make a door!" Bolt yelled over the din of combat. The larger man bellowed a battle cry and charged the nearest group of Anbu, knocking them out of the way and crashing through the wall. Bolt was right behind him, slipping out into the weather through the makeshift door.

Men and women spilled out after them, desperate to get out of the building before it collapsed and crushed them. Even as they fled, Anbu and mercenary continued to kill one another. Bolt hurled several handfuls of shuriken at the masked ninja as they filtered out, trying to thin their numbers. It did little good.

"Bolt!" Takeo yelled, in panic.

Bolt ducked on pure instinct. A sword sailed through the air, right where his neck would have been. He braced himself with his hands on the ground, and kicked backwards violently. He was rewarded with a muffled grunt as his boot connected solidly with his attackers ribs. Bolt turned and swiped at the swordsman with his palm. The man, strangely unmasked, jumped out of the way before he could be hit.

Takeo was not faring any better. His opponent was also unmasked, a blonde woman dressed in a low cut shirt with the largest breasts Bolt had ever seen. Her sword was a blur of silver as Takeo ducked and weaved to avoid being cut to ribbons. Most disturbing, Bolt noted, was that both the man and woman had the same unstylish bowlcut.

"You're pretty good, kid," the man said, brandishing his sword. "What's your name? I'm Atsui," he introduced himself.

Bolt didn't waste his breath. Talking only ever got you killed. There wasn't any point in speaking with a dead man, anyway. He darted forward, raining down blow upon blow. Atsui countered with an impressive combination of taijutsu and swordsmanship that threatened to shred Bolt's jacket.

Bolt grunted as his palm struck the flat of Atsui's sword. The blonde man smirked as his sword was coated in chakra, then set ablaze. Bolt hastily withdrew his hand before it could be burnt. "Cloud-Style Flame Beheading!"

A wall of orange-red fire rushed forward. Had the man not shouted his attack like a belligerent idiot, Bolt never would have been able to ready his water jutsu in time. As it was, Bolt exhaled a wave of water that turned to steam upon contacting the flames. Temporarily shrouded by the steam, Bolt created a shadow clone. The clone sprinted forward, a kunai drawn and brandished.

Atsui and the clone exchanged blows as Bolt circled them in the steam. The clone yelled in pain, only for its voice to be cut short as it exploded into smoke. Bolt saw Atsui stiffen as he realized he had been fighting a clone. He lunged, and sent a lance of chakra tearing through the man's back.

Bolt's world exploded in light and heat as Atsui turned to fire. He had not been the only one to make a clone with the distraction of the steam. Biting his tongue to suppress a whimper at his burnt arm, Bolt activated his Byakugan. He couldn't afford to go easy on Atsui, even if it would expose his identity.

Atsui appeared behind him, the steam having cleared. Bolt ducked, and saw the man's eyes widen in surprise. He had silently attacked from his blind spot, and expected the sneak attack to work. It didn't. Bolt turned on the man, fully intending to utterly destroy him with the Gentle Fist now that he had the aid of the Byakugan.

Bolt faltered as he heard, and saw, Takeo scream in pain. The blonde woman had cut his right arm off from the elbow down. Bolt leapt, a blur with his advanced body flicker, chakra coalescing in his right hand as he prepared to save his comrade. There was a blur of black as a man with dark skin and milky white hair appeared between him and the woman. He caught Bolt's still forming Rasengan with the edge of his sword. A mistake, as it shredded the weapon.

But he did put a halt to Bolt's charge. Takeo's head rolled on the ground as the blonde woman decapitated him with a single swing of her sword. Bolt made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Takeo died. He was forced back into the present as Atsui attempted to cut him down from behind.

A small, imperceptible arc of lightning jumped up Bolt's right arm, across his chest, and down his left leg. Faster than the eye could follow, he leapt out of the way. The dark skinned man was forced to leap backwards as Atsui's sword cut his shirt, drawing a thin line of blood. Neither had expected him to be so fast.

"You okay, Omoi?" Bolt heard the blonde woman ask.

"I'm fine, Samui," the dark skinned man—Omoi—responded.

Names to faces. Bolt recognized Samui and Omoi from the bingo book. Omoi, in particular, was worth a small fortune as the Raikage's bodyguard. It was of little reassurance. Bolt now faced three skilled, deadly enemies.

A hail of needles forced all three Cloud ninjas to jump backwards. Hikari appeared beside Bolt, her military fatigues torn and cut in several places. She was breathing hard, and Bolt could see that her chakra reserves were running low. Eiji appeared behind the two of them, back-to-back, a thin sheen of chakra coating his body as electricity danced across his skin. Bolt scanned the surrounding area with his Byakugan; everyone was dead or dying, except for the three of them. He swallowed nervously.

"Doesn't this kid look like Naruto?" the woman, Samui, asked.

Bolt didn't want to let them recognize him. He weaved hand seals and inhaled. A moment later, he spat a wave of water forth. Lightning danced from Eiji's hands, electrifying the water. Samui, Omoi, and Atsui all leapt to the safety of the trees as the water swept past them. Atsui exhaled fire, and Omoi shot lightning from his fingertips.

Bolt and Hikari dodged, whilst Eiji darted forward with his enhanced speed. Atsui raised his sword to block, the flat of his blade catching the punch. He was sent bodily careening into a nearby tree.

"Run!" Eiji commanded them. Bolt turned and was about to leap back into the fray when Eiji's voice stopped him. "Look around, fool! There's too many! Run!"

Bolt cast a glance in every direction. Whilst the Crimson Tide's forces had been decimated, there were still tens of Anbu remaining. The odds were against them. Bolt stepped forward, his chakra flaring as it began to pour out of his chakra points. Hikari gripped his shoulder painfully tight. "That was an order, Bolt," she hissed, tugging him backwards.

"No! We can still win! I've got plenty of chakra left! Enough to use the Lightning Armor to defeat them!" Bolt hissed back.

Hikari shook her head. "You might have chakra, but _we_ don't. Eiji and I are running on empty. Can you defeat those three and all the Anbu on your own?" Hikari asked pointedly. Bolt grit his teeth. He couldn't, not at his level. Not yet.

A bolt of lightning tore through the forest. An Anbu was left in a smoking crater, dead. "Go!" Eiji yelled, as Samui and Atsui attacked in unison.

Hikari made the decision for both of them. She threw the rest of her throwing needles in every direction, not aiming at any one target in particular. The advancing Anbu were forced to flee and find cover. She struck Bolt in the solar plexus and threw him over her shoulder before sprinting off into the woods.

Half the Anbu pursued the fleeing Bolt and Hikari, and half remained to help their comrades defeat Eiji.

The last thing Bolt heard as his vision faded to black was the din of metal striking metal and the roar of Cloud style kenjutsu.

* * *

Bolt's eyes fluttered as they opened to darkness. He groaned as his body came back to life, stiff and sore from laying on what felt like solid stone. Blinking, he looked around and saw that he was lying somewhere in a cave. The warm glow of the sun at the entrance told him it couldn't be more than a few hours after noon.

Memories came flooding back. The veins in Bolt's temple writhed as his eyes faded from blue to white. His Byakugan scoured the land; the cave he was sleeping in was high in the mountains, overlooking a dense forest of pine trees. A light snow fell, covering the land in white. In the far distance, Bolt could see a sea of fire; chakra. A small town, barely larger than a village. He didn't recognize the landscape, but the only place with snow during that time of year was the Land of Frost.

"You're awake," Hikari said.

Bolt slowly turned to face Hikari. She was leaning against one wall of the cave, changing the dressing around one of her arms. It was stained red, an injury from one of the three swordsmen, Bolt assumed. "Where are we?" Bolt asked.

"Coast of the Land of Frost," Hikari answered clinically.

"We could have fought them," Bolt said tersely.

"And died," Hikari added.

"I could have taken them," Bolt said. "I had the chakra for the armor and several Rasengans. All you two—"

"Omoi is the bodyguard of the Raikage, and Samui and Atsui were veterans of the fourth war who fought the Gold and Silver Brothers," Hikari cut him off. "You wouldn't have been able to beat them three-against-one."

The two of them descended into a tense silence as Bolt brooded over the loss of his former comrades and teacher. "Don't you feel... guilty, about leaving Eiji? He's probably dead," Bolt asked. He never did figure out what exactly their relationship was.

Hikari was silent for a moment before answering. "I was an orphan, growing up in the Hidden Mist. During my Academy years, I showed great potential. The Mist had just restarted recruiting for their Anbu program and I was recruited at age eight. I completed my training at age eleven, and was placed on active duty. Our duties primarily consisted of hunting down rogue ninjas who had abandoned the village in the aftermath of the war," Hikari explained.

"Just after I turned thirteen, I discovered a file in our base of operations with my name on it. It said my parents were veterans of the war who deserted the village to live a peaceful life. They were some of the first victims of the reformed hunter division," she said quietly.

"The Anbu who killed my parents brought me back to the village," Hikari explained, her voice regaining some of her strength. "After I learned the truth, I took what I could carry and left the the village. They sent hunters after me, former comrades and friends. They would have killed me, but I ran across Eiji and the beginnings of the Crimson Tide. He saved my life, and I've been in his debt ever since. He was the closest thing I had to a father."

Bolt frowned as Hikari told her life story. He felt guilty for trying to use Eiji's sacrifice as an argument against their cowardice. "I'm sorry," Bolt apologized. It felt wholly underwhelming.

"Don't be," Hikari said. "We were his protégés. Eiji saw enough of his friends perish in the war. It would have been cruel of us to stay and die, making him experience that again."

"Maybe... maybe they didn't kill him? He was the leader, after all. They might have taken him alive," Bolt offered.

"Unlikely," Hikari stated. "Hunter protocol states that the bodies of those killed must be destroyed immediately, on site. Eiji was from Cloud, but I doubt they would have spared him."

Bolt sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall of the cave. The cold stone helped to clear his mind. He and Hikari sat like that for a time; not moving, not talking. "What do we do now?" Bolt asked.

"I don't know," Hikari admitted. "What were you planning to do after your three years were up?"

"I was going to go home," Bolt admitted.

"Do so, then," Hikari told him.

"You could come with me?" Bolt offered.

Hikari made a small scoffing noise. "Emigration between villages is frowned upon and tightly controlled. And I'm wanted, Bolt. It would never work," she said.

"Where will you go then?" Bolt asked.

"... The Land of Rain," Hikari decided. "They are rebuilding still. They won't question the appearance of one more nameless citizen."

Bolt frowned and sighed. This was not how he had wanted to part with his friends and comrades. All but Hikari were dead, and she was going to disappear in the one country that took all newcomers. And he was going back to the Leaf. What if he didn't like it there? What if they wanted to throw him in jail for leaving the village? What if his dad was mad at him? Worse, what if the village still remembered the way he cheated on the chūnin exams?

Suddenly, going back to the Leaf didn't seem like a very good idea. "You don't seem to be happy about going home," Hikari noted.

Bolt frowned. "I'm not," he said, simply. He had explained the manner in which he fled the village in the first place to Hikari and Takeo after he trusted the Crimson Tide.

Hikari glanced over at him. "A compromise, then," she suggested. "You go back to the Leaf, I head for the Rain. I'll travel south, along the border of the Land of Fire to the Land of Waves. It should take me two months, if there aren't any obstacles. If you decide not to stay, meet me there. I'll wait a week. If you don't show, I'll continue on. If you do, we can figure it out then."

Bolt smirked. "You do care," he sing-songed. He got the very distinct impression that Hikari was rolling her eyes underneath her mask.

"Deal," he agreed.

* * *

Naruto threw his head back as he drained the last vestiges of broth from his cup of ramen. These days, he didn't even have time to take a break for lunch. His meals consisted of microwaved cup ramen, the less delicious cousin of Ichiraku ramen. But, still, ramen nonetheless.

Discarding the cup, he quickly set back to work, going through the necessary paperwork for the Shinobi Union World Tournament, as they had dubbed it. Of course, as the proposer of the event, Naruto was expected to do the lion's share of the paperwork and host the event. It had actually been a boon for the Leaf, as it was expected the economy would grow rapidly preceding the tournament itself.

A brief knock drew Naruto's attention. "Enter," he bid. "Ah, Hanabi!" Naruto greeted his sister-in-law.

"Hokage, sir," Hanabi said, bowing slightly.

At seeing her serious expression, Naruto knew something was amiss. "... What's wrong?" Naruto asked, dreading the answer.

To answer his question, she withdrew a small leatherbound book and turned to a marked page. She handed him the book, pointing to it. Naruto instantly recognized it as a bingo book. The marked page was for a rogue ninja dubbed "Inazuma," real name unknown. There was no photograph.

Naruto began to read through the ninja's description. "Wears the headband of the Hidden Eddy. Proficient in water and lightning jutsu. Uses taijutsu style similar to that of the Gentle Fist. Taller than average with an athletic build. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Two birthmarks, or scars, on both cheeks, extremely dangerous..."

He didn't need to read more than that. There was only one person who it could be. Bolt. Naruto skipped to the bottom. "Wanted: dead or alive; Hidden Cloud... ten million ryō!" Naruto yelled, rising to his feet.

"It was just distributed this morning," Hanabi informed him. "The Hyūga clan receives the newest edition early."

Naruto blanched. If the Hyūga clan received the new edition of the bingo book early, that means...

The door to the Hokage's office was kicked off its hinges as a very thunderous looking Hiashi Hyūga stormed into Naruto's office, flanked by four Hyūga clansmen. Shikamaru trailed in after them, looking troubled. Hiashi brandished a copy of the book, casting demanding glances between his youngest daughter and his son-in-law. "You will organize a team at once to rescue my grandson and escort him back to the village," Hiashi commanded.

Naruto laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. He still wasn't very good at interacting with his father-in-law. "I'll be contacting Cloud about redacting the bounty..." Naruto stated lamely, trying to appease the man.

"That isn't good enough!" Hiashi declared. "I'll form a team of Hyūga trackers and set out immediately. Inform the Mist that we'll be in their territory."

Shikamaru suddenly straightened. "That won't be necessary," he told Naruto and Hiashi.

* * *

Bolt stood on a branch high in the trees surrounding the Hidden Leaf. With his Byakugan, he could see the barrier that surrounded the entirety of the village. An interesting jutsu, to say the least. A combination of a barrier and a seal. From the structure of the sealing language, he could approximately determine its purpose.

To monitor each and every person who entered and left the village. Bolt supposed that was the purpose of the small seal built into the back of his headband that he kept sealed in one of the many compartments of the storage seal on his forearm. Ninjas coming and going would be recognized by the seal on their headbands and filtered out, while anyone else was recorded and tracked. Very ingenious.

Letting his eyes fade from white to blue, Bolt hopped down from his perch and casually strolled through the front gates of the village. He would have liked to have seen what the barrier did as he crossed the threshold, but it was best to keep his eyes secret. At least, for the time being. Two chūnin stood guard in a small building that functioned as the check-in for all incoming people. They stared at him with clear disbelief, their eyes flickering between his face and a wall that Bolt couldn't see. No doubt it had his missing poster plastered there. He gave them a wave and a smile in greetings.

Bolt Uzumaki was home.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hiashi seems like the type of grandfather who realizes their mistakes they made with their own kids, and does everything in their power to be the awesome grandfather to make up for it. You can't tell me he doesn't dote on Bolt and Himawari when Naruto and Hinata aren't looking... I just know it.

Anyway, we're back in the Leaf! I know some of you will be miffed that we haven't seen Bolt really let loose yet, but don't worry, that time is coming! Next chapter is the reunion between Bolt and the Leaf, and then the chapter after that is the start of the Shinobi Union World Tournament!

The barrier mentioned at the end of the chapter is the "Sensing Barrier" which surrounds the Leaf. During the Pain fight, he uses his Animal Path to pass through the barrier and summon the other Paths without triggering the barrier for them. Naturally, as an up-and-coming seal master, Bolt would have loved to dissect the technique. The part about the seal on the back of the headbands is headcanon.

 **As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!**

 **\- Code Musica**


	18. Chapter 18

Sarada leapt out of the way as earthen spikes erupted at her feet, threatening to skewer her. Even as she dodged the first wave, more were quickly rising to take their place. Using one spike, she channeled chakra through her legs and disappeared in a blur of body flicker.

Himawari continued her onslaught, holding the jutsu as more and more spikes erupted. They acted as both a defense, holding her opponent at bay, and an offense, threatening to skewer her alive. The only problem was that Sarada was _fast_. Incredibly so. She ran up and down the spikes before Himawari could even change her target.

With a mighty stomp, Himawari sent several earthen pillars flying skyward in the path Sarada was taking. With her Sharingan, Sarada was able to predict where each pillar would rise, and deftly avoided them. She closed in on Himawari, her fist arcing with lightning. "Chidori!"

The slight widening of Himawari's Byakugan was all the warning Sarada received before she felt a wall of pure chakra slam into her, knocking her aside. Angling her body midair, Sarada skidded across the clearing before coming to a stop. Himawari ceased her Revolving Heaven, a small smirk turning the corners of her lips upwards.

Sarada frowned, not for the first time experiencing the frustration of the Hyūga's ultimate defensive technique. She still had not found a way to break through the shield. She had toyed with the idea of learning how to make chakra threads, slowing down the rotations by binding and tangling Himawari, but the precise chakra control required was just beyond her skillset. For the moment, anyway.

"Draw?" Sarada asked, hopefully. If Himawari refused, they would be training all day until she no longer had the chakra for the Revolving Heaven. Or, until she landed a lucky hit and defeated Sarada. Whichever came first.

Himawari smirked. "No way," she quipped. She darted forward in a blur of body flicker. She moved in slow motion to Sarada, who saw every step with her Sharingan. The first Gentle Fist strike came at her fast, aiming to disable Sarada's right arm and prevent her from using Chidori.

Sarada dodged, moving ever so slightly, and counter-attacked, throwing her fist into Himawari's ribs. Sarada winced in pain as she felt her knuckles bruise on what felt like solid stone. That was all the distraction Himawari needed to prod her friend, gently, several times. Sarada cursed under her breath as she lay sprawled on the ground.

"I win," Himawari sing-songed, kneeling and unblocking her friend's chakra points.

"What was that?" Sarada grumbled.

Himawari lifted her shirt up, exposing her ribs. Her skin was a sickly brown-black color. "Earth Release: Earth Spear," she explained. "A defensive technique that hardens the skin with Earth chakra. One of the transfer students from the Hidden Waterfall taught it to me in exchange for showing her around the village."

"That's cheating," Sarada muttered under her breath. "I didn't even see you make a hand seal," she said, more clearly.

Himawari smiled. "I know! It took me a long time to be able to use it without one," she beamed.

"Again? Or do you want to see if your dad will train us today?" Sarada asked, gently massaging her knuckles. They were turning a gross purple-yellow color.

"We can do one more, I was going to—" Himawari trailed off, her eyes locked somewhere to the south.

"Himawari?" Sarada asked, a tint of concern coloring her tone.

"Bolt," Himawari uttered, taking off at breakneck speeds.

Sarada was right behind her.

* * *

"Look, just get a sensor down here to identify my chakra," Bolt urged the guard. "I don't have any paperwork, for the last time! I left before that was even a thing!"

The two border guards exchanged uneasy looks. "We can't let you into the village unless you can prove who you are," one said, uneasily. "You could be someone in disguise."

Bolt groaned. "Please, before I decide to leave, again, get someone down here who can identify my chakra," he begged. Honestly, why they didn't have a proper sensor on guard duty was beyond him. Even a Hyūga, with their eyes, could serve the same purpose. His clan had boomed in population after the war and the sweeping reforms the Hokage made regarding clan laws, including the banning the Hyūga's branch family cursed seal. They had the men to spare.

"Listen, we'd love to, but we just simply don't have the—"

Bolt cut them off as he saw a blur in the distance rushing to the gates. Narrowing his eyes, he could just make out the features. Woman. Pale. Blue eyes. Iconic Hyūga purple-blue hair. Two chakra scars on both cheeks, the same as his own.

He beamed, smiling broadly. "Himawari!" Bolt cried, opening both arms wide to hug his sister. Both guards turned to see what Bolt was looking at. By the time they turned, Himawari was already upon them.

Bolt felt like he had just been punched in the gut by a mountain. He dropped to his knees, dry heaving and struggling to breathe. There was a heavy slap on his back. Bolt flinched, expecting the same overbearing strength or the bite of the Gentle Fist.

He felt neither. There was a whoosh as air was displaced, and then there was a crushing weight sitting upon his back and grinding him into the dirt. Bolt felt the bones in his back creak at the sudden weight. He wheezed, writhing in pain. Looking up, he saw his sister looming over him, a thunderous expression of anger marring her features. "Please, sister, mercy!" Bolt begged.

Himawari looked to whatever was sitting on him and nodded. "Thank you!" Bolt exclaimed. He yelped as the weight increased. Now, he felt a slimy, warm liquid seeping through his clothes.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, brother?" Himawari demanded, as she folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm sorry!" Bolt squeaked immediately.

"Sorry for what?" Himawari asked.

"Sorry for leaving!" Bolt answered, feeling the weight shifting on his back threateningly.

Himawari's eyes narrowed dangerously and Bolt knew what was coming before it did. The weight increased, again, and Bolt was sure he heard one of his bones crack. Himawari kneeled, looking him in the eyes. "Sorry for leaving your sister?" Himawari asked innocently.

"Yes! Yes!" Bolt agreed enthusiastically. "Never again! I promise!"

Himawari smiled demurely and stood. She snapped her fingers, and the weight blissfully shifted off his back. Bolt sighed in relief. He was yanked to his feet and pulled into a hug before he could recover. "I missed you, Bolt," Himawari said quietly, hiding her face in his jacket.

Despite the pain he was in, Bolt smiled. "I missed you too, Himawari," he said, hugging her back.

"That is so touching," a strangely bestial, feminine voice said from behind them.

Bolt turned his head to see who had spoken. A look of pure horror crossed his face as he saw a massive toad wearing a pink kimono. He had a sudden realization of what the weight on his back was. Bolt violently gagged as he realized his jacket was slick with toad slime. That would _never_ wash out. He'd have to buy a new one.

Himawari pulled back and deftly wiped away a stray tear that had fallen. She smiled and held onto one of Bolt's arms, afraid he might disappear if she wasn't holding him down. "Thanks, Gamami. You can go now," she bid.

"No problem," the toad, Gamami, said, disappearing in a wisp of white smoke.

Looking around, Bolt saw a nervous bundle of red and black that could only be one person. "Sarada!" Bolt yelled, striding past the border guards. They raised their hands to complain, but were silenced by a look from Himawari that promised them pain if they detained her brother. They wisely kept silent and went back to their duties.

"Welcome back, Bolt," Sarada said nervously, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. If it weren't for his vibrant blonde hair and almost uniquely blue eyes, she wouldn't have recognized him. He was taller than her, now, and lean, like most Hyūga men were. Their emphasis on speed over strength made them slender. Her eyes drifted to his headband. It was a clever genjutsu, she supposed, layering the Leaf symbol on top of the Eddy. But her Sharingan saw through it.

Before either could say anything more, there was a yellow-orange flash. Bolt blinked, and his dad was standing in front of him. Next to him, his mother. Naruto opened his mouth to say something, but Hinata beat him to it. She scooped Bolt up in a tight hug, placing a kiss on his forehead.

"Mom, please!" Bolt begged, brushing her off. "Not in public! There are people here!"

Hinata released Bolt, a bright flush staining his cheeks. Himawari and Sarada laughed lightly. He might have grown physically, but he was still the same on the inside.

Bolt sulked awkwardly in front of his dad. Naruto did the same. After a few moments, Naruto brandished his fist and gave his son a smile. Bolt awkwardly bumped fists with his dad, before returning his smile. "So," Bolt said, awkwardly toeing some dirt. "I guess we have to talk, huh?"

Naruto glanced up, sensing Sai and the other Anbu waiting outside the village. They would be able to better provide him with the information he needed, and spare him from having to lecture Bolt so soon after he had returned. "Nah," Naruto said, lightly. "Go have fun with your friends. We can talk later."

Bolt beamed, expecting a thorough lecture on why running away from home was bad behavior. "Thanks, dad!" Himawari was all too happy to drag her brother off, with her dad's permission given.

Sarada walked beside them, Himawari still hanging onto Bolt's arm. "Everyone is going to be excited to see you again," Sarada said, conversationally. "Shikadai and Inojin have been insufferable without you."

Bolt smiled. He had missed gaming with Shikadai and Inojin, though he had scarcely thought about it since leaving the village. His training had dominated most of his free time, especially after studying under the Uzukage and his missions for the Crimson Tide. Sarada noticed his quiet reminiscence. "We can go hang out with them, if you want. They should be training right now," she said. Of all the teams in their year, only Ino-Shika-Chō rivaled the amount of time Sarada and Himawari trained. Well, that was not counting the time Metal Lee trained with his dad. Which was all the time.

"Sure," Bolt agreed. "Just let me change my shirt. There is... toad slime on it." Sarada made a face that accurately described Bolt's disgust. Himawari just smiled innocently.

Stepping into his old room, Bolt was immediately overwhelmed with nostalgia. As he stripped of his ruined jacket and shirt, he realized one other thing. His room was small. And cramped. He was so tall that his legs would have dangled off the end of his bed if he laid down. Between his bed, dresser, and computer desk, there was barely enough room to move around with stubbing his feet. It simply wouldn't do. Even his small cabin on the Crimson Tide's dilapidated ship was larger.

Opening his bedroom door, Bolt came face-to-face with his sister. Until that moment, Bolt wasn't aware someone could wait _intensely_. "Ready?" Bolt said, with an uneasy smile.

Himawari dipped her head in a small nod and latched back onto Bolt's arm. Sarada was waiting for them downstairs. It took the three of them half an hour to walk to the ancestral training grounds that the Yamanaka, Nara, and Akimichi clans used for training their clansmen. They weren't even on the grounds proper when a large sphere of rolling flesh roared past them, nearly crushing them.

"Well, we found them," Bolt commented. Which was a feat in and of itself. Part of the Nara forest stretched over the training grounds, a maze of tall, willowy trees guarded by herds of deer. It wouldn't be the first time a wandering pair of genin got lost in the Nara's shadowy woods.

"Bolt!" Shikadai exclaimed. Running over to them. "You're back," he said, looking at his friend in what Bolt thought was disbelief.

"Welcome back," Inojin greeted, sheathing his short sword. Chōchō wandered back onto the training grounds, rubbing her head. The six of them talked quickly and excitedly while Ino and Chōji looked on fondly.

"We were just finishing up," Shikadai said. "Wanna get something to eat?"

"Barbecue?" Chōchō half asked, half stated.

"You're not done just yet," Ino said, stepping forward. "You guys still haven't fully mastered formation five yet! And it just so happens you have three opponents to practice against."

"Troublesome," Shikadai sighed.

"Loser buys the winner dinner?" Inojin suggested.

"Only if it's barbecue," Chōchō said.

Sarada smirked and pushed her glasses up. She was nothing if not competitive, and Bolt's arrival cut her own training session short. She shared a look with Himawari, who nodded. "You're on," she agreed.

"But I just changed my shirt!" Bolt complained.

"You don't have a choice, brother," Himawari informed him. Bolt sighed. He assumed this would be part of his penance for displeasing his sister.

Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō retreated to the far side of the training grounds, leaving Bolt, Sarada, and Himawari to strategize. "What's the plan?" Bolt asked, with a sigh. He hadn't ever seen Inojin or Shikadai train, and they had only just begun shortly before he left. He didn't know what their capabilities were. Best to leave it to Sarada and his sister.

"No Earth techniques," Sarada immediately told Himawari. "They cast shadows. Shikadai will beat us on his own if we help him. Don't stand in one place for very long, and be mindful of your shadow. Chōchō hits hard, but she's slow. Don't get hit, and you'll be fine. Inojin won't use his mind techniques unless you get caught by Shikadai, but his ink drawings can be annoying."

Bolt just nodded. He could work with that information. "We haven't trained together in a long time, Bolt," Sarada said. "But Himawari and I have. Just follow our lead and take advantages of any openings."

"Alright," Bolt agreed. He wasn't much of a supporter, that was Hikari's job, but he could work with it. He just hoped his sister and teammate knew what they were doing.

The three of them found Shikadai standing behind his two teammates. Inojin had a large scroll unfurled, with a heavy ink brush held in one hand. Chōchō was coiled and ready to pounce, whilst Shikadai watched them intently. They were taking the match seriously.

By unspoken agreement by both teams, the impromptu match began. Sarada and Himawari sprinted forward. They leapt into the air as Shikadai's shadow lashed out at them. As one, they exhaled two balls of fire that lit up the training grounds and banished the Nara's signature technique.

Shikadai scrambled out of the way of the inferno. Chōchō reached out, the Akimichi Multi-Size technique making her arms the size of a giant's. She swatted Sarada and Himawari from the air like flies.

Bolt's eyes flicked back and forth as he looked for an opportunity to join the battle. He saw Inojin scrawling on his scroll, his brush moving rapidly. Bolt inhaled and spat a bullet of water at him. Inojin narrowly dodged, the tree behind him bursting to splinters as Bolt's water jutsu destroyed it. He continued to rain bullet after bullet down on Inojin, not letting him draw. Out of the corner of his eye, Bolt watched over his sister and Sarada.

"Chōchō!" Bolt heard Shikadai yell, even as his shadow continued to chase after Sarada and Himawari. Chōchō erected an earthen wall, shielding Inojin from Bolt. The last bullet of water broke upon the wall with ease, not even cracking it.

From behind the wall leapt a pack of ferocious lions, roaring and pawing at the ground with their claws. They saw Bolt and charged at him, jaws snapping. Bolt saw Sarada break off from attacking Chōchō and rush to his rescue. He shook his head and weaved a series of hand seals. He exhaled a blade of water, snapping his head violently. The blade bisected the lions, turning them to ink. Cancelling the jutsu, Bolt withdrew a single shuriken. He channeled chakra into it, willing it to transform to lightning.

More lions leapt over the wall, dashing after Himawari. Bolt hurled the shuriken at the wall, at roughly where he remembered Inojin disappearing. He was rewarded with a yelp of pain as the lightning-enhanced shuriken tore through the stone with ease. Bolt watched as Himawari fought Chōchō using the Gentle Fist. The Akimichi were especially vulnerable to the Hyūga taijutsu style due to their large size. Sarada was continuing to use fire jutsu to attack Shikadai.

Bolt had seen a lot of powerful fighters during his journey, and his sister and Sarada were some of the best. They worked well together, complimenting each other's style and covering up their weaknesses. Bolt thought they might have been able to beat Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō three-on-two, had he not been there.

"Shadow possession complete," Bolt heard Shikadai mutter triumphantly under his breath. His head snapped to Sarada, only to find that he couldn't move. Bolt's eyes widened as he realized he had been trapped. Shikadai had sent a tendril of shadow through the shadows of the trees behind him and ensnared him.

He watched with growing horror as Inojin leapt out from behind the wall, favoring his left leg. "Mind Transfer Jutsu!" Inojin barked, holding his hands in the telltale Yamanaka seal. Bolt went rigid as he felt his mind grow warm and muddled. His body felt lethargic, like he had just woken from a long nap. Then, he couldn't feel anything at all.

Himawari growled as Inojin collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs. "Bolt" blinked several times, patting his body. "Woah," Inojin, in Bolt's body, said. "I don't know what Bolt has been doing, but he's got an insane amount of chakra."

Inojin sunk into a parody stance of the Gentle Fist. "I've always wanted to try this," he admitted, thrusting his palm forward. He expected the rush of chakra commonly felt in the wake of the Gentle Fist, but felt nothing.

"Just because you have my brother's body doesn't mean you know how to use it!" Himawari yelled, sprinting at Inojin. For all the vaunted Yamanaka mind techniques were feared, they were not an ability designed for combat. Simply taking control of one's body and chakra was not enough to use them to the same proficiency as their true owner—especially in regards to the Hyūga, whose bodies were simply biologically different than a normal human's.

Himawari's eyes faded from blue to white as her Byakugan manifested. She rained down Gentle Fist strikes, attempting to incapacitate Inojin, in her brother's body. Once he returned to his own body, she could undo the blocks on Bolt's.

Sarada spat a wall of flame at Shikadai and then turned and swung her fist at Chōchō, who met her punch with her giant fist. Even with her enhanced strength, she wasn't able to overpower Chōchō at her current size.

Inojin jerked away from Himawari's taijutsu, knowing that even a single, gentle touch would be disastrous. He was surprised at the sheer reaction time at which Bolt's body responded. The merest thought and the body would obey, deftly dodging and evading. Inojin smirked, realizing that Himawari wouldn't be able to defeat him in Bolt's body so easily. He began to dig through Bolt's memories, looking for a technique to aid him.

He went with the first one he found, weaving the hand seals. "Water Release: Water Bullet Jutsu!"

Unlike Bolt, who had used the bare minimum chakra, Inojin pushed his chakra into the technique. He spat a lance of pressurized water that hissed as it cut the air. Himawari saw it coming, and thankfully, dodged. The lance of water continued forward and speared the earthen wall Chōchō had erected, turning it to dust and pulverizing several trees beyond it.

Inojin grinned, pleasantly surprised, and began to sift through memories of stronger techniques. It was a short, simple memory. Bolt stood in a small clearing, standing opposite a masked woman. They were going through a series of complicated hand seals when a man emerged from the woods. Day turned to night in an instant, and the man was only an indistinct blur in the night. He stood before "Bolt," staring down at him with two piercing white eyes that glowed in the darkness. _"Get out,"_ the man commanded. Inojin recoiled as he felt a foreign chakra begin to subjugate his own. Realizing that Bolt had begun to throw him from his consciousness, Inojin ended the technique.

"Ha!" Himawari yelled, thrusting her palm forward. Her hand was aflame with chakra, ready to deliver a blow that would do more than just block a chakra point. Bolt's hand shot out, catching her by the wrist. He flashed her his trademark, arrogant grin, reassuring her that he was himself once again.

Inojin was struggling to pick himself up as Shikadai's shadows chased Sarada, and Chōchō futilely tried to pin her down. "Let me show you what I learned in that memory!" Bolt called out, over the clearing, to Inojin. Bolt weaved a long series of seals, ending in Snake. "Water Release: Exploding Water Shock Wave!"

A torrential river of water spewed from Bolt's mouth, crashing against the earth and roaring into a massive wave that uprooted trees and inundated the Nara's forest. Sarada appeared beside Bolt in a flash, panting heavily. Bolt saw a pillar of stone shoot up, three very wet ninjas desperately trying to stay above water.

The pillar began to shake and crack under the sheer force of the wave. It held for several moments, before tumbling into the depths. Bolt ceased the jutsu. Without chakra to sustain it, the water quickly began to evaporate, leaving nothing but muddy soil and small puddles.

Shikadai blinked as Sarada stood over him, lightning crackling along her fist. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Troublesome," he swore. Sarada was so fast she could electrocute him before his shadow could stop her. "We lose," Shikadai announced.

Sarada smirked and pushed her glasses back into their proper place while Himawari did a small victory dance. Bolt helped Chōchō pull Inojin out from underneath several fallen trees. He winced, limping on his bad leg that Bolt had injured. "Let me see," Sarada said, kneeling and placing her hand over the part of Inojin's pants that were stained red. Her hand glowed with the green light of the Mystic Palm as she stopped the bleeding and stitched the wound.

"So," Ino said, popping up next to the group. "What did you do wrong?"

Chōchō and Inojin sulked and muttered under their breath, but, as Bolt had come to associate with every member of the Nara clan, Shikadai had an answer. Typical. "Inojin got locked down and couldn't support us with his Super Beast drawings," Shikadai explained. "Without that part of the formation, Chōchō and I were left undefended. Sarada and Himawari took advantage, and used our weaknesses against us. Himawari's taijutsu is the bane of the Akimichi's Multi-Size technique, and Sarada is too fast for my shadow to catch."

"And?" Ino prompted, gesturing for him to continue.

Shikadai frowned. "Bolt was an unknown factor of the equation. We should have tested him, found his strengths and weaknesses, before deciding on attacking him first. Sarada and Himawari would have been easier to deal with, since we knew their techniques. Had the three of us focussed our efforts on them instead of Bolt, we might have won," he explained.

"Not a chance," Sarada whispered, masking her comment with a cough.

Ino smiled. "Correct," she said. "Ino-Shika-Chō is based on the foundation of teamwork. We're strong because we work together and cover each other's weaknesses. When Inojin was removed, the formation collapsed. Remember that."

Shikadai nodded sullenly.

"Right. You kids are free to go," Ino said, waving them off. "Try not to get in too much trouble."

By the guilty smirks, Ino knew they wouldn't listen to her.

* * *

Naruto sat at his desk, fingers steeped against his forehead. A cup of instant ramen was left to cool as he listened intently to Sai as he give his report. Some of the things he said was troubling, to say the least.

"What do you mean, you couldn't follow them?" Naruto asked incredulously. Sai was one of their best Anbu agents, especially for missions that pertained to espionage and reconnaissance.

Sai nodded deftly. "Yes. When we first began surveillance, we could keep watch over Bolt and his compatriots fairly closely. As time passed on, they began to take notice of us. At first, it was a minor annoyance. We simply were forced to watch at a distance. A few hundred feet, no more. Then, it grew larger. Hundreds of feet turned into thousands, until eventually, we couldn't even be within the same day's travel. The Crimson Tide would dispatch a watch or set traps for us," he reported.

"How is that possible?" Naruto asked.

"We believe they had a sensor among their ranks. The masked girl, perhaps. As time went on, she became more and more proficient in her art until we could no longer hide from her," Sai informed him.

Naruto sighed heavily. "And that was why you weren't able to stop the Cloud and Mist from attacking?"

"Yes," Sai stated, emotionlessly.

Naruto sighed, again. "Were there any other survivors?"

"No," Sai said. "We did not find Bolt among the remains of the mercenaries, and when we found him travelling through the mountains, he was alone."

"I'll talk to the Raikage and Mizukage. We'll sort this all out before the tournament and everything will be fine," Naruto said, more to himself than to Sai. "Go home, Sai. You've earned your rest. Dismissed."

Sai nodded and disappeared, fading into the shadows.

* * *

 **A/N:**

S8UR — Yes! Make an account, and send me your ideas via personal message. For other readers: I'm still looking for character ideas for minor protagonists and antagonists. Suggestions are welcome.

Guest — I update once a week, more if I please. I don't give specific dates because I don't want to commit to a schedule. Writing is a labor of love, not profit. Updates will be uploaded when they are ready.

There really isn't a good word, in English, for onii-chan. Kind of annoying, really.

For those wondering: Bolt is 15. Himawari is 13. Hikari is 17. I know there was a bit of confusing math with ages in the last chapter. Hima turns 14 in a few chapters, with Bolt turning 16 not long after that. Bolt's 3 years were cut short by about 6 months, meaning he is back earlier than planned.

Some of you will notice a distinct lack of Mitsuki. That is intentional. I'm waiting to read the oneshot by Kishi that reveals more of his canon character before deciding what to do with him.

Next chapter: start of the Shinobi Union World Tournament, and a few other things. We also get to see a little more of Bolt's true skill, as well as what the people in the other villages have been up to. What do you think? Yurui **has** to be Killer B's son, right?

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!

\- Code Musica


	19. Chapter 19

Sarada's eyes flicked back and forth as she and Himawari strode through the front doors of the _Five Elements_. It was the largest and most luxurious hotel in the Leaf, and probably the Land of Fire. The sheer opulence on display was something that Sarada had never seen before. All marble floors and imported rugs and tapestries from the Land of Wind. The furniture was all rare, beautiful, and exceedingly expensive; made from the wood of the trees created by the first Hokage's Wood Release. It could only be found deep in the old forests of the Land of Fire, and cost more than most people made in their entire lives.

And it was where Bolt, of all people, had taken up residence. _That_ had been a scene worth watching. Bolt's mother had cried and fretted over him, and Himawari had angrily sulked and brooded. In the end, Bolt still moved out, but he looked guilty and saddened.

Sarada looked around as she heard a woman clear her throat loudly. A small, petite woman was seated behind a desk of dark wood, her eyes trained on the pair with thinly veiled caution. No doubt Sarada and Himawari looked out of place. The _Five Elements_ was home almost solely to visiting foreign dignitaries, guests of the Hokage and Fire Lord, titans of business and industry, and the exceedingly wealthy. Sarada was none of those.

Himawari strode over to the clerk with powerful, purposeful strides. She was here to fetch her brother, and only Madara Uchiha himself would stop her. "We're here to see Bolt Uzumaki. What room is he in?" Himawari asked, a hint of demand in her tone.

The clerk's fingers danced across her keyboard with expert precision. "Penthouse, top floor. Room four," she informed them cordially, a false smile on her lips.

Sarada and Himawari stepped into an elevator and pressed the highest button. An annoyingly soothing tune played as they were carried skyward that threatened to get stuck in their heads. The elevator jostled to a stop and the doors opened with a soft ding. Himawari stepped out first, humming to the tune of the elevator music and skipping down the hall. The penthouses were large rooms, only a few to a floor. Bolt's was all the way at the far end, furthest away from the elevator and any noise associated with the traffic of people.

Himawari knocked cheerfully on the door a few times, humming and waiting impatiently for her brother to answer the door. After a few moments of no answer, Himawari began to dig through her pockets. She fished out a keycard and swiped it through the electronic lock. The light changed from red to green, signifying that the door was unlocked.

"Where did you get that?" Sarada asked. She didn't think Bolt had spare keys to give.

"I stole it," Himawari answered blithely, pushing open the door.

Sarada sighed. Sometimes Himawari's adoration of her brother frightened her. She didn't want to imagine how Bolt felt, being under the brunt of that attention.

Bolt's new, albeit temporary, home, was quite nice, Sarada supposed. Plush carpets and leather couches, tall windows that gave a stunning view of the Hokage monument and the growing city beyond it.

The two of them found Bolt, divested of his shirt, laying face down on one of the room's many couches, sleeping soundly. "Bolt," Sarada called out lightly. When he didn't stir, she tried again. "Bolt!"

Himawari began prodding her brother, sending little lances of chakra into his system that were more annoying than harmful. Bolt threw an arm at them, waving them away. "I said no room service," he slurred sleepily.

" _Brother,_ " Himawari sing-songed dangerously. "Wake up," she ordered, prodding him with the Gentle Fist.

Bolt yelped indignantly and floundered off his make-shift bed. Upon seeing Sarada and his sister, he made an indignified squeak and covered himself with a pillow. Sarada rolled her eyes at his antics. "Bolt, get dressed. Your dad wants—"

"Bolt!" Himawari hissed, darting forward and prodding her brother in the ribs. It was a gentle prod, more for examination than annoyance. Bolt swatted her hand away as Sarada saw what her friend was looking at. There was a large bruise running up and down Bolt's ribs.

Sarada's eyes narrowed. "How did you get that?"

Bolt chuckled nervously. "Oh, you know, training," he said.

"Try the truth," Sarada suggested.

"I was working," he said. "Honest!" Bolt added, seeing her disbelieving look.

"You're not on active duty," Sarada reminded him.

"Right," Bolt said with a cheerful nod.

Sarada sighed. Work that wasn't strictly on the books, then. "You know what, I don't even want to know. Your dad wants to see you. Himawari, leave him alone," she said.

Himawari pouted as Bolt brushed her off. Sarada had to drag her out of the room so she would stop fawning over him.

Bolt appeared next to them after a few minutes, fresh clothes and styled hair and ready to take on the world.

* * *

As Bolt entered the Hokage's office, he knew that this meeting was for business, not pleasure. His dad sat behind his desk, stony faced and weary. Shikamaru and Shizune stood beside him, and the two old bats that had served as advisors to the Hokage since the Third were seated on chairs next to the desk. His grandfather Hiashi stood opposite of Homura and Koharu.

Bolt's stomach sank into his boots. He was not looking forward to this conversation. Sarada and Himawari had elected to remain outside. Neither had warned him about what he was walking into, the traitors.

Bolt stood before his father's desk, back straight and chin up. He suddenly found the skyscrapers outside to be the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

Naruto sighed. "Bolt, do you know how much trouble you could be in?"

Could be in. As in, might not be in. Probably not in? Bolt hoped. He was the son of the Hokage, prodigy of the Uzumaki and Hyūga clans. That had to count for some leniency, right? "Yes...?" Bolt ventured.

What could they even do to punish him? Discharge him from the ninja corps? He was one of the strongest in the village, whether they knew it or not. They wouldn't do that. Strip him of his rank? He was, officially, a genin. Were they going to send him back to the academy? He could _literally_ teach there. Place levies on his earnings? He had more than enough money saved up from his work with the Crimson Tide.

What could they even do?

Naruto sighed. "Since you didn't sever your ties to the village, you were treated as a missing ninja. Given that you willfully did not return when summoned, I could have you thrown in prison," he explained.

Ah, yes. Prison. Bolt did not like prison. He had been in several. Given, he was usually breaking people out, but that wasn't the point. He didn't like the food. He didn't like the clothes they wore. He didn't like the tiny five-by-five cells. He didn't like having to shower with other men, some of which had homosexual tendencies and were not afraid to take what they wanted from the less fortunate.

No, Bolt didn't like prison at all. Prison was bad. "I take it, that uh, I'm not going to prison?" Bolt ventured.

Naruto frowned, his brows narrowing. "No, you're not," he said.

Bolt sighed in relief. Right. What could they do, then? Nothing. Bolt smiled.

Naruto slammed his fist on the desk, startling Bolt. "This isn't a joke, Bolt! Had you done this when you were my age, the Hyūga clan would have placed a seal on your forehead at birth and turned your eyes to ash for abandoning the village!"

Bolt caught the look of sadness that marred his grandfather's face at the mention of the Hyūga's branch family cursed seal. "That is illegal," Bolt pointed out. They couldn't do that to him. "I don't even have the Byakugan," he lied. Best not to give them any ideas.

"No, you don't," one of the advisors, Homura—it was hard to tell, they were so damn old their genders weren't clearly defined—said. "But you have the body of a Hyūga, including the natural ability to control all of your chakra points. Very valuable, in the right hands."

"Perhaps we should make an exception," the other, Koharu, added.

Bolt scoffed audibly. "Try it. I'll have the seal undone and reversed in a day," he said pointedly. Honestly, these people. Using a seal on an Uzumaki? Please.

Homura and Koharu were like rabid dogs, rising to the challenge. "Impudent boy! You are too much of a risk to the village's security! Lord Seventh, we demand that you make an exception and place the branch family seal on—"

"No," Naruto said.

"But—"

" _No_ ," Naruto yelled. "You are advisors! I am the Hokage, not you! You have no real power, and you hold your positions thanks to my benevolence."

The corners of Bolt's lips twitched upwards as the two old bats were put in their place. "That is another thing," his dad said, his tone calm and level. "The Uzukage and I will have words, and whilst what you did _technically_ wasn't illegal, as you are an Uzumaki, it is still regarded poorly to learn from another village and wear their headband."

Bolt just shrugged. He didn't regret learning from the Uzukage and visiting his ancestral home. He had learned more there, and from that scroll, than he had ever learned from his dad or the Leaf.

Naruto frowned at his son's nonchalance. "It's been decided that you will not be eligible for the Chūnin Exams for ten years, in light of your cheating and the temporary abandonment of the village," he said imperiously.

Bolt stared at his dad in disbelief. Ten years? Chūnin were better paid, respected more, had mission priority, and had more privileges in the Hidden Leaf Library—the only place he could learn techniques of the Leaf without finding a master to teach him. Being _officially_ a genin would hamstring his development and make him a laughing stock. The Eternal Genin, Bolt Uzumaki.

"In addition," Naruto continued on. "You will be placed under house arrest. You will not be allowed to leave the village, for any reason. If, under extreme circumstances, you are required to travel, you will be assigned a jōnin attendent. Given that you are a flight risk, it has been determined that your continued instruction in the Gentle Fist will be terminated."

Bolt looked to his grandfather with clear shock on his face. He couldn't have agreed to that. Wouldn't have. Hiashi had his eyes closed as he listened to Naruto deliver his grandson's sentence. "You will return to your place of dwelling by no later than ten at night. You may not communicate with any associates outside the village, electronically or otherwise. You will also be required to maintain steady employment, of either D or C-class missions," Naruto added.

Bolt grit his teeth. "Is that all?" Bolt hissed.

Naruto nodded. "You will be watched by Anbu, to ensure that you adhere to your new limitations. Dismissed."

Bolt bowed mockingly. "Yes, Lord Hokage," he spat, turning on his heel and storming out of his dad's office. He shouldered past Sarada and Himawari, ignoring their looks of worry.

* * *

Bolt was a blur as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, darting across the Leaf and deep into the forested training grounds. He could feel icy tendrils of anger clawing at his chest, and the best way to get rid of them was to destroy something. Preferably not any buildings, as that would add to his already impressively tight noose.

He had been foolish. There were always consequences for actions, and his most of all. Of course they would punish him. Of course he wouldn't get off free just because he was the son of the Hokage and an Uzumaki and a Hyūga. Of course.

Reaching his old team's training grounds, he jerked his hands into a single seal and spat a blade of water that cut down a small portion of the forest. Trees shattered into splinters as they were uprooted and cut down. Transitioning into a Gentle Fist stance in a single, flawless motion, Bolt struck the nearest tree. His chakra lanced through the tree, causing it to bulge and explode as if cut in half. Bolt continued on his warpath, striking down tree after tree in merciless succession.

It still wasn't enough. He couldn't expend enough chakra with just taijutsu. A small, rational part of his brain barked out that he shouldn't do anything rash. He pushed it to the side, ignoring it. Casting a glance around, he saw a cliff of sheer rock in the distance. Bolt held his arm aloft, palm facing up.

It started small. A sphere of wispy blue chakra whirling and coalescing. Then it grew, larger and larger. _Rotation. Power. Containment. Rotation. Power. Containment._ Larger and larger. His Rasengan ballooned, changing from its standard shape until it was taller than he was, and four times as broad. Its core changed from the normal blue hue to a pure, angry white that emitted a high pitched whine.

In a flash, Bolt appeared before the cliff and slammed the giant Rasengan into it. There was an explosion of light and pressure that sent Bolt flying backwards from the sheer recoil, followed by a resounding _crack_ of stone. Bolt smirked as he heard the cliff come undone, turned to dust and rubble.

He felt a _little_ better. But it wasn't enough. He needed more. There was little more than sharp edges of stone and piles of rubble remaining of the cliff he had obliterated, and Bolt was determined to see it thoroughly destroyed. He went through the motions again, channeling more and more chakra into the signature jutsu that his family had become known for. _Rotation. Power. Containment._

A Rasengan of equal, if only barely smaller, size formed in Bolt's palm. He appeared above the rubble and slammed the jutsu down, closing his eyes to avoid being blinded by the explosion of light. Bolt was sent skyward by the force of the blast, experiencing the briefest moment of freefall as gravity fought, and failed, to pull him back.

Landing lightly on the balls of his feet, Bolt sank to his knees and sprawled out on his back. His chest heaved from exertion and he felt the beginnings of chakra depletion sickness, something he didn't experience often, begin to set in; lethargy, a dull headache, dry mouth, excessive thirst. Bolt began to regret not bringing a bottle of water with him. But he felt better. Well, not better, but _occupied_. Distracted, perhaps. It was hard to be depressed about your lot in life when you had to focus on just breathing.

A head of black hair and even blacker eyes appeared in Bolt's vision. "Inojin wasn't kidding when he said you had an impressive amount of chakra," Sarada said, dangling a canteen in front of him.

Bolt smirked and took the proffered canteen, drinking deeply. "What happened with you and your dad?" Sarada asked, taking a seat next to him.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Bolt said with false cheer. "Focussing on the village and forgetting that his family is a part of it. That sort of thing."

Sarada frowned and nodded. She could understand. Her own father was very similar. She didn't know what was worse. Not having your dad around, or having him around, but being nonexistent all the same. Both were equally terrible. "Did you get punished?" Sarada asked, gently.

Bolt scoffed. "Yeah," he grunted. "Bunch of inconvenient bullshit. They couldn't do anything _truly_ punishing, so they just made my life harder than it needed to be."

Sarada hummed in thought. "Did they bar you from participating in the Shinobi Union World Tournament?" Sarada asked.

Bolt smirked. "No. I guess I have that to look forward to, at least," he said. "Kind of disappointed they didn't have the Chūnin Exams this year. Hey, whatever happened to your match with Mitsuki?"

Sarada sighed. "I beat Mitsuki, barely. I was too tired for the next match, and lost to Shinki of the Sand. I couldn't figure out how to get past his Magnet Release," she said with a small pout.

"Heat. If you heat the iron enough, it loses its magnetism," Bolt said. He had learned that the hard way. Magnet Release was one of the annoying bloodlines. It wasn't passed down strictly through one familial line, meaning it popped up from time to time in random ninjas. Bolt and Takeo had fought a woman from the Sand who could use the bloodline, and were narrowly defeated. Only Bolt superheating the iron with electricity saved them.

"Huh," Sarada said. She'd have to remember that.

"So, did you get promoted?" Bolt asked.

Sarada shook her head. "No. Only Shikadai and Shinki were promoted to chūnin. The rest of us didn't display the 'proper qualities,' apparently," she said.

Bolt rolled his eyes. "That's my dad for you," he grumbled.

"Both our dads," Sarada said, quietly.

Bolt glanced at Sarada out of the corner of his eyes. That was right. They both had problems with their dads. It was hard to remember that he wasn't the only one with problems.

"Come on," Sarada said, jumping to her feet. "We can't sit in the forest feeling sorry for ourselves. Himawari is getting everyone together for a proper welcoming party!"

With great reluctance, Bolt allowed Sarada to drag him from the training grounds and back to the Leaf.

* * *

Of course it was barbecue.

The Akimichi were all gluttons, and Chōchō's appetite seemed to know no bounds. Bolt found himself surrounded by his friends from the Leaf Academy, enjoying one of the new barbecue restaurants in the developed part of the city that boomed above the Hokage monument. It was one of the more popular restaurants among the younger generation, and it showed in the sheer number of people. Bolt didn't know how Himawari had managed to get them a table. He had seen restaurants like this before; you had to practically have a reservation to get in. How he, his sister, Sarada, Mitsuki, Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō had managed to get seats, Bolt would never know.

"How did you even get us in here?" Shikadai groaned. He complained the entire walk about the effort it took, and how it would be more efficient to just go to their usual joint.

Himawari smiled innocently. "The owner owes Sarada and I a favor," she said simply.

"What happened to my innocent sister?" Bolt cried, in false horror.

Sarada sighed. "The owner is Chōchō's uncle, or something. He had us doing D-class missions, which weren't filed with the Hokage's office. In return for not turning him in, we get to eat for free," she said.

"He didn't know we were friends with Chōchō, though," Himawari said. "So we just bring her with us to get our money's worth."

Bolt's sister was truly cruel. He didn't know how the man could afford to feed an Akimichi for free. The restaurant was probably only barely in the black. Everyone laughed. Even Mitsuki chuckled, which was a strange sound.

"Are you all ready for the tournament?" Inojin asked, taking a sip of tea.

"Of course!" Himawari declared. "I'm going to be the victor!"

Sarada smirked and pushed her glasses up with her index finger. "Over my dead body, maybe," she quipped.

"I seem to remember beating you in our last spar," Himawari pointed out with a smirk. The two of them descended into an argument of who beat who, and what _exactly_ their record for wins and losses was.

Bolt sighed. "Troublesome," Shikadai muttered underneath his breath, next to him.

"Welcome to my life," Bolt said smugly.

Bolt smiled as he listened to his sister argue with Sarada. Apparently, of their one hundred and thirty-nine spars—which _were_ different than "training." How? Bolt didn't know—Himawari had won seventy matches, and Sarada had won sixty-nine. Sarada was making an adamant case for it being the reverse. Shikadai and Inojin were talking about some new role-playing game, while Chōchō listened in on Sarada and Himawari. Mitsuki was awkwardly silent, as usual, chiming in only when he had knowledge or facts on some subject.

Bolt frowned the longer time went on. Their waitress served them their food and poured them more tea, but Bolt couldn't shake the feeling of being the odd man out. Normally, it would have been him, Shikadai, and Inojin talking and laughing together. Now, he felt more like Mitsuki. An outsider, watching in.

That was when Bolt realized there was something _wrong_ with him. This was his home. His friends. His family, in the case of Himawari. But he didn't feel like he was home. He didn't feel like he knew his friends. At the very least, he still loved his sister; that hadn't changed. There was something off about his presence in the Leaf. Like he was a guest or a visitor, returning to say hello and rest his head before continuing on.

It was a sense of restlessness, Bolt decided. Wanderlust, maybe. He felt the strongest desire to do _something_. What, he wasn't sure.

"Excuse me, sir?" Bolt looked up. The waitress was talking to him. Had been talking to him. He had been lost in his thoughts.

"Yes?" Bolt said.

The waitress handed him a folded napkin. "Those ladies," she said, pointing to a pair of twins sitting opposite them in the restaurant. "Asked for me to give this to you." With a bow, she departed, her duty done.

Bolt unfolded the napkin. It was covered in writing, written in lipstick.

* * *

"Excuse me," Bolt said. "I have to take care of this. I'll be _right_ back."

Sarada and Himawari ceased their argument to watch Bolt quickly dart across the restaurant and slip into the booth that two young women, twins, were sharing.

"Man, that's not even fair," Shikadai groaned. "He's only been back for a few days."

Sarada felt her left eye twitch uncontrollably. She did not set this up with Himawari just for Bolt to get poached by some harpies. Granted, they were very pretty harpies, all long legs and flowing white hair—dyed, of course, her Sharingan told her; white hair was an exceedingly rare chakra mutation—but still.

Sarada pushed her glasses up her nose as Bolt said something and the twins giggled, hiding their grins with their hands. One of the twins slid another napkin across the table, which Bolt deftly picked up, unfolded, and examined. He smiled, and gave the two women a nod, which seemed to please them extraordinarily.

"Oi," Chōchō snapped, quickly swallowing her mouthful of barbecued meat. "You two are going to destroy the table!"

Sarada looked down. She and Himawari had apparently been grasped the edge of the table hard enough to cause it to splinter. There was a ring of laughter across the restaurant. Bolt had his hands raised in the air at his sides, as if he was telling a story. The twins laughed at some joke she hadn't heard.

One of the twins inclined her head to the door. Bolt nodded, and his hair faded to a deep crimson that his eyes matched. It was a seamless transformation jutsu, not even using a seal. Had Sarada not been watching, she would have missed it. The twins stood and led Bolt out of the restaurant.

"Let's go!" Himawari hissed, pushing Sarada out of their booth.

"Guys, I don't think we should..." Inojin said. From the looks Sarada and Himawari shot him, he was clearly outvoted.

"Troublesome," Shikadai muttered, standing and following after Sarada and Himawari.

"But, guys! The barbecue!" Chōchō moaned.

"Take it with you. If the information I have been provided with is correct, the owner of this establishment will not object," Mitsuki informed her.

Together, the six of them filed out of the restaurant and into the crowded streets of the upper district of the Leaf. The sky was dark, but lit by the neon glow of the signs and lights. Men in suits and women in dresses walked the streets in mobs, but Sarada could see a flash of Bolt's crimson hair in the sea of people. It really was quite distinctive. Definitely not suited for stealth.

"This way," Sarada said, ushering their group through the bustling crowd. Bolt's hair continued to guide her through the throngs.

They wandered aimlessly for a time, heading farther and farther away from the military district in the heart of the village, towards the outer rim where the slums were. Slowly, the crowd thinned from men in suits and women in dresses to young people dressed in fashionable, if worn, clothes.

Their destination soon became clear. A shoddy house of stone, clearly constructed from the old days when Earth jutsu were used to create cheap housing. There were two burly men in suites guarding a set of stairs that descended below the house. A line of young men and women were lined up in an orderly fashion. One by one, they approached the guards who either allowed them to descend, or shook their head and sent them on their way. More than once, Sarada saw a reject be violently thrown from the line and into the road.

Sarada saw the twins lead Bolt up to the two guards. Both men nodded in respect and parted, allowing the three of them to descend the stairs. "What do we do?" Himawari fretted.

"I'll take care of it," Sarada told her, leading the group up to the guards like she had seen the twins do.

There were a few moans of protest from the line, which she ignored. The two guards took offense to their group's presence, holding their hands up and demanding that they stop. Sarada's eyes bled red as she looked each of them in the eye with her Sharingan. The two men went slack jawed for a moment, before allowing the entire group to pass and descend the stairs.

The stairs led them down into the earth, winding and turning. The deeper they traveled, the warmer it got. After a few flights, Sarada began to feel vibrations in the stone as dust filtered down from the ceiling. Music. They were getting closer.

At the bottom of the stairs, the music became overbearing. It was so loud that if Sarada had spoken she was sure no one would have heard her. Almost too loud to even hear her own thoughts. Their group entered into a large circular, domed room, filled with people dancing and writhing to the beat of the music. The room was dark, lit by flashing lights of blues, greens, purples, and pinks. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and pheromones.

And, somewhere in the mass of people, was Bolt. Sarada's eyes flitted round the room, looking for that ever so recognizable crimson hair. She spotted it, sitting in a small booth that was carved into the wall itself.

Sarada snatched Himawari before she could run over to her brother and oust them. For the moment, Bolt didn't know that he had been followed. She would prefer to keep it that way. At least, from what she had seen so far, it didn't seem like Bolt had ditched them for a date. That was good.

The music began to quiet as people filtered into the center of the room. Sarada blinked, surprised she had missed it. Sitting in the center of the room was the roof of a domed cage. Below, a pit had been dug into the stone. Men and women began to clap and cheer and stomp their feet, creating their own makeshift music.

From below, two slabs of stone fell to the floor. Two men stepped out, both divested of their shirts. One was a tall and thin man, with long arms and even longer legs. The other man was a brute, easily towering over the thin man and covered in a thick armor of muscle. His arm, Sarada guessed, was thicker than most trees. He raised both arms overhead, the tips of his fingers nearly touching the cage, and roared.

The crowd went wild and began to chant. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

There was a loud ring of a gong, and then they did just that. The thin man darted forward, raining down kicks from outside the brute's range. The brute weathered the onslaught well, for the kicks were not strong enough to truly injure him through his armor of muscle.

The larger man flailed out with his arms, his meaty hands trying to grab the smaller man's legs as he rained kicks down. Sarada knew, without a doubt, the man's legs would snap as easy as she could snap a twig. "One hundred on Bonecrusher!" Sarada flinched, as a man next to her yelled. A man in a suit came by, collecting the hundred ryō and making note of his bet.

It didn't take a genius for Sarada to figure out who "Bonecrusher" was. Bonecrusher advanced on the thinner man, who continued to rain kicks down and sneak punches through his guard. He was slowly but surely being cornered in his half of the ring. "One thousand on Bonecrusher!"

Sarada could feel the bloodlust in the air as the smaller man was hemmed in. He realized it all too late, too. He suddenly stopped, weaved a few hand seals, and exhaled a gust of wind that buffeted Bonecrusher and the walls of the pit. Sarada held a hand to her eyes to shield herself from the gust as her hair blew in the wind.

Bonecrusher advanced, stomping forward. It was like he didn't even feel the jutsu. He weaved a few hand seals of his own, as rocks jumped from the floor to coat his right forearm, creating a gauntlet of stone. The smaller man cowered in the corner of the ring as Bonecrusher brought his fist of stone down.

Sarada hissed and turned away as Bonecrusher proved his name was more than just for intimidation. She could hear the soft squelch of flesh being pulverized, and the distinct _snap_ of bones breaking. She heard Bonecrusher roar, and looked back into the pit. The thinner man's face had been brutalized and broken beyond recognition, and both his arms were hanging limply at odd angles.

She suddenly felt very queasy. The crowd burst into raucous applause, stomping and cheering and yelling in delight at the carnage. Sarada had thought this had been some sort of underground dance club. She was very wrong. It was a fight club. No rules. No regulations. Highly illegal. Highly dangerous.

Sarada watched as two, what she could only assume were, "medics," carried the smaller man's destroyed body away. She uttered a silent prayer that he didn't die from his injuries. Bonecrusher retreated to his side of the ring, pacing like a rabid dog. Sarada looked up, and caught a flash of two heads of white hair on the opposite side of the ring from her. Bolt's "dates." Plural. Yet, no head of crimson hair. No Bolt.

Sarada looked down. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she watched Bolt stroll in through the door where the first man had been carried away. He had a broad smile on his face as he waved to the roaring, bloodthirsty crowd. Sarada heard a whimper to her left, and looked down to see Himawari clutching the bars of the cage with unshed tears in her eyes. "Don't worry," Sarada said, kneeling slightly. "He'll be fine. These guys are nothing compared to us, and Bolt is strong. He'll be fine."

It sounded better in her head. He would be fine, right?

The fight began by unspoken agreement. Bolt darted forward, his fists raised in a shabby guard. Sarada gasped as Bonecrusher punched Bolt in the face, sending him sprawling back on the ground. Bolt leapt to his feet, and kicked at Bonecrusher's legs in an attempt to sweep him off his feet. "One thousand on Bonecrusher!" Sarada heard a man call out with glee.

Bonecrusher chuckled darkly as Bolt's kicks did nothing more than irritate him. Sarada's heart began to beat wildly as Bonecrusher began the same dance with Bolt that he and the smaller man from before performed. "Fifteen-hundred on Bonecrusher!"

Bolt continued to punch and kick fruitlessly. Bonecrusher lashed out, striking Bolt in the face. Sarada heard something break and gasped as blood ran down the front of Bolt's face. His nose had been practically torn off, hanging to pale cartilage by a few tendrils of skin. Beside her, Sarada could hear Himawari crying silently. "Five thousand on Bonecrusher!"

Bonecrusher roared and swung his leg like a mace. It struck Bolt in the stomach, sending him flying back into the wall of the pit. He fell to the ground, boneless. Bonecrusher took a few steps backwards, raised his arms, and roared in victory.

Bolt was getting up. Struggling pitifully, dirty and covered in dust and blood. Sarada could tell from the way his face was contorted that he was in pain. The crowd roared in approval, their bloodlust palpable in the air.

Bonecrusher laughed, a deep, belly laugh that echoed through the room. He weaved a few hand seals, forming the gauntlet of stone once more. Then, he advanced on Bolt as he struggled to even stand.

Sarada saw Bolt glance up, and knew she had to act. The match was over. "Ten thousand on the redhead!"

Wait. Sarada knew that voice. That was... Shikadai? Turning, her face contorted in disbelief. Shikadai was standing behind her and Himawari, one hand resting on Bolt's sister's shoulder. "What are you doing!" Sarada demanded angrily.

"Just watch," Shikadai said, inclining his head across the cage.

Sarada turned, and saw that the twins were grinning gleefully. Not the actions of a woman watching her date being maimed. Her eyes flitted back into the cage just in time.

Bolt leapt into the air, weaving through seals rapidly and holding one hand to his lips. "Fire Release:..." Bolt yelled, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

That was impossible. Bolt's chakra natures were Wind, Water, and Lightning. Not Fire. But then...

Bonecrusher kneeled, weaving hand seals and erecting shields of stones on all sides. A defense against the sea of flame that the pit was about to be turned into.

Sarada watched as Bolt jerked his head violently and _spat_. But not fire. Water. Before Bonecrusher's shield of stone could be erected, a blade of water hissed through the air and tore into his chest.

Bonecrusher screamed and the crowd roared as his right arm fell to the ground, cut cleanly from his body.

"What—what just happened?" Sarada muttered.

Shikadai pointed across the cage, where the twins were jumping up and down and hugging each other. "It was rigged," he said. "Bolt only faked losing so the odds were against him so the payoff when he won would be huge."

Two medics ran into the pit, carrying Bonecrusher's arm and ushering him out of the arena. Bolt smirked, raised both hands, and walked victoriously out of the cage, back into the door from whence he entered.

Sarada watched as a man in a suit walked over and handed Shikadai a literal bag of ryō. He favored Sarada a small smile. "What? If he's doing it, might as well profit anyway," Shikadai said.

The music began playing loudly again, bringing their conversation to an end. Sarada and her group retreated, blending into the scenery. She watched as Bolt reappeared, heavily bandaged and bruised. The twins handed him two briefcases, each _bulging_ with ryō. Sarada could clearly see notes sticking out at odd angles. The briefcases disappeared in wisps of smoke. Sarada blinked, missing where he had stashed the money; his winnings.

Sarada watched with a satisfied smirk as Himawari finally managed to shake off Shikadai and was marching over to her brother. That should be good.

There was a crash as the door to the fight club was violently kicked down. Men with white, porcelain animal masks filtered in. "Anbu! Run!"

Sarada cursed, and turned to grab Himawari. Her eyes flitted around, looking for that distinctive head of crimson hair.

Bolt was gone.

* * *

"Gaara! You're early!" Naruto exclaimed, rising from his desk to greet his longtime friend. "How have you been?"

"Busy," Gaara answered. "Shukaku has been... roaming. It's difficult to remind the people why they should tolerate the Tailed Beasts."

Naruto frowned. "Don't worry! I'll have a talk with him. I'm sure he's just looking for some fresh sand, or something," he said with a reassuring smile.

Gaara made a noise that sounded like he very much doubted that was the source of the One Tail's annoyance. "So, that's it, huh," he said, eying an open scroll on Naruto's desk.

It was an arena, or more accurately, a stadium. "The pinnacle of the Leaf's technology. Seats one hundred-fifty thousand people. The arena is actually set on a series of gears that lets parts of it be swapped out to change the terrain, or repair damage," Naruto boasted.

Gaara looked down on the blueprints of the arena. He was honestly impressed. If the actual building was half as impressive, the Shinobi Union World Tournament would be better than he expected.

As it turned out, Gaara was not disappointed.

* * *

 **A/N:**

So, I lied. _Next_ chapter is the tournament, and _**maybe**_ the last chapter in the Leaf. It depends on how long I want to make it. Either it will be an 8-10k word chapter, or I'll split it into two. After that, we're onto the "main" plot.

I've been doing a lot of subtle and not-so-subtle world building these first twenty or so chapters before jumping into the meat of the story. Has it been too boring? Not interesting? I feel like there was a lot more to explore in the Naruto world, especially in regards to the technological advancement, politics, economics, and culture. Admittedly, I might have spent too much time on it. But, it is my hope that it sets the stage for what comes next. It's important to understand where the world is politically, economically, and culturally.

The "Fight Club" is one of the scenes I've had floating around in my head for awhile now. It was one of many things I thought of that bored, broke, and dissatisfied ninja would partake in, in their era of peace. Now we know what Bolt's "off the books" work has been. That wasn't just fan service at the start.

There has been some fuss about how easily Bolt slid back into his old life, especially his relationship with his father. I hope this chapter better illuminates his relationship with the Leaf and his feelings on being home. Naruto and Bolt were just being non-confrontational last chapter.

The counter to magnetism is heat, the Curie Temperature (also who Curie from F4 is named after!). Of course, the ninja don't have a word for this, but Bolt figured it out first hand. The more you know!

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!

\- Code Musica


	20. Chapter 20

The days leading up to the tournament were filled with boredom for Bolt. They passed slowly and languishly. He had a routine. Wake up. Eat, bathe, and dress. Receive a D-class mission from the Hokage's office, while avoiding his father. Create a clone to do said mission, having it transform into a random person so that no one knew the great and mighty Bolt was performing such menial tasks. Train as hard as possible without revealing his true strength to his Anbu tail. Return to his penthouse at the Five Elements. Sleep. Repeat.

It was much more strenuous than it sounded. But, maybe, that was because of his poor condition. The two hundred and fifty thousand ryō he received for fixing that cage fight was definitely not worth having to endure three broken ribs, a concussion, a broken nose, and several fractured bones in his face.

Not to mention how awkward it was to explain why his face was bandaged so heavily. Apparently, no one believed there was a man alive who could mug him. It was especially awkward when Sarada had told him Shikadai had bet ten thousand ryō on him during his fight. There was no worming his way out of that lie.

Luckily, after many apologies and much begging, Sarada blissfully agreed to heal him. Bolt didn't think the prods were necessary for the Mystic Palm—Hikari had certainly never done such a thing—but he withered it without complaint in atonement for his duplicity.

Guests from all around the world were converging on the Leaf. There were civilians and ninja alike, coming to see the best that the world had to offer. Competitors came from the Shinobi Union, including samurai from the Land of Iron, as well as countless others; the Grass, Waterfall, Sound, Rain, Valleys, Moon, and Snow all sent participants. Still, there were even more. Men and women from countries without villages; the Land of Plains, far to the south of the Land of Wind; the Land of Volcanoes, west of the Land of Earth; the Land of Mountains to the north of the Land of Lightning. Bolt even saw a few heads of crimson hair, clearly Uzumaki clansmen. They wore other headbands, but Bolt knew they were attending as the Hidden Eddy.

The foreigners were the most interesting. The Land of Plains was located on a plateau of barren sand that stretched on for miles and miles, far to the south of the Land of Wind. Not even the Sand dared to venture into that wasteland. There were no trees, no rocks, no mountains. Just an endless expanse of nothing. And the people that called it home were as strange as they were fascinating. They lived beneath the surface, where it was cool enough to survive. They grew moss in caves, and drank from underground pools of water. Hunting was a capital offense, punishable by death. All animals, as rare as they were, were bred to provide milk and eggs. When an animal became sick, or if there was a surplus, only then were they butchered for meat.

Bolt had nearly broken down in tears of laughter the first time he saw a ninja from the Plains practically worshipping a cart that sold meat products. That had lasted only until the man had swept him off his feet with a gust of wind laced with sand. It cut like the wind, but shredded like stone. Had the man truly wished him harm, Bolt had no doubt he could have cut his legs from his body with ease.

It was the largest gathering of ninjas Bolt had ever seen, heard, or read of. If nothing else, this day would be recorded in history for that alone, let alone the glory of the battles. And the Leaf's economy was booming. The city was practically overflowing with people. You couldn't walk down a street without being shoulder-to-shoulder with someone else. Shops and food carts sprung up all over the city, some travelling from as far away as the Rock and Cloud to peddle their wares.

Although Bolt didn't often praise his dad, Naruto did one thing right when he decided to be the first host of the tournament. The Leaf, and the Land of Fire, would benefit from it for years to come.

"Come on, Bolt!" Himawari yelled, pulling him forward by the sleeves of his jacket. "I don't want to be late!"

"Alright, alright," Bolt responded, picking up the pace. He, his sister, and their friends were making their way through the thick vegetation towards the arena. Naruto had cleared a section of the forest away to make room for the massive stadium.

Impressive did not even begin to describe it. The arena was a towering monolith of stone and metal. The walls were over one hundred feet tall, atop which sat colorful banners proudly displaying the character for "fire." The entrance was a set of double doors nearly as tall as the arena itself. Four pairs of ninja were required to open and close them with Earth jutsu. Inside, a series of hallways ran in both directions, circling the arena. There were vendors for food and merchandise there, as well as several places to place bets; both legal and illegal.

Bolt's jaw went slack as he entered through one of the gates that led to the arena proper. Nestled in the arena were too many seats to count, even if he had used his Byakugan. They ran from up close, right next to the arena floor, all the way up to the tops of the walls were they were nothing more than a dot. A section had been reserved for the leaders of their respective villages and nations in the form of a series of well protected metal boxes. A viewing window allowed the occupants a stunning view of the entire arena.

Looking down, Bolt could see the ring. It was a hexagonal piece of metal, set in the center. For each section of the hexagon, there was a different terrain; ocean, desert, mountains, forests, urban, and marshland. There was a grating sound of metal on metal as the forest section detached from the others and sank below the ground, only to be replaced by a floor of stone. One by one, the others followed suit.

And it was _hot_. The entire arena was sweltering from the combined temperature of so many bodies. The stands were full, so much so that there were people standing and loitering wherever they could find a good vantage point. There were simply too many people and not enough seats.

It was even louder. The clamor of people, their idle smalltalk, their breathing, even the sound of them walking, created a thunderous roar that blotted out all sound. It was hard to even think. _"Where are our seats?"_ Bolt mouthed to Sarada.

She seemed to get the hint, nodding and activating her Sharingan. Bolt watched as she scoured the arena. After a few minutes, she tugged on the sleeve of his jacket and pointed towards a row that had been reserved for them. Himawari darted off, scampering over to their seats. Bolt made sure everyone followed him and Sarada as they made their way over. If they got lost, there was no way they were going to be able to find each other again.

They didn't have to wait long. A pillar of stone rose from the center of the ring, atop of which stood a single man. He was an older man, but he held himself tall and proud. His hair was a mix of gray and white. A series of bandages were wrapped around his head, but why, Bolt didn't know. He wore armor from a bygone age, and at his hip rested a long katana. He was a samurai, and one who was famous. Mifune, general of the Land of Iron and one of the most powerful men in the Shinobi Union.

He was also worth quite a lot of ryō, if you had the right contacts.

The lights died, plunging the entire arena into darkness, save for a single beam of light that illuminated Mifune. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first Shinobi Union World Tournament!" Mifune declared, his voice booming throughout the arena. There was a thunderous round of applause that actually _shook_ the arena. "Tonight, we have come together to witness the opening ceremonies, presented by our hosts, the Hidden Leaf!"

Another round of applause. Bolt held his hands to his ears in a futile attempt to drown out the sound. "Tomorrow," Mifune began again, motioning with his hands for the crowd to quiet. "Tomorrow, the qualification rounds begin. Many will enter, few will proceed. Only our strongest and brightest shall be given the honor of competing in the main event!"

Bolt flinched as he felt hands touch his own. Sarada gave him a small smile of reassurance as her hands glowed green and Bolt felt the pain in his ears recede. He gave her a boyish grin that he hoped said "thank you."

"It is our hope that this will be the first of many peaceful competitions between our nations, and that future generations may never have to experience the horrors of war that we have!" Mifune declared, a hint of emotion coloring his voice.

"Now, let the ceremonies... begin!" Mifune roared, punctuating his declaration with a swing of his sword that echoed metallically throughout the entire arena.

The light illuminating the old samurai died, plunging the stadium into darkness. Bolt blinked, feeling overwhelmingly tempted to use his Byakugan. He resisted, and was rewarded with the sound of drums beginning to beat. They played a tempo of fast, bass sounds that echoed off the walls and ceilings.

After a few moments of music, Bolt blinked as, suddenly, countless hidden ninjas exhaled fire far above them. Fire coalesced in a massive, roaring inferno in the center of the arena's ceiling, almost like a faux sun. It painted the arena an eerie shade of yellow-orange and flickering shadows.

Below, water erupted in great waves, surging forward and inundating the arena floor. The drums increased in tempo, playing a melody that reminded Bolt of a heartbeat. Ever so slowly, the waters receded, leaving the land dotted with rivers and lakes. The sound of rock cracking could be heard, even over the beat of the drums. Massive trees erupted, forming vast swathes of forested land that covered the entire arena floor.

Bolt couldn't hold back a strangled gasp of awe at seeing the fabled Wood Release. From the darkness leapt countless men and women, dressed in traditional clothes that no one had worn for hundreds of years. They drew swords and clashed in a meadow. More came forth, dressed in archaic white robes with shaved heads. From the earth came a massive statue of a portly man with many arms. Standing in front of it was a monk with sharp eyes and a scar that ran from his forehead to the back of his skull on the right side.

Bolt recognized him instantly from the bingo book. Sentoki of the Thousand Fists, head monk of the Fire Temple.

Some of the fighting stopped, quelled by the appearance of the monks. But, two groups in particular continued to wage their war. Dressed in maroon colored armor, they charged into battle. One side, led by a man with flowing brown hair wielding a sword. The other, led by a man with long, spiky black hair and a warfan. They fought and fought, each side whittling the other's forces down until, eventually, it was only the two men left.

The two men eventually grew tired and dropped their weapons. Bolt watched as they acted out an exaggerated conversation. Then they shook hands, and all the fighting stopped. The ground rumbled once more, and a wall of stone erupted from the forest. There, it had the face of a man Bolt knew very well: the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju. From the earth, buildings sprang up, forming a crude, small village. The two men stood over the village smiling broadly.

Time passed, signified by the increased tempo of the drums that played to the beat of a racing heart. Bolt watched, amazed, as the trees created by the Wood Release went through the seasons. The leaves turned yellow and orange, falling to the ground. Then, they sprouted once more. Above, the artificial sun burned brightly.

The passing of the seasons repeated quickly before Bolt's eyes. The man whom he now knew to be Madara Uchiha faded back into the shadows, leaving Hashirama alone. Eventually, he too faded to shadow after some time. A new man took his place, wearing a wig of thick white hair and red colored warpaint. A new face appeared on the Hokage Rock, that of Tobirama Senju.

Time passed, and Tobirama faded. Hiruzen Sarutobi took his place, his face was added to the monument. Soon after, Bolt's grandfather appeared. Then, a giant shape dropped from the sky in the form of a titanic orange fox. The Fourth Hokage and the Nine Tails battled, before the fox disappeared in a wisp of smoke and Minato Namikaze faded away.

Hiruzen appeared again, briefly, before being replaced by Tsunade. Bolt was pleasantly surprised to see that it was the real Fifth Hokage, not an actor. She too faded, eventually, replaced by Kakashi Hatake, also in the flesh. He looked tired, and wore a casual robe with his signature mask. Then, finally, Naruto appeared, wreathed in the chakra of the Nine Tails and glowing softly in the dark.

By the end, what was once a small village of cobbled stone houses had expanded into a burgeoning city of towering metal buildings mixed with classical wooden houses. The Hokage Rock sported all seven faces of their leaders.

The tempo of the drums began to slow, the sun above them fading as the beat did, until the arena was cloaked in silence and darkness once more.

Then the cheering started. It was thunderous, filled with wonder and respect, and eagerness for the battles that were to come tomorrow. Chants echoed through the arena, spectators declaring their own competitors the victors. The lights turned back on, and the arena was back to normal.

Bolt and his friends filtered out of the arena. The whole time, Bolt fought to keep a grin off his face.

He was going to enjoy showing the world just how good he really was.

* * *

Bolt never could sleep before a mission. Or battle, in this case. The calm before the storm always made him tense and anxious. But never nervous. The great Bolt Uzumaki was never nervous.

So, there he sat, on his bed in the Five Elements at the god forsaken hour of four in the morning, nervously bouncing his leg up and down. Despite only getting a few moments of restless sleep, Bolt was wide awake. Focussed as ever. Ready.

There was only one thing to do. Pace. Bolt stood and began to trace the contours of his suite, head hung and deep in thought as he mentally went over his arsenal of techniques. He separated them into two categories: those he could use, and those he couldn't. He wanted to play his cards close to his chest, just in case things in the Leaf turned sour. That meant no Byakugan, no Lightning Armor, and definitely no Vanishing Rasengan. He preferred to keep the latter in reserve. Those who had seen it only saw it once, and then they took that knowledge to the Pure Lands.

Looking over at the clock, Bolt saw that barely an hour had passed. He sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to calm down before the preliminaries. He showered, popped a food pill, and dressed in his combat fatigues from the Crimson Tide. It was his fourteenth, and last, set; a pair pants that was made of thick, dark green cloth that was both durable and flexible, and a jacket that had a mesh of chakra metal for extra protection. He was too anxious to eat. The pill would last him longer and didn't pose the threat of vomiting from exertion.

Mind made up, Bolt headed for the arena. He had to stifle a chuckle as he saw many, _many_ other competitors doing the same thing he was. The Shinobi Union World Tournament wasn't just about proving yourself, it was about national pride. Each ninja wanted to prove themselves, but they had the weight of their country on their shoulders, too.

Well, everyone but Bolt. The Leaf hadn't done him any favors recently. He was there for one person and one person only: himself.

The arena was devoid of life, except for a few workers cleaning the stands and preparing the arena to receive visitors later that morning. Throngs of men and women, ninja all, were wandering the halls and exploring the ring. Bolt had seen a little of its magic during the opening ceremonies, but he was willing to bet that, at some point, the terrain would change during their fights. It would either hinder or aid them in their battle, and the difference between victory and defeat would be in how well you adapted to and used the surroundings.

It was something he was exceedingly proficient in, an advantage over the other competitors who had only known peace and whose toughest battles were fought between friends and teammates.

There were a handful of foreigners down in the ring, practicing and warming up. Bolt smirked, took a seat, and watched them. While he doubted he would face them individually, it was useful to glean insight into certain village's training methods.

Hours crawled by, and eventually, Bolt was rewarded with a commotion near one of the entrances. His eyes picked out a head wrapped in bandages, and knew it was Mifune. It was time to begin.

Mifune made his way down to the ring. He drew his sword, eliciting a loud, crystalline ringing that silenced the assembled masses. Bolt grinned. "Welcome to the preliminaries," the old samurai told them. "Here, you will fight for the honor of competing before the leaders of your respective nations, and the masses. You will step forward when your name is called in a timely manner, or you will be disqualified. Fights will be fought until one opponent is unable to continue, or surrenders. Murder is strictly forbidden, and techniques that maim will be harshly punished."

There was a resounding silence as the veteran samurai instructed them in the rules and regulations. "Any questions?" Mifune asked.

No one said a word. "Good," he said. "Aimi of the Hidden Moon, and Metal Lee of the Hidden Leaf, please come forward."

Bolt sat on the edge of his seat and leaned forward. The first match was one of his classmates. Lee and his dad were kind of crazy, but their taijutsu was second to none—except, of course, the Gentle Fist. Lee proved it a moment later, when he darted forward with a battle cry of "Youth!" and quickly defeated the ninja from the Hidden Moon in short order.

Before either could leave the hexagonal ring, Mifune's voice rang out again. "Asuka of the Hidden Waterfall, and Fumio of the Hidden Sound."

That was an interesting match, to say the least. The Hidden Sound, and the Land of Sound as a result, had been in a tumultuous period of upheaval that had only recently ended. Orochimaru had taken over the country prior to the Fourth War, assassinating its lord and taking that position for himself. He formed a hidden village which was little more than a name, consisting of criminals, scientists, and freaks of nature. After his supposed death, the country devolved into turmoil as rogue factions fought for control of the country. They eventually solidified, and built their reputation as a legitimate village of some regard.

But it was their fighting style that Bolt was most interested in. The Sound ninja used a unique branch of Wind Release that created sound waves that they used in battle. They could either throw off your balance and senses, or scramble your brain like an egg. Bolt cursed his bad luck that he had vowed not to reveal his Byakugan. He would have loved to have been able to see how the technique actually worked, and, maybe, copy it.

The ninja from the Sound emerged victorious after a few minutes of intense fighting. Mifune called the next pair. "Hachiro of the Hidden Grass, and Bolt of the Hidden Leaf."

Bolt grinned and felt his heartbeat double in anticipation. He leapt from the stands, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. His grin faltered as whispers and snickers made their way through some of the crowd. He didn't let it shake him, though. That was the key. Eiji told him that if he looked strong, even if he wasn't, people would think he was. Fake it until you make it.

The ninja from the Grass looked green and nervous, perhaps a newly appointed genin. He stood no chance. Through unspoken agreement, both began. Bolt hurled a few shuriken that hissed as they cut through the air. The Grass ninja leapt away, only to come face-to-face with Bolt.

Bolt could see his eyes widen in surprise, with a hint of fear. Well, Bolt thought, there weren't many people as fast as him. Bolt slipped into a quick Uzumaki style sweep, knocking his legs out from underneath the genin, and elbowed him in the gut as he fell. The Grass ninja curled into a ball as Bolt placed his boot over his head and looked at Mifune.

The old samurai nodded once, and called forth the next pair of names. Bolt walked back to the stands, his hands held behind his head with an arrogant grin on his face.

The preliminaries would be a piece of cake.

And they were. Bolt beat each of his opponents with varying ease, none of which provided him with the excitement and adrenaline rush his battles with the Crimson Tide did. The most interesting part of the prelims were the fights that _weren't his._ Seeing the techniques of the Sound, Moon, and Waterfall were the most exciting. Bolt cheered for his friends during their matches, of which Sarada was doing the best. She fought a Cloud ninja whose specialty was swordplay, who got a firsthand taste of the Uchiha Fire Release. That had been funny, watching him roll on the ground and extinguish the flames licking at his scarf-cloak garment.

By the end of the day, what was once thousands of people mulling around the ring and in the stands, was reduced to no more than a few hundred. Bolt was glad that he wouldn't be in the main tournament alone; Sarada, Mitsuki, Inojin, Metal Lee, and, much to his pride, Himawari, had all qualified. Shikadai surrendered to his opponent when their fight stretched on for over thirty minutes—lazy bastard—while Chōchō was defeated by a Rock ninja who could use Lava Release. Both losses were simply due to bad matchups.

That night, Bolt managed to drive away the feelings of anxiety he had and slept soundly. The knowledge that he had secured his place in the main tournament, and that he had spied plenty on his potential opponents, let him rest easy.

So, bright and early the next day, the tournament commenced. Bolt, and many other fighters, arrived early. Some of them didn't leave, Bolt thought. Those were the nervous ones. The ones that were going to lose. As the dawn gave way, spectators filtered into the stands. The arena went from quiet as the grave to a dull roar.

Bolt and the rest of the competitors were given access to a special seating area that was divided by nation. Several security staff were on hand to ensure none of them got into a brawl before their match, and to keep the spectators away from them.

Bolt wrung his hands with excitement as he saw the boxes fill up with world leaders. He saw, and ignored, his dad. Tsunade and Kakashi sat to his right, with Gaara on his left. To his great displeasure, the Fourth Tsuchikage was present—as she should be, but her comments during the Chūnin Exams still echoed in his mind. She had been quite vocal about her disgust with him.

As his eyes darted down the rows of the powerful and influential, he broke into a wide smile as he caught a head of faded crimson hair. The Uzukage had come, after all. He waved at her and flashed her a smile, to which she returned with a barely perceptible nod. It was all the recognition he needed.

It was even better when his dad raised his hand to wave back at him, only to realize he was waving at the Uzukage. Bolt couldn't be sure without his Byakugan, but he was willing to bet that his dad's cheeks were a cosy shade of red by the way he was sulking. Good.

After what seemed like hours, eventually they decided to begin.

Mifune appeared atop his pillar of stone again, the lights focussing on him. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Welcome to the Shinobi Union World Tournament! The rules are simple: your strongest will fight, until they can no longer do so. Opponents will be chosen at random, and be given a random terrain to do battle on."

The entire arena went silent, and Bolt felt his own excitement bubble up. "Begin," Mifune commanded, swinging his sword with authority.

The lights dimmed ever so slightly, and a large screen lit up. Two columns of faces began to spin rapidly, blurring their identities. Bolt prayed he went first. People remembered the first, the last, and the best. He was going for a record, setting two at once. First and Best: Bolt Uzumaki. That was the headline.

The first column slowed, and slowed, and slowed. "Shinki, of the Sand!" Mifune roared. The crowd, especially the section where the Sand were seated, erupted into raucous applause.

Bolt prayed harder. First and Best: Bolt Uzumaki triumphs over Shinki of the Sand! It got even better.

The second slowed. Bolt saw a flash of his distinctive blonde hair roll by and felt his spirits wither and die. The column slowed, and slowed, and slowed. "... versus Sarada Uchiha, of the Leaf!"

The Leaf and Sand sections were applauding so loud that Bolt stumbled as he jumped to his feet. "Oh shit," he swore, running down to where he had seen Sarada sit. He saw Shinki leap into the arena, floating on a cloud of iron sand, to which the Sand grew louder at seeing.

"Sarada!" Bolt called, catching her just as she put her foot on the divider between the seats and the ring. Bolt grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her so she faced him. "Alright, remember what I said? Heat beats magnetism. Heat the iron, and he can't control it. It's pretty difficult to get fire that hot, so—"

Sarada silenced him by pressing an index finger to his lips. "Relax, Bolt. I've got this," she said, before leaping down into the ring.

Bolt opened and closed his mouth, trying to process what had just happened.

* * *

Sarada strolled across the arena to the center of the ring with a spring in her step. This was her chance to prove herself. It could be the boost she needs to catapult her into contention for the position of Eighth Hokage. She wouldn't lose. She couldn't.

Shinki stood in front of her, his iron sand swirling around him like a cloak. He had his skeletal puppet—which, now that she got a better look at it, reminded her vaguely of her father's skeletal Susano'o—and was staring her down.

She felt her eyes shift as chakra coursed through them, bleeding red and becoming Sharingan. She knew, without looking, that two tomoe had sprouted. She had yet to awaken the third, even after much training. It was unfortunate, because she would probably need it if she wanted to defeat the powerful Magnet Release user.

"Remember what I said!" Sarada heard Bolt shout behind her. It was kind of endearing how he tried to help her, but she had trained and prepared for this tournament extensively; with and without Himawari. She prepared for every eventuality: fighting her friends, fighting her enemies, and, especially, fighting against bloodline users. Of which, Magnet Release had been at the top of her list, thanks to her defeat in the Chūnin Exams.

The screen that declared her match changed, two more columns spinning rapidly. The left column slowed and stopped on the picture of an urban landscape of ruined homes. The right stopped on a barren plain. Sarada felt the ring _shift_.

The center was a massive hexagon of metal, with the character for "shinobi" etched into it. There were six sections that stretched out from each corner of the hexagon, forming an even larger hexagon still. The three sections that formed her half of the ring detached and were lowered below ground, only to be quickly replaced by three sections that contained nothing but flat, dusty land. Opposite Sarada, Shinki's half was replaced by a small, ruined village of wooden and stone buildings.

It was an engineering marvel, to be sure. One that Sarada realized did not fall in her favor. There was likely metal in Shinki's half of the ring, and thus, another weapon to use against her. She'd have to be careful.

The arena went silent. "Begin," Mifune commanded. Then it erupted into roars of cheering.

Shinki instantly flicked his wrists, sending his puppet careening towards her at high speeds. Half of his iron sand stayed with him, but the other half coated the skeletal puppet like armor. An arm came up, clawed and vicious, and swung at Sarada's face.

But Sarada was even faster, and certainly faster than any puppet. She moved at speeds the construct couldn't hope to match, dodging and delivering a powerful kick as she did so that sent a wave of iron sand back towards Shinki.

Sarada was quick to retreat and make sure no sand had slipped onto her person. She growled in frustration as the puppet came away from her kick without any damage. The iron sand made for an excellent shield. Sarada weaved a few hand seals and inhaled deeply. She'd see how well the puppet handled some heat. "Fire Release: Grand Fireball Jutsu!"

She spat a ball of raging fire larger than she was tall, the signature jutsu of the Uchiha. The puppet came barrelling through the fire, a sword forged from iron sand in its right hand. Sarada leapt out of the way, narrowly avoiding a nasty slash. She frowned, noting that the iron hadn't even changed color. Her fire wasn't hot enough. Just as Bolt said.

A small part of her wished she had listened to his parting words of advice. Another part said she had to win on her own. Sarada fished out a kunai from one of the pouches on her waist and hurled it. It sank into the floor, a small paper tag falling behind it. Shinki's puppet advanced without heed as the explosive tag detonated, engulfing it in fire.

Sarada yelped as a lance of iron sand shot out of the smoke and landed a glancing blow on her upper arm, leaving a long line of crimson that stained her sleeve. She began a lazy sprint around the arena, weaving and dodging as Shinki shot spikes of iron sand at her. As fast as she was, they all missed.

She weaved a few hand seals, sending pellets of fire at Shinki. They were more to distract, rather than harm. They were extinguished as Shinki erected a barrier of iron sand. Sarada took shots at the skeletal puppet, but Shinki deftly had his construct dodge, or block with iron sand.

Nothing she tried was working, and duking it out with Shinki and his puppet in the center of the ring wasn't winning her the match. Sarada decided to take her chances, and sought shelter in her opponent's half of the ring. She darted into a two story house and quickly hid herself, suppressing her chakra.

The door creaked open as Shinki's puppet inched forward. The skull twitched back and forth, its eyes darting every which way unnaturally. Sarada's eyes narrowed as she realized his puppet could also act as a second set of eyes. That would be good information to have, later.

The puppet, thinking the ground floor was cleared, moved to the stairs. Sarada leapt from the closet she had hidden in, a silent battle cry on her on the tip of her tongue. She slammed her fist into the puppet, and was rewarded with a set of bruised, mangled knuckles as she struck solid iron.

Sarada ducked, narrowly avoiding having her face maimed by the puppet's claws, and tried a powerful, chakra enhanced kick. The force of the blow up turned the tables, chairs, and furniture, but did little to the iron sand or the puppet.

The puppet swiped at her again, missed, and then opened its maw at close range. A barrage of needles shot out, peppering the couch behind her like a pincushion. Sarada saw, out of the corner of her eye, a sickly purple colored liquid ooze down the sides of the couch. Poison. What kind? She didn't want to find out.

Sarada inhaled and weaved a few hand seals. At close quarters, there was no room for the puppet to evade. She exhaled a great wave of fire that turned the wooden chairs and table to ash, setting the house ablaze. Her Sharingan searched the flame and smoke for the puppet, or its remains.

She was rewarded with a kitchen sink flying at her with great speed. Sarada winced in pain as the faucet caught her shoulder on the way past, leaving a nasty bruise. Still, Sarada kept her focus on the puppet. The house was crumbling all around her, but she needed to destroy it if she was to defeat its master.

Sarada breathed a stream of fire at the few untouched walls, setting them ablaze. She heard the supports groan in protest, the foundation giving way. The skeletal puppet came at her again, but Sarada dodged its strikes easily. Finally, when she could risk it no more, Sarada exhaled one more ball of fire and leapt from the house, crashing through a window.

The house came tumbling down, trapping the puppet inside, and, hopefully, crushing it beyond use.

Shinki wasted no time taking advantage of Sarada's moment of weakness as her chest heaved from exertion. She felt her limbs aching and her muscles burning. It wasn't easy fighting a puppet, its puppeteer, and the ever present iron sand.

Shinki sent his iron sand cascading forward like a wave, encircling and ensnaring Sarada. She disappeared in a blur of body flicker, desperately trying to move faster than the sand. Thankfully, it was made of iron, and not quartz like regular sand. It was much slower.

Sarada hurled another kunai at Shinki's feet, ensuring that it sank into the dirt road of the street they fought in. It would take more time for him to dig it out with his magnetism that way. The explosive tag attached to its hilt flared orange before exploding. Sarada frowned in displeasure as Shinki shielded himself with a sphere of iron sand.

Shinki raised both arms and held his hands toward her; palms open, fingers splayed. The buildings behind him shook and rattled as he tore pipes, silverware, pots and pans, sinks, bathtubs, and rebar from them. A storm of deadly iron projectiles floated above them like stormclouds.

Sarada swallowed her nerves as Shinki sent a barrage of household projectiles at her. Her Sharingan darted back and forth, identifying each object and predicting its path of flight. With that information, she dodged, weaved, deflected, and blocked as she closed the distance between the two of them.

When she was no more than ten feet from Shinki, Sarada smirked. Electricity danced up and down her body, blinding in its intensity. "Chidori Current!" Sarada barked, sending a wave of lightning in every direction. The lightning took the path of least resistance, traveling through the iron sand and makeshift metal projectiles. Some of the smaller pieces, like forks and knives, turned a pleasant cherry red color and dropped to the ground. The others were not so affected.

To Sarada displeasure, only a few stray tendrils of iron sand heated enough to become unusable. The rest coalesced into a shield that protected Shinki from her attack, and was too bulky for the Chidori Current to superheat.

Sarada didn't even have time to blink as the shield of iron sand lashed out, forming a giant fist and striking her in the chest. She was sent flying, rolling and crashing through the street. She felt a pain that seared through her chest, and knew that she had a broken _something_. She was struggling to her feet as Shinki advanced, iron sand rearing up to incapacitate her.

A burst of adrenaline shot through Sarada's body, giving her the strength she needed to fight past the pain and leap out of the way. Iron sand crashed into the dirt road, kicking up debris. Realizing the fight was coming to an end, one way or another, Sarada decided to use her trump card. She leapt into the air, diving through the kicked up dirt and appearing above Shinki.

Shinki recalled his iron sand, coiling it around him like a snake ready to strike.

Sarada reached into one of her pouches and withdrew a small scroll. She flung it open, channeling her chakra into it and undoing the seal. A muddy brown-green viscous liquid covered the street, soaking the dirt, Shinki, and his iron sand. Sarada smirked, and exhaled fire.

There was an explosion of light and heat as she lit the toad oil. A raging inferno consumed the dilapidated village, causing the nearest buildings to crumble and turn to ash. Never had Sarada been more appreciative of Himawari's gift than she was at the moment she saw piles of molten iron pooling in the dirt.

Amazingly, Shinki stood at the end of the street, unharmed except for a small burn from a flame that had caught his sleeve. Lightning crackled over Sarada's hand as she darted forward. Her arm extended as she closed the distance, ready to deliver the finishing blow that would win her the match.

There was a blur as an object intercepted her. Sarada wanted to cry as she felt her fist pierce the chest of Shinki's skeletal puppet. It was missing its legs, but that didn't matter to a puppeteer. Lightning coursed through the puppet, thoroughly destroying it and finishing the job.

Sarada grit her teeth and dug deep, digging up chakra she didn't know she had. She channeled more chakra into her Chidori, refusing to let it die. Instead of letting it course through the puppet, she pushed it outward, through the construct's chest. Lightning danced through the air as a bolt of raw electricity surged towards Shinki.

The Sand ninja only had a moment to widen his eyes in surprise before he was struck. Sarada saw his muscles contract forcefully, locking him in place as lightning danced through his body. After a few moments, Sarada cut off her chakra and gasped for breath. Shinki fell to the ground, his clothing charred and smoking.

Withdrawing her arm and letting the lifeless puppet collapse, Sarada fell to her knees with a broad smile.

"Winner: Sarada of the Leaf!" Mifune's voice rang out.

She had won.

* * *

 **A/N:**

So I kind of got carried away with the first half of the chapter? So I'm splitting the tournament into (roughly) three parts, each being 6-7k words each. Sorry!

The little opening ceremonies thing was fun to write. I took some creative liberties with the foundation of the Leaf, but I hope it was a fun scene to read. Sentoki, for those that don't remember, was the monk that was spared by Hidan to deliver the message to the Leaf. He was one of three monks to survive the razing of the Fire Temple. We may or may not see him again, but I felt like he was an interesting character and wanted to expand upon him and the Fire Temple in general.

A note on the vast array of nationalities in this chapter: the only OC are the Lands of Plains/Volcanoes/Mountains. The rest are canon, and sadly, were never explored. In particular, the Hidden Moon and Hidden Valleys (Land of Rivers) were villages I really wanted to see. I'm not sure when, or if, I'll get to them in this story, but we should hit each major location by the end.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it (even if FFN is malfunctioning and not posting them! *grumble*). Thanks!

\- Code Musica


	21. Chapter 21

Bolt rocked back and forth in his seat in a manner that would have most doctors questioning his sanity. His hands were clasped in front of his chest as he prayed and watched the large screen above the ring choose two competitors.

It was the third day, and he had yet to be chosen. And it was driving him insane. Sarada had fought twice, including her defeat of Shinki. Her second opponent had been a pushover, a chūnin from Cloud that, in Bolt's opinion, would have struggled with an Academy student. Himawari had fought once, obliterating her opponent, a swordsman from the Mist, with an elegant flourish of the Gentle Fist. Inojin was defeated in his first match, losing to a powerful Rock ninja whose mastery of the Lava Release made even Bolt wary.

Of course, Mitsuki hadn't fought either, but he sat next to Bolt unperturbed and continued to watch the matches with feigned disinterest, aloof as ever.

Bolt swore as the first columns topped, revealing a pretty young woman from the Rain. She was of no great renown, but Bolt still prayed he was her opponent. He was dying to show off. If he didn't fight today, he was certain he would go insane.

He whined as the second column came to a halt, showing the face of a grizzled man from the Sand. With a sigh of defeat, he slumped back into his chair. He didn't even pay attention as the arena shifted into a half desert, half mountainous battlefield.

"Don't worry, brother," Himawari said reassuringly. "You'll get your chance soon."

Bolt grumbled under his breath. That was easy for her to say. She was the apple of their dad's and grandfather's eye. She didn't have anything to prove.

Next to him, Sarada giggled at his misfortune. Sarada _really_ didn't have anything to worry about. Her first match was against the famed Shinki of the Sand, nephew of the Kazekage, in the opening round of the tournament. Her victory was in newspapers across the continent. She had her own television interviews. Bolt would have killed for less. Her ambition of becoming the Eighth Hokage seemed to be within her reach, especially if she kept up her impressive showing.

Bolt's eyes were drawn to the ring as the Rain ninja conjured rain clouds. Now _that_ was an interesting jutsu. Just another thing to gnaw at him. No Byakugan, no chance at reverse engineering all these techniques. But... he did have the next best thing.

"How is she going that?" Bolt asked, leaning over to whisper in Sarada's ear. He saw her eyes bleed red out of the corner of his vision.

"It's a jutsu that manipulates the water vapor in the air, forcing it to coalesce where the user focusses their chakra," Sarada said, her eyes roving over the Rain ninja as she pushed her glasses up her nose.

Bolt could work with that. He'd try later, after the tournament ended. He watched the Rain ninja brandish her umbrella. She sent tiny raindrops flying in every direction. Bolt was surprised when they cut through solid stone. The Sand ninja was even more surprised as a few drops sank deep into his legs, sending him sprawling to the ground in pain.

Mifune called the match and the ring shifted back to its default state. Bolt sighed and began to go through possible hand seals. It was a water based technique, using, maybe, wind? So... Bird—Rat—Ox—Snake? Maybe. He'd try that one first.

The seats around him went silent, prompting Bolt to look up. Sarada was elbowing him in the ribs as Himawari squealed excitedly. Bolt felt his heart flutter as he looked to the ring, and saw his face and name on the screen. A grin spread across his face.

Show time.

"Good luck, brother!" Himawari gushed, as Bolt stood and leapt into the ring.

He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement as their entire _culture_ had their eyes on him, and him alone. Bolt was in his element; the center of attention. Yet, one thing stood out to him. The crowd was usually roaring and cheering in excitement, which they were, yet there seemed to be almost a muted effect. There were some boos and jeers, and whispers to neighboring spectators.

Bolt could hear the one word the entire stadium said. Cheater. It made his blood boil. He looked to the screen as the second column slowed, and chose his opponent. "... versus Yurui, of the Cloud!" Mifune declared.

There was a god, Bolt decided. And he had a cruel sense of humor. He would prove them wrong. All of them. He was a prodigy. He was strong. He was powerful. He _wasn't_ a cheater. He _wasn't_ weak.

Yurui leapt into the ring. He was taller now, Bolt noticed. Not quite as tall as him, but he was much more muscular. Like most men from Cloud, his skin had developed a tan; a result of living so high in the mountains. His hair was still the same lame style, slicked back and held in place by his headband. The childish necklace with the visage of the Eight Tails hung from his neck. He had four swords; two on his back, two on his hip.

And he was smirking knowingly at him. Bolt frowned. Both ninjas strode to the center of the ring. "Begin," Mifune's voice rang out.

Bolt's frown deepened as Yurui's smirk widened. Was he not taking him seriously? "You know," Yurui commented, having to yell to be heard over the raucous cheering. "You won't beat me this time. You don't have that _crutch_ ," he spat with distaste, referring to his illegal tool that was revealed at the end of the Chūnin Exams.

Bolt felt his chakra spike and the pressure behind his eyes mount. He took a deep breath, calming himself before his Byakugan could accidently manifest. Now was not the time to reveal that ace in the hole.

He was going to enjoy humiliating Yurui. Bolt watched as Yurui withdrew the two swords on his back and held them behind his knees, crouching slightly. He drew the two at his waist, clutched in his fists.

Bolt slid into a defensive Gentle Fist stance. He cast a quick glance backwards, too absorbed in his anger to pay attention to the way the ring had changed. His side was a marshland of bubbling mud, but Yurui's was lake dotted by tiny outcroppings of rock and sand. He could work with that.

Yurui darted forward with moves that were practically telegraphed. His style of swordsmanship was obviously designed to be flashy, catching the opponent off guard with the number of swords and the sheer speed at which he came at them.

Bolt had fought better. The first sword came in fast and hard, and Bolt slapped it away with a miniscule burst of chakra. The second was right behind the first, and suffered the same fate. Bolt swung a low kick at Yurui's shin. He enjoyed the look of pain that flashed across his opponent's face. Obviously he had not expected a Gentle Fist user to include kicks in their arsenal. Unfortunately for him, kicks were standard in the Uzumaki taijutsu style.

Then came the swords clutched behind Yurui's knees. They were awkward to block, and at such close range, difficult to evade. He just sort of _shuffled_ at you, letting the swords cut your legs ribbons. Bolt leapt forward, rolling and catching himself with his hands. He twisted his body midair, kicking Yurui in the face as he turned to face him.

Bolt actually laughed as he heard Yurui yelp in surprise and pain as blood ran from his nose. Quickly righting himself, Bolt put distance between him and his opponent, slipping into a more aggressive Gentle Fist stance. Yurui wiped the blood away that had been dribbling down his chin in rivulets.

With a smirk, Bolt held out his hand and beckoned him to try again. The sheer snarl of anger that he got for the taunt was so, _so_ satisfying. Yurui charged him, again, roaring a battle cry. Bolt ducked and weaved as his opponent tried to shred him to ribbons. Seeing an opening, Bolt gently prodded Yurui in the chest.

Without using his Byakugan, he couldn't see his chakra points. But there were some targets that never moved, and were easy to hit. The brain. The heart. _The lungs_. As Yurui backed away, he coughed up blood. Bolt smirked. The Gentle Fist was deadlier than any sword. Bolt was willing to give a firsthand demonstration on the matter to anyone who disagreed. No matter how hard you trained, there was nothing you could do to make your organs any tougher.

Yurui, apparently, didn't understand that. He came at Bolt again, growling and throwing clumsy slashes at him. Bolt grinned and was more than happy to educate him on the inferiority of his ways. A gentle prod here, and open-palmed strike there. All the while, he made sure not to even get a scratch from the four swords. He wouldn't even suffer the indignity of a single cut to his clothes.

And, as much as he had been looking forward to fighting, Bolt was growing _bored_. Yurui just wasn't a challenge, and without being able to use more of his showier techniques, there really wasn't an opportunity to demonstrate the sheer gap between their skill. He felt the overwhelming desire to activate his Byakugan and flash through the Eight Trigrams Palms.

Bolt slapped Yurui's wrist away, his touch cutting as deep as any kunai. Yurui actually whimpered and dropped his sword, leaping away. "That's it!" Bolt heard him roar. Yurui took in a deep gasp of breath, pain flashing across his features from the wounds Bolt had given him.

He exhaled a stream of multicolored bubblegum bubbles. They started small, barely the size of a coin. Then, they grew, larger and larger, until they were larger than Bolt was tall. And they were _everywhere_. Bolt stood still, not feeling the need to move as the bubbles floated all around him. It was a strange technique, one he remembered well. Without his Byakugan, he couldn't tell if they were made from Explosion Release, or if Yurui had, somehow, managed to trap _thunder_ in his bubblegum. That was actually a pretty good idea. Thunder. Bolt would have to think on that after the match was over.

Bolt's grin grew feral as he smirked, inhaled, and breathed a thick mist that clouded the battlefield.

* * *

Sarada watched, a little awed, as Bolt deftly avoided Yurui's impressive swordsmanship. He moved like he knew where the attacks would come from, almost as if he had a Sharingan himself. All the while, he wore an arrogant, boyish smirk that was not totally undeserving. He _was_ good. Yurui was by no means weak, and Bolt was almost... playing with him.

Her eyes widened as he casually leaned in during one of their exchanges and prodded Yurui in the chest. Her Sharingan saw his chakra lash out, a nearly invisible spear of chakra piercing the Cloud ninja's lung. Its reach was incredible, stretching for more than a foot from the tip of Bolt's fingertip. He didn't even, really, need to touch Yurui at all.

The two men continued to exchange blows, or rather, Bolt continued to toy with Yurui. Eventually, Yurui grew frustrated and tired, and leapt back. The melee had ended, but the fight had just begun. Sarada watched as Yurui blew bubbles of sticky bubblegum, infused with his own chakra.

To her dismay, Bolt simply stood still and let Yurui surround him with his lethal trap. He was surrounded by hundreds of deadly, explosive bubbles. Yet, he still smirked as if he had the match under control. His chakra spiked and became frigid, coalescing in his lungs as he exhaled a thick mist that instantly clouded the battlefield.

Sarada's Sharingan instantly began to protest the mist's presence. She knew why: it was laced with a genjutsu. It was an ingenious adaptation of the Hidden Mist Jutsu, Sarada admitted. Despite being a closely guarded secret, the technique was widely known and easily recognizable. No one would think to _not_ breathe mist. It was just water vapor.

Water vapor made with Bolt's virulent, overpowering chakra. Sarada watched as Yurui looked around in the mist, expecting Bolt to emerge at any time and attack him. Already, Bolt's chakra was infecting him like a disease, subjugating and taking control of his chakra pathways.

Sarada watched as Yurui suddenly whirled around and charged at _something_. Even though she couldn't see what Yurui was seeing, she could imagine what Bolt was doing to him. She smirked, nodding in approval.

Yurui charged at one of the bubbles he himself had created, and slashed it with one of his swords. Sarada shook her head. No, Yurui, that was not, in fact, Bolt.

There was a mighty explosion that dispelled the mist, but its job was done. Yurui flew backwards, crashing into another bubble. There was a chain reaction as the battlefield was covered in explosions as Yurui's carefully laid trap came undone.

Sarada cheered as Bolt put both hands in his pockets and walked away from his opponent, a cocky smirk on his face.

Her happiness and pride turned to ash as Yurui managed to struggle to his feet. She gasped as lightning arced from the Cloud ninja, right at Bolt.

And then... the most fascinating thing happened.

* * *

Bolt watched in satisfaction as his genjutsu did its trick. He was by no means skilled in that branch of the ninja arts, but he had picked up a few things from his time in the Crimson Tide. He'd never be a match for a genjutsu specialist, or someone with the Sharingan, but that was okay. He simply wasn't suited for it. He was power and might, with the skill and chakra to beat anyone in a fight. _That_ was his style.

He didn't even have to move as Yurui slashed his own bubble and defeated himself. The ultimate humiliation. Defeated by his own technique. Bolt didn't even lift a finger, and the victory was his. The mist was dissipated by the explosions, and what little remained, Bolt allowed to fade.

With an arrogant grin he shoved his hands in his pockets and strode away, content to have humiliated his opponent. That was why you didn't waste time on idle talk. Real warriors know that actions speak louder than words. Bolt took that to heart. Most of the time. He enjoyed a good quip and banter as much as anyone.

Something gnawed at the back of Bolt's mind. Something was _off_. Mifune hadn't declared him the winner, that was it. Turning, Bolt came face-to-face with a bolt of chirping, roaring lightning. It struck him full on in the face like a stone. He flinched back, and then remembered. _Lightning_. Right.

His body did its job.

* * *

Sarada gasped as Bolt was struck in the face by the bolt of lightning. At best, he would be horribly maimed for life. At worst, he would drop dead; right there, right now.

Her Sharingan was whirring as it devoured the information in front of it.

Neither happened. She watched as his body simply _regulated_ lightning. It was an amazing display. The Hyūga's bodies were always so fascinating in their bodily functions. Her Sharingan told her there was simply no way she could physically copy what Bolt was doing. It was biological. His chakra points, all of them, were firing in sequence; absorbing, resisting, and transferring the lightning harmlessly.

It travelled down his back, across his chest, and down his right leg before dissipating into the ring.

Yurui's shocked expression was priceless.

* * *

Bolt just smirked as Yurui looked at him like he was the second coming of the Sage of Six Paths. His clothes were slightly singed, and he was pretty sure the sole of his boot had melted due to the electrical current, but that was a small price to pay compared to what could have happened.

Yurui, apparently, didn't get the message. Another bolt of lightning struck him, this time in the chest. Bolt just shrugged it off, scowling as his last Crimson Tide jacket was ruined. Again and again, he shot bolt after bolt at him.

Bolt sighed. Some people just didn't understand exercises in futility. Many a ninja thought they could overcome his resistance to lightning, and none had been correct so far. He had worked hard, after all, to train to that level. All for the sake of _enduring_ the higher levels of the Lightning Armor.

Yurui, eventually, stopped. His eyes darted back and forth, as if trying to discern something. Bolt actually burst into laughter as Yurui formed a seal and flared his chakra, trying to release himself from a genjutsu that simply _wasn't there._

"Don't bother," Bolt called out, giggling. Yurui cracked one eye open, his vision clouded by anger.

Bolt sighed. "Let me show you a _real_ Lightning Release jutsu," he said, more to himself than to his opponent. Alright, so he could talk trash too. The difference was, he _deserved_ to.

He weaved three hand seals: Ox—Rabbit—Monkey. The interesting thing about learning the Lightning Armor, was that there wasn't much more to learn after it. It was, as far as Bolt was concerned, the pinnacle of the element. Everything was below it, and thus, easy to learn. Lightning coalesced in his right hand, slowly turning from blue into a blinding white.

Bolt hadn't actually _learned_ the technique he was about to use, but he had seen Sarada use it enough. There were actually entire books written about it, due to its fame as Sasuke Uchiha's and Kakashi Hatake's signature jutsu—though the latter hadn't used it since the end of the war; no one knew why.

Thus, he had to guess what the hand seals were. He could have done a longer string of them, but it turned out alright. The Lightning Armor was, in its most basic form, covering his entire body in a Chidori. Surely just creating one in his hand wasn't so hard?

It wasn't.

Lightning arced from his fist and struck stone. It sparked, and left miniscule droplets of molten rock in its wake. It actually _hurt_ to look at his Chidori, blinding as it was in its intensity.

Bolt darted forward, using a bit of his true speed. He appeared before Yurui in a blur. Instead of using the Chidori like a jab—that would have killed Yurui—he used it like a slash.

Yurui, to his great credit and Bolt's praise, actually leaned back out of the path of the jutsu. But Chidori would not be denied. It chirped its offense at being dodged, and lightning arced out and electrocuted the Cloud ninja.

Bolt had the pleasure of watching, up close, as Yurui went rigid as his muscles were wrested from his control by Chidori. Lightning danced across his chest, thoroughly charring his gaudy white uniform. His mouth was parted in a silent, strangled cry.

Bolt was a master of the lightning element, and knew when a normal man's body could take no more. He, mercifully, ended the technique. The faint sound of chirping echoed across the ring as the lightning faded and his hand returned to normal.

Yurui fell to his knees, collapsing in a boneless mound of tangled limbs and smoking cloth. Bolt smirked, pleased, and held his hands up in victory with a broad smile as he walked away.

"... Winner: Bolt Uzumaki, of the Leaf!" Mifune called out solemnly.

To Bolt's absolute and utter surprise—and, if he was honest, _respect_ —Yurui got _up_. He had dragged himself to his knees, his chest heaving equally from exertion and pain. Bolt eyed him as he stared at him with a mixture of awe, anger, hate, and fear. "Impossible," he rasped. "You're nothing but a talentless cheater! There's no way..."

Bolt snapped. His vision narrowed, and all there was, was Yurui kneeling there pitifully, denouncing him for all the world to see. In a flash, he had his neck gripped firmly in his left hand and hoisted off the floor. Bolt held his right hand aloft, the familiar bite of lightning chirping loudly.

His arm drew back, as his Chidori grew to an unforeseen intensity; poised and aimed to pierce Yurui's chest.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Not even Bolt, with his great speed and inhuman reaction time, could react.

Mifune's katana rested on his collarbone, drawing a thin line of blood from his neck. A figure in casual, white robes caught his right hand. Amazingly, his Chidori withered and died. Bolt recognized that mask and white hair anywhere: the Sixth Hokage, Kakashi. Four Anbu, two behind Yurui, and two behind him, appeared, weapons drawn.

"Let him go, Bolt," Kakashi commanded. Bolt was only half aware that he was gripping Yurui by the throat so hard that his mouth was frothing. His opponent had fainted almost instantly.

Bolt clenched his jaw, swallowed, and, with an almost conscious effort, commanded his hand to release Yurui. He threw him to the ground, raising both hands in the air in a gesture of non-resistance.

Mifune lowered his sword, which was good for the old man; Bolt was not in the mood to be a sheathe. He could already feel his anger bubbling back up.

Kakashi, however, didn't let him go. He seemed focussed on Bolt, for some reason. "What?" Bolt snapped.

Kakashi's eyes narrowed dangerously at the disrespectful tone, and Bolt was suddenly struck by the realization that Kakashi was, perhaps, one of the few people he _should_ fear. "Nothing," he said, his eyes closing in a false smile of reassurance. "Just that I was impressed by your technique. I never taught anyone the Raikiri. You must be very talented to recreate it."

"Thanks," Bolt muttered lamely, unable to come up with anything more meaningful to say. Praise form the Sixth Hokage _was_ flattering, no matter how thinly veiled the man's displeasure with him was.

Bolt wondered what, exactly, the difference between a Chidori and a Raikiri was. Everyone knew the story of the copycat ninja, Kakashi Hatake, master of one thousand jutsus, and how he had supposedly cut a bolt of lightning in half as it struck. That was how the technique got its name. Was it just the difference in power? Intensity? Chakra density? Voltage?

Kakashi released him, and Bolt quickly made his way back to his seat.

He spent the rest of that day's matches calming himself and quelling his anger.

* * *

It was announced that there would be a brief intermission for the tournament, lasting only a single day. It was probably for the best, Sarada thought, since she herself was feeling beaten and battered from her fight with Shinki still. Luckily, her second opponent hadn't pushed her too hard. If she had to fight someone truly strong, like Bolt, she wouldn't have had the strength or endurance to win.

Bolt was a subject of much contention in the village, at the moment. He had been vilified in the media for his actions during his match with Yurui. Being the son of the Hokage, he had been held to higher standards, and the powers that be found his conduct to be "inexcusable." Sarada scoffed. They didn't have the Sharingan to read lips, and neither Bolt nor Yurui had said a word about their verbal scuffle. But Sarada did, and she knew what was said, and while it didn't excuse Bolt from maybe-almost killing Yurui, he didn't, in the end. That was what was important.

Still, she was a little mad that he hadn't told her that he knew Chidori.

Sarada idled in front of the automatic doors of the Five Elements, waiting for them to open. They parted, and she darted inside. The clerk at the front desk didn't even bother to stop her. She and Himawari had visited Bolt enough times that the clerk knew them by name. Which wasn't _really_ hard, since Himawari was the daughter of the Hokage, and she was the last scion of the Uchiha. Their families were both famous.

Sarada felt the butterflies in her stomach beat their wings with a new intensity as she listened to the elevator music and rocked back and forth on her feet. There was a soft ding, signaling that she had arrived at the top floor. Sarada quickly navigated to the end of the hall, where Bolt's room was. She stood before the door, and hesitated.

Mentally berating herself, she forced her arm to raise and knock on the door. Sarada heard the sound of footsteps slapping against hardwood, followed by a loud crash and thud. She bit her tongue to stifle a giggle as she heard Bolt hiss in pain and curse.

Sarada wiped the smirk off her face as the door clicked, unlocked, and creaked open. One blue, blue eye stared out at her hesitantly. She could see Bolt's hesitance turn to happiness as he disappeared and undid the door chain. "Sarada!" Bolt greeted her with a smile. He looked both ways down the hall. "Where's Himawari? The two of you are usually inseparable."

"I didn't bring her today," Sarada said, clearing her throat and pushing her glasses up her nose. "I was actually, um, wondering if you wanted to train," she asked. "With me," she added. "Just the two of us. Then we could get lunch?"

Bolt blinked once. "I'll be _right_ back," he huffed out, disappearing in a blur and slamming the door.

Sarada felt her cheeks grow warm and heard the sound of running water inside Bolt's room. It took a minute, maybe two. Bolt reappeared, hair damp from the quickest shower any human had ever taken, and dressed in a black jacket and combat slacks that he had worn in his youth. Sarada watched as he looked up and down the hall, then changed his hair and eye color to a deep crimson. The two chakra scars on both his cheeks faded, leaving his skin unblemished.

"Did it work?" Bolt asked, moving his head to show both cheeks.

"Yeah," Sarada bit out. "Why do you keep using that color?"

Bolt looked at her strangely as he removed his headband—which was still masked in that clever genjutsu. "It's my clan's natural hair color. Kinda sucks that dad got grandpa's genes," he said.

Sarada's eyes narrowed as she tried to imagine a crimson-haired, crimson-eyed Seventh Hokage. She found that it didn't fit. Besides, she quite liked their blue eyes. "Somehow, I can't imagine that," she said, turning and walking down the hall.

Bolt followed her dutifully. "Yeah, dad _would_ look kinda weird. Grandma was really pretty, though," he said.

The two of them shouldered their way through the throngs of people in the streets, steadily making their way towards the forested training grounds of the Leaf. The closer they were to the training grounds, the less people there were. Some parts of the village _were_ forbidden to foreigners, after all.

The third training ground had been through a lot, since its original construction. It was host to the Third Hokage and the legendary Sannin, the famous Team 7, and, finally, Sarada and her own team. Despite Bolt's absence, Sarada, Himawari, and even Mitsuki, on occasion, had destroyed and rebuilt the grounds dozens of times over.

The scars showed. The river, once a calm stream that flowed at the opposite side of the clearing, had long since been dammed up by earth jutsu. The three logs, which had served as glorified punching dummies, were uprooted and placed on a platform of raised stone in a symbolic monument for future teams. The surrounding trees had been incinerated, uprooted, or destroyed so many times that the training ground was now triple or quadruple the size of when Bolt had last seen it.

"Wow," Bolt commented, at seeing the changes. "You guys have been busy."

"The river is Himawari's fault," Sarada commented. "She tried to create a landslide to crush me. It didn't work, of course, but both of us were too lazy to remove the debris."

Bolt laughed at that. "So, what did you want to practice? Us three are probably the favorites to win, but there is that guy from the Stone and his Lava Release," he said, mentally going over the list of people not yet disqualified from the tournament who posed a threat.

"And the girl from the Mist who can use Ice Release. I didn't know there were any surviving Yuki clansmen," Sarada said.

"Her too," Bolt commented, tapping his foot idly. "The chick from the Sand is another Magnet Release user, I think. She just doesn't use it overtly."

Sarada nodded. "I thought so. My Sharingan saw something weird with her chakra," she said.

"So, all bloodline users, besides me, Himawari, and you," Bolt said. "They have pretty much everything covered. It's a shame we don't have more time, or I could teach you a seal that _really_ messes with them."

"A seal?" Sarada asked, quizzically.

"Yeah, it disturbs someone's control of their elemental chakra. Bloodline users lose their combination elements. It takes a lot of time to learn, though," Bolt explained. At her confused look, he expounded. "I kind of stopped in the Whirlpool while I was away. The Uzukage taught me a few things."

"Really?" Sarada said. "I didn't think the Uzumaki clan had rebuilt that much so far. That's great! It also explains why we spent so much damned time in Yamato's wooden dinghy looking for you in the Land of Water..."

Bolt smiled boyishly. "Sorry about that," he apologized.

"I'll forgive you if you teach me how you learned the Raikiri," Sarada said, pushing her glasses up her nose with a haughty, aloof look.

Bolt smiled. "Sure. That's probably the best way to deal with any opponent you'll encounter, anyway," he said. "I'm not _exactly_ sure what the difference between Chidori and the Raikiri is, but I think it has to do with the sheer voltage and density of chakra."

Sarada nodded. "Chidori is weaker than Raikiri, at least, unless you've fully mastered the technique. That's what my dad said," she confirmed.

Bolt nodded and weaved the hand seals again. "I just sort of channel as much chakra as I can into my hand," he explained, electricity arcing from finger to finger. "And then force it out of my chakra points, and transform it into lightning."

Sarada repeated the motions, creating her own Chidori. She frowned. "It's not the same," she said.

"You need more chakra," Bolt said, comparing their two techniques. "Build up the chakra in your hand like a dam, then release it when the pressure is too much to control."

Sarada's eyes bled red as her Sharingan picked apart Bolt's technique, copying it and reapplying it to herself. Her Chidori faded, ever so slightly, as she began to build up her chakra again. Then, in a burst of white light, it roared back with a vengeance until the chirping sound was deafening.

Sarada and Bolt shared a quick smile with each other at her success. "Good job!" Bolt yelled to be heard over the chirping as the technique quickly faded.

The two of them stood there for a moment, just basking in their success. There was a quiet, almost inaudible, rustle in the foliage. Had Sarada not had her Sharingan active, she wouldn't have thought it out of the ordinary.

As it was, she did. "Come out!" Sarada snapped, turning and drawing a kunai. "There's no point in hiding before my eyes!"

"What are you—" Bolt was saying.

Two figures leapt out of the underbrush, garbed in the white uniform of the Cloud. They wore swords on their hips, and their identical blonde bowlcuts making them look like twins.

"This him?" Sarada heard the blonde woman ask the man.

The man looked Bolt up and down. "Yeah, it's him. The hair and eyes are different, but it's him," he said.

"Who are you and what do you want? This area is off limits to foreigners," Sarada said, adhering to protocol before doing anything brash.

"Why don't you ask the kid, little girl," the woman scoffed.

Bolt appeared next to her, whispering in her ear. "They are Samui and Atsui, swordsmen from the Cloud. Be careful," he warned.

"I didn't want to believe that you were the Hokage's kid," the woman, Samui, said. "But it turns out you were. You're lucky we couldn't put your real name in the bingo book."

Sarada's blood ran cold as she realized just what kind of situation she was in. Bolt had a _bounty_ on him. Two foreigners of obvious power, confronting them in a deserted forested area known for combat. No one would suspect a thing if they were to attack them.

"This area is off limits to foreigners," Sarada reminded them, ever the diplomat. "I suggest you leave, peacefully."

The man, Atsui, shook his head. "Your friend is a criminal, girl. He's wanted for crimes up and down the coast, in Cloud _and_ Mist. He's killed more than a handful of our Anbu. Men and women I knew personally," he said.

Sarada shook her head, not believing it.

" _You_ attacked _us_!" Bolt proclaimed. "Never the other way around! Every person we killed was in self-defense!"

"You were attacked by our Anbu because you were a menace to the peace and security of the Land of Lightning. Your little band of villainy was responsible for billions in damages to Cloud's economy," Samui stated.

Sarada's eyes narrowed as the twins' hands inched towards the hilts of their swords. "You'd start a war with the Leaf if you even touch him, or me. Our fathers are the most powerful men on the continent. Is it really worth whatever 'damage' Bolt has done?" Sarada snapped, her grip on her kunai making her knuckles turn white. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Bolt forming hand seals behind her back so their attackers couldn't see.

That seemed to give the twins pause. "Whatever wrongs he's done, you can get justice through the official channels. If he really has a bounty on him, as you've claimed, no doubt the Hokage already knows and has entered negotiations with the Cloud and Mist. Attacking us here would go against your Raikage's wishes," Sarada continued on.

The next few, tense moments made Sarada's heart hammer in her chest. The blonde twins shared a long look with each other, communicating silently. Sarada almost sighed in relief as they relaxed, their hands moving away from their swords. "We will consult our leader, but know that you will have to pay for your crimes," Samui said, fading back into the forest with her brother.

"Wait!" Sarada heard Bolt yell, causing both twins to pause.

"... Did you kill him?" Bolt asked, very quietly.

"... Yes," Atsui said solemnly.

Sarada's Sharingan forced her see the way Bolt's entire body tensed, as if physically struck. She could only wonder what had happened during the three years Bolt had spent abroad. Whatever it was, she wisely kept silent.

Samui and Atsui faded into the forest, silent as spirits.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Reviews are showing up again, yay! I think the last two chapters were the most popular so far, by far. A big thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed (especially those reviewers with the really long reviews, you're awesome!).

Kakashi lost his ability to use Raikiri when his Sharingan were taken. He developed a new technique, Lightning Release: Purple Lightning, which he uses in the novels. Think of it like the Black Lightning that Darui uses. Also, the story of the difference between Chidori and Raikiri actually comes from a Japanese fable, about a samurai whose sword (Chidori) was used to cut a bolt of lightning. He renamed it Raikiri after that.

A few people have been asking about Sasuke — he is still alive, and he's doing his atonement/duty by wandering the world and being on lookout for threats. We will see him again sometime, and he has a pretty major role in the pivotal moments of the story. There's just no need to have a POV chapter for him, and Sasuke and Naruto have their own duties to attend to.

Nami — Hikari is just chilling in the woods somewhere between the Leaf and the Land of Waves, right about now. Don't worry, we'll see her again.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks! Next chapter: the plot thickens. Literally.

\- Code Musica


	22. Chapter 22

The days passed by in a glorious blur of combat. Each round of fighting grew more intense than the last as the weak were defeated and the strong triumphed. Bolt had to admit, there were more prodigies and geniuses in the semifinals than he thought existed in the entire world. The more they fought, the more he saw them as worthy rivals. There were bloodline users of nearly every type: Ice, Lava, Boil, and even Explosion, to name a few. The girl from the Sand had finally revealed her Magnet Release, and there were two brothers from the Land of Iron whose skill with kenjutsu was downright terrifying. Bolt had watched one brother use iai to cut a Rain ninja's fingers clean off before he could even make a seal.

But that wasn't why Bolt was excited. Today was his sister's birthday. And, as it so happened, it was also the day of her third match.

* * *

Himawari leapt into the ring to the thunderous applause of the entire arena. She turned back to see her brother and her friends cheering her on, and flashed them a reassuring smile. Brushing a strand of her hair out of her eyes, she turned to the screen and waited for her opponent to be chosen.

The column of names and faces, now drastically shorter than previously, spun and spun before slowly drawing to a halt. "... versus Mitsuki, of the Leaf!"

Himawari's mouth parted in a silent gasp as the crowd went wild. It wasn't the first match between allies, but it was the first match between friends. Looking over, she could see that her brother and friends were torn on who to cheer for.

Mitsuki landed with a soft thud of boots meeting stone. The two of them locked eyes as their battlefield shifted; Himawari's side taking the form of a thick woods, Mitsuki's side becoming an inundated field of rice paddies. "Begin!" Mifune declared.

"Let's give it our best, Himawari," Mitsuki said cordially, with a slight bow.

"Yeah," Himawari agreed. "Don't go easy on me just because you're friends with my brother."

Mitsuki smiled—which was unnatural, considering how rarely he did—and took a defensive stance, his hands raised.

Himawari shot forward in a burst of speed, index fingers extended in both hands. She knew that Mitsuki's body was a little _weird_ , to say the least, but the Gentle Fist would triumph all the same. She thrust her fists forward, chakra lancing from her fingertips.

Mitsuki dodged in the most disturbing of ways. His torso could bend and twist beyond the limits of a normal man's, allowing him to contort and avoid each strike. It reminded Himawari of an owl's ability to turn its head around at angles that would normally snap a bird's neck.

She grit her teeth as Mitsuki spun, his torso winding like a spring, and slapping her with one of his arms like a whip. The sheer power behind the strike sent her rolling across the arena floor, an angry red palm on her left cheek.

"Sorry," Mitsuki apologized with a shrug.

Himawari grinned and leapt to her feet, rubbing idly at her cheek. She flashed through hand seals as Mitsuki charged her, spitting a ball of roaring fire that heated the stone of the arena floor to a pleasant cherry color.

Mitsuki responded by skidding to a stop and slamming his palm on the ground. A wisp of smoke surrounded him in an instant, solidifying into a serpent with thick, armored white scales that shielded him from the worst of the flames.

Its job done, the snake disappeared. Himawari sprinted forward and watched as Mitsuki leapt backwards, landing on a pool of water in a rice paddy. He weaved hand seals, and the water surrounding him surged upwards and coalesced into a massive serpent, its maw parted in a hiss.

Himawari slammed her palms on the ground and erected an earthen wall just as the snake struck, its jaws snapping shut and crushing stone with ease. It exploded into a spray of mist, clouding her vision. The veins in her temple writhed as her eyes faded from blue to white and her Byakugan pierced the veil of the mist.

She threw her guard up and rolled to the side as Mitsuki's arm shot through the mist. The power of his punch bodily threw her across the arena. Jumping to her feet, Himawari disappeared into her own half of the battlefield and blended into the flora.

With her Byakugan, Himawari could easily spy Mitsuki stalking forward to hunt her down. He was light on his feet as he entered the forest with caution, ready to dodge at a moment's notice. She weaved a single hand seal, a clone appearing next to her. The two girls shared a nod and a smirk as the clone descended upon Mitsuki.

Mitsuki looked up, saw Himawari's arm extended in a Gentle Fist strike, and reacted by trying to use his arm as a whip. His attack struck true, and the clone exploded into a raging inferno.

Himawari grinned as she watched her opponent hiss in pain and cradle his burnt forearm. She felt a little guilt over hurting him, but it was easy to heal. After the match, medics would have him back to new in no time.

Taking advantage of Mitsuki's momentary lapse in concentration, she leapt from the bush she had been hiding in and struck him in the arm several times with her fingers. Mitsuki leapt away before she could block more chakra points, but the damage had been done. His left arm hung limply, unable to be used. With his right arm burnt, he was all but defenseless.

"Give up?" Himawari asked politely, not a hint of arrogance in her tone.

Mitsuki just smiled, before bowling over. Himawari felt her stomach protest as she heard his jaw _crack_ as it was dislocated and broken. Her disgust intensified as another Mitsuki, slick from some kind of bodily fluid, crawled from the original's mouth. He stood, shaking his limbs to dry himself, his old body left discarded.

"That is so gross!" Himawari exclaimed.

"But extremely useful," Mitsuki informed her.

But, Himawari noted, extremely costly. It had costed her opponent nearly a third of his chakra.

"I'm afraid I can't go easy on you," Himawari heard Mitsuki say. She watched as he slammed his hand on the ground. There was an explosion of chakra and smoke as a giant, purple colored snake appeared. It towered over the trees, leering down at her.

Himawari leapt backwards, avoiding a swipe of a giant, scaled tail that uprooted trees. She slammed her own palm on the ground, summoning her own reinforcements. Gamami appeared in a wisp of smoke, nearly as large as a house, and wearing a pink kimono with a white sash. The toad needed no instruction as Mitsuki's giant serpent hissed and slithered after them.

Gamami turned and spat a blade of water at the serpent. It hissed in anger, but not pain, as its scales shielded it from all but the blunt force of the attack. Himawari erected giant palisade of earthen spikes that held the snake at bay. She saw Mitsuki riding atop the serpent's head, inhaled a great breath, and breathed fire.

Mitsuki retaliated in kind, spewing water from his lips that extinguished her attack and covered the woods in an eerie mist. Himawari knew it was futile to use fire against water, but its byproduct was to her advantage. She could see through the mist. Mitsuki could not.

Himawari's fingers fumbled with her pockets as she quickly fished out a long, ornate scroll—a gift from Bolt. She had repurposed it, turning it into a storage scroll. Its contents: copious amounts of highly flammable toad oil from Mount Myōboku. Unsealing the scroll, the muddy oil washed forward like a wave and slowly began to spread. Gamami expedited the process by spitting what oil she kept in her body.

By the time the mist cleared, there was a thin sheen of oil coating the grass. Mitsuki and his snake slithered forward as Himawari inhaled. She breathed fire, not at the snake, or Mitsuki, but at the ground.

Mitsuki's eyes were drawn to the forest floor, where he saw the telltale iridescent reflection of oil. Eyes widening, he leapt forward as a colossal explosion of heat, smoke, and fire obliterated Himawari's half of the ring.

Himawari focussed her vision on the smoke, looking for Mitsuki. If he had been caught in the blast, she would have to rescue him quickly before any permanent damage was done.

So focussed was she on her task, Himawari never bothered to look backwards—even with her Byakugan. Her body and limbs seized up as Mitsuki appeared behind her, putting her in a full-body hold with his Soft Physique Modification. He snaked an arm around her neck and held it tight. "Give up," Mitsuki said.

Himawari grit her teeth as he fought the hold. She struggled and writhed, trying to ease the pressure or wriggle out. Nothing worked. Her arms and legs started to go numb from loss of circulation. Unable to spin, she wouldn't be able to use the Hyūga's Revolving Heaven.

But she could use a precursor to it. "Gentle Fist Art: Body Blow!"

Mitsuki grunted as he was assaulted by Himawari expelling a blast of chakra from her chakra points that sent him flying backwards.

Himawari breathed deeply as the restriction on her neck was lifted. She turned and darted forward as Mitsuki was picking himself off the ground. She lunged, fingers splayed as she prepared to use the Eight Trigrams Palms and end the match.

Mitsuki gave up on getting his errant limbs to work. Instead, he opened his mouth. A sickly, green colored snake leapt out.

Himawari ignored her rising disgust for the technique and prepared to dodge. Only her Byakugan saved her as the snake's maw, in turn, parted, and a blade erupted. The air hissed as it was cut by the sword. Himawari rolled, earning a small cut on her cheek for being caught off guard. When she came to a stop, Mitsuki had swallowed the snake and was holding an ornate sword in his right hand.

He looked inordinately pleased as he brandished the sword.

Himawari yelled a battle cry and darted forward, fists swinging. She took a page out of her brother's book, using the Gentle Fist to slap away the blade of Mitsuki's sword before it could cut her. The two of them entered a chaotic melee of fists and steel that echoed across the arena. Between the dull roar of the crowd and the crackle of the raging inferno at her back, Himawari could only hear the beat of her heart as the two of them dueled for supremacy.

Eventually, Himawari began to tire. She could feel her muscles protesting her quick, jarring movements and her chakra levels was beginning to bottom out. She could feel the early onset symptoms of chakra exhaustion setting in as a headache began to throb in her skull. She needed to end the match. Now.

Darting forward, she feigned weakness and left her guard open. As expected, Mitsuki took the bait and slashed at her exposed shoulder. Steel met stone, exposing her skin that had been colored a dark brown from her Earth Release: Earth Spear. From the widening of her opponent's eyes, Himawari knew she had won.

She slammed her palm against Mitsuki's thigh. There was a wisp of smoke, followed by the sound of shattering rock. When the dust settled, Mitsuki was pinned beneath a giant toad of stone. The toad had long ago been petrified, locked in the same tranquil meditative pose for all eternity. And he was _heavy._

Mitsuki found that out the hard way as he tried, in vain, to free his pinned leg. The statue was simply too heavy to lift. He was trapped, but not hurt. His legs had turned soft at the last moment, preventing his bones from being broken.

Himawari darted forward, intending to end the match once and for all with the Gentle Fist.

But Mitsuki never gave up. He brandished his sword once more, keeping her at bay. The minutes dragged on, and Himawari realized that he wasn't trying to defeat her, merely stall her. Before she could even question why, her vision began to swim in her eyes.

Himawari staggered backwards, clutching at her head. "What?" Himawari stuttered.

She heard Mitsuki sigh in relief. "I was beginning to think you were immune," he said. "The Uzumaki vitality is a frightening thing."

Himawari collapsed to her knees as she was overcome with the violent urge to vomit. Her eyes were drawn to her opponent, who held his sword in front of her. It resembled a double-edged jian, with a hilt of gold and an emerald set in the crossguards. "Kusanagi is a dangerous weapon," Mitsuki explained. "Especially when coated in poison."

The cut on her cheek suddenly felt as if it was a much more serious wound. "Don't worry," Mitsuki said. "It's a strong paralytic. Nothing harmful."

Himawari took a deep, shuddering breath. She hadn't lost yet. She couldn't lose. She had the honor and pride of her family on her shoulders. Reaching deep within, she gathered the last vestiges of her chakra.

She stood, and raised an arm above her head. An orb of whirring, white-blue chakra coalesced in the palm of her hand. Then, to the amazement of everyone in the arena, it began to turn yellow as flames licked at the chakra. In moments, it had turned into a miniature sun. "Fire Release: Rasen—" Himawari roared, as she collapsed forward and promptly fell unconscious.

Her last sight was that of her technique rushing forward, a barely contained sphere of raging flames.

* * *

"No way!" Sarada yelled as she leapt from her seat.

She was on the edge of her seat the entire match as she watched the climax of her two friends' fight. She, like everyone else, was amazed upon seeing the beginnings of a technique that was famed throughout the ninja world: Rasenshuriken.

But not made of wind. _Made of fire._

The miniature sun roared forward, billowing flame and smoke. Sarada wondered when, exactly, Himawari had gotten so strong. Strong enough to begin developing her own S-rank technique. Although she couldn't hear what Himawari had called it, there had been little doubt in her mind what it was.

Had the situation not been so dire, Sarada would have laughed at the look of sheer disbelief on Mitsuki's normally stoic face.

Then, fire turned to smoke and impotent heat as the technique unraveled.

Sarada saw the medics, who had been scrambling in a mad dash to get into the ring after seeing Himawari form the technique, sag with visible relief.

"Winner: Mitsuki, of the Leaf!" Mifune declared, to the raucous cheering of the crowd.

Sarada collapsed back into her chair with a relieved sigh that neither of them had been hurt. Her Sharingan told her that Himawari was going to be suffering from a nasty case of chakra exhaustion sickness, and Mitsuki would need his pinned leg to be looked at by a medic, but otherwise, they had come out unscathed.

She looked over and saw Bolt, his eyes darting back between his sister and their teammate. Sarada frowned. His expression was torn, as if between pride and envy.

* * *

Bolt sat in the corner of Himawari's room as she slept off her exhaustion. He idly perused the contents of the Uzukage's scroll once more. The looks Sarada's mother gave him for reading a "blank" scroll were forcing him to bite his lip to not laugh. Sakura held her hands over his sister's chest, her palms glowing a soft green color.

He was looking for a seal that could heal, recuperate, or, at the very least, transfer, chakra to his sister. It was her birthday; she didn't deserve to be bedridden with chakra exhaustion. There were a few seals that could help, but they required an enormous amount of preparation. Days and countless archaic sealing matrices that could fill several books. Nothing that would help _today._

As luck would have it, Bolt didn't need to do anything. Himawari blinked sleepily as Sakura finished healing her. He furled the scroll and quickly stored it in the seal on his forearm before coming to his sister's bedside.

"Hey, sis," Bolt said, smiling down at her. Sakura quietly left with a silent wave and a small smile.

Himawari stared up at him, blinking slowly. "I lost, didn't I," she said.

Bolt sighed. "Yeah, you did," he said.

He instantly regretted saying those words as his sister's chin began to quiver and her eyes grew wet with unshed tears. Bolt did the one thing he always did when confronted with an upset, crying sister. He panicked. "It's okay, though! You were really strong! And that jutsu at the end! Wow," Bolt exclaimed cheerfully.

Himawari's brows narrowed, and she sniffled a few times. But she didn't cry. Bolt sighed in relief. He hated to see her cry. "I," Himawari bit out. "I just wanted to make you and dad proud."

Bolt _laughed._ "I am proud of you, Hima," he said, through fits of giggles. "More than you know. I was trained by dangerous people in a foreign land pursued by even more dangerous people. I'm strong. Really strong. But you're just as strong. I don't know if I could beat you if we had to fight," he said.

Well, technically, he knew the answer to that. His sister would give him one small, sad look during their fight and that would be the end of him. He'd cave and do anything she demanded.

Himawari smiled brightly. "And that jutsu at the end! Come on, even I haven't gotten around to applying nature transformation to the Rasengan! When did you have time to create _that?_ " Bolt asked.

"I wanted to impress dad," Himawari said. "He had been busy at the office lately, so I was going through old history books. I found a couple of accounts from the war from people who had seen the technique, and went from there."

"Of course," Himawari giggled. "The hard part was developing it away from Sarada. I was saving it to use on her one day, during our spars."

Then she frowned. "It's not finished, yet," she said. "It always comes apart as soon as I throw it. It's like it's missing something."

Bolt smiled and gave her a thumbs up. "Don't worry about it," he proclaimed. "You'll master it with some practice, I know it!"

Himawari returned his smile. "Thanks, brother," she whispered.

Bolt chuckled happily. "I know what will make you feel better!" Bolt exclaimed. "I learned a trick, wanna see?"

Himawari nodded eagerly as Bolt pulled her to her feet. "Come on," he said, leading her downstairs, carefully avoiding the kitchen and living room where he knew their mother was decorating for her party, and into their backyard.

Their house was nice, larger than most, but still small compared to what someone of the Hokage's level of importance would own. His dad always said being humble was a good trait. He wasn't Hokage for the benefits. Their backyard was well kept and spacious, surrounded by trimmed bushes. There were beds of flowers dotting the yard, but the largest and most well kept of all was a patch of towering sunflowers.

Bolt scooped up a trowel and a small terracotta pot on his way out the door, Himawari on his heels. He led her over to the sunflowers and kneeled, scooping a little bit of soil into the pot. He handed it to his sister, who looked at him quizzically. Bolt flashed her a smile and stood, before carefully stealing a seed from the heart of one of the tallest flowers.

Bolt placed the seed on the surface of the soil and took his sister's hand. "Watch," he said, as he pushed her finger down, burying the seed. He began to mould his chakra and channel it through his finger, through his sister's, and into the seed.

Himawari made a small, surprised noise in the back of her throat as she felt the seed burst and begin to grow. Bolt withdrew their hands, as the sprout of a sunflower grew. Bolt gently touched the stalk, allowing more of his Yang chakra to fuel the flower's growth.

Bolt smiled as Himawari made an excited, squealing noise as the faintest tint of yellow began to appear on the bud. Satisfied, he withdrew his finger and allowed his Yang chakra to fade away.

"How did you do that!" Himawari demanded, clutching at the pot and staring at the sprout in wonder.

Bolt just smiled. "It's a secret," he answered, seriously. "Your brother is just that awesome!"

Himawari threw a small tantrum. Bolt laughed. "Maybe I'll teach you, one day," he offered.

She nodded enthusiastically and hugged him, carefully holding the potted sunflower behind Bolt's back. "I love you, Bolt," Himawari said.

"I love you too, sis," Bolt said, affectionately patting her head. He inwardly smiled on a job well done as he successfully cheered his sister up. "I can always beat Mitsuki up, you know," he whispered, like it was a secret. "If you want me to," he added.

Himawari giggled and shook her head as they walked back to the house. "I'll be the one to do _that_ ," Himawari declared darkly, her brows narrowing as her lips turned upwards in a feral smirk. Bolt began to feel sorry for his pasty friend. "I refuse to accept loss by _poison_. When I'm through with him—"

"Happy birthday!"

Himawari jumped, startled, as the two of them entered the house. With reflexes honed in countless missions, Bolt snatched the potted sunflower before it could crash to the floor. Himawari quickly stole it back, cradling it as if it was precious.

Assembled in front of them were all their friends; Shikadai, Inojin, Chōchō, Metal Lee, Sarada, even Mitsuki—who had the good graces to look uncomfortable—and a handful of Himawari's friends from the Academy who she didn't see on a regular basis. Sarada's mother was there, along with Bolt's own. And, to Bolt's and Himawari's great excitement, their dad was there.

Naruto, the Seventh Hokage, had taken the day off during a very busy, very important event in the village to attend his daughter's birthday party. Bolt smiled. The guests gave Himawari their well wishes, much to her glee. Bolt's smile grew as his sister bounced around the room, the sunflower still cradled in her arms.

"You are adorable sometimes," Sarada said, next to him.

Bolt scoffed. "Am not," he countered. Sarada said nothing. She just smirked and pushed her glasses up her nose. "And it's not nice to spy," Bolt said, indignantly. Sarada grinned.

The hours passed with smiles and laughs. There was food, drinks, gifts given. Friends talked about small, inconsequential things. Himawari spent half her time glued to their father's side, and the other half flitting around between everyone.

Bolt felt the weight of melancholy settle on his shoulders as he observed his sister's party. He was reminded of just how out of place he was. He had loose ties to Sarada, but even there, their friendship was strained. Awkward silences filled with unspoken questions neither had the courage to ask. Mitsuki was as stoic as always, and was the closest person to his situation. Himawari seemed to catch onto him, as she spent more and more time trying to get him involved. She introduced him to her friends, who had only ever heard of him, and never seen.

Everyone seemed to gravitate towards the dining room table as the celebrations reached their climax. Himawari sat at the head of the table, with Bolt sitting to her left. The seat to her right was reserved for their dad, and their mom sat next to him. The rest of their friends gathered around the table; some sitting, some standing.

Then they began to sing as Naruto sheepishly peered out from the kitchen, the glow of fire illuminating his face. "Happy birthday to you~" Bolt sang, adding his voice to the chorus as their dad brought out her cake. Fourteen candles' flames danced as their dad smiled and sang along.

There was a pop and a crash, followed by silence. Bolt watched with dead eyes as his sister's birthday cake was haphazardly thrown from its platter, breaking upon the table. The dish itself shattered as it broke on the edge of the table. Bolt raised his head ever so slowly, his eyes catching the faint wisps of smoke where their father had just been standing and singing.

A whimpering sound drew his attention back to reality. Bolt turned, to his horror, to find his sister gazing at the floor, doing her best to hold back her tears.

Bolt saw red.

He stood abruptly, sending his chair skidding backwards and tipping over as he stormed for the door. He wasn't even consciously aware that he had slid his boots on. It was all just one long blur of anger and hate that blotted out everything else.

His heart hammered in his chest so hard that it pained him. His breaths came fast and shallow, and his body became unbearably warm. He felt his chakra roar to life like a raging fire. Energy coursed through every fiber of his being as he strode down the main road, shoving people out of his way.

His hands shook as he weaved hand seals.

* * *

Sarada dashed out behind Bolt, Mitsuki right behind her. "Bolt, wait!" Sarada called out. Either he didn't hear her, or he didn't care. In a burst of speed, she closed the gap between them and grasped his shoulder. She yanked, trying to get his attention.

Bolt cast her off with a backwards wave of his arm, knocking her to the ground roughly. "Bolt, please! Stop!" Sarada yelled. She could _feel_ his chakra. It rolled off him in waves; hot, angry, electric. It was the sharp sting of ozone before the lightning struck. The calm before the literal storm.

Sarada heard Mitsuki muttering rushed apologies as Bolt violently threw a civilian aside as he continued to march forward. Eventually, people took heed and cleared a path. They cleared the paved road and strolled into the city square, at the fore of which, was the Hokage's office complex.

When Bolt began to weave hand seals, that was when Sarada's heart began to flutter in her chest. She raised her arm to stop him, and gasped as Bolt inhaled a great breath of air. When he exhaled, the world knew the meaning of Water Release. He spat roaring tidal wave of water forth that was taller and wider than the Hokage's office was. It swept away the building in a single wave, causing the whole structure to collapse.

People screamed in fear and terror as the waters rose like the tide, destroying nearby buildings. Sarada cursed, and weaved hand seals. She spat a great ball of fire that evaporated a small portion of the water jutsu, but did little else. Sometimes, she cursed not being born with a more versatile elemental nature. Fire and lightning were only good for one thing: destruction.

"Mitsuki!" Sarada cried. Her teammate was already flashing through hand seals. He kneeled and slammed his palms on the ground. Earthen walls erupted, boxing in the water and stemming the damage.

Then Sarada felt the air grow restless. Bolt was weaving more hand seals. "Bolt, no!" Sarada screamed.

Too late.

Lightning arced forth, angry and hissing and chirping. It danced across the waves, incinerating timber and scorching stone. She heard Mitsuki grunt as his earthen barricades were crumbling under the sheer intensity of Bolt's lightning jutsu.

Sarada sighed in relief, visibly sagging, as the Hokage appeared. He was wreathed in golden chakra with nine tails sprouting from his back. In each of the tails he held a person. Among them, Sarada spotted Shizune, Shikamaru, Moegi, and Udon. All safe, all unharmed.

Bolt ceased both jutsu. Sarada felt a shiver run down her spine at the sheer look of thunderous, righteous anger that marred Bolt's normally fair features. It was matched by an equally stern look from the Hokage. In that moment, Sarada felt the icy cold tendrils of dread claw at her heart.

* * *

"You _bastard_!" Bolt spat at his father. How dare he. How fucking dare he.

"Bolt," Naruto said, staring at him with barely restrained disappointment. "Go home, now. Stay there and don't leave. You're under house arrest."

People were starting to gather, but Bolt didn't care. "You made her cry!" Bolt roared, his chakra rapidly rising in preparation for the fight knew was coming. There was nothing, and no one, that would keep him from literally beating sense into his dumbass father.

Naruto sighed, and his tails moved to free the people he had rescued. "You've broken at least a dozen different laws in the past five minutes, Bolt," he said. "Don't make this harder on yourself."

Bolt grinned manically. Without hand seals, without drawing a breath, without a word, he spat a lance of pressurized water at his father's face. Naruto dodged with ease. Bolt frowned, hoping that would catch him off guard. The last person to see that jutsu had him bound and gagged. It was the last sight he saw as the bolt of water pierced his skull. He was hoping for a repeat.

Naruto audibly sighed, his head lolling. "The hard way, then," he said.

Bolt's blood _sang_ as he darted forward. He was a blur of feet pounding on pavement as he closed the gap in an instant and swung his fist. His chakra lashed out, angry and more than willing to deliver its harsh bite.

Naruto moved to the side and a tail of golden chakra struck Bolt in the chest, knocking the wind from him. Bolt staggered backwards, before rushing forward and throwing fist after fist at his father's face. His anger gave him the strength to fight through the pain, even as Naruto continued to effortlessly dodge every punch and hit him with debilitating strikes with his chakra tails.

Bolt drew quick, ragged breaths as blood ran down his chin. His nose was broken, but he didn't feel a thing. He could taste metal, but didn't remember biting his tongue. With a battle cry, he tried to attack his father again. His Gentle Fist sent lances of chakra arcing out, threatening to impale his opponent.

Naruto slapped them all aside, not moving an inch, and striking Bolt repeatedly with his chakra cloak's tails. Bolt fought through the pain even as he felt bones groan and break under the weight of the Nine Tail's chakra. Every wound burned like it was coated in acid.

Bolt grunted as one tail swept him off his feet, and another slammed into his chest. He felt a rib break and the pavement crack under the force of the attack. For a few long, tense moments, Bolt laid prone. The aches and pains he had ignored in his fit of anger were slowly making themselves known.

Naruto loomed over him; judge, jury, and executioner. In that moment, against the might of the Nine Tails' power, Bolt knew that he could never win a fight against his father. At least, not one in which he wasn't allowed to win. He was simply too strong. Too fast. Too durable. The only way he would win was by trickery.

And, as it just so happened, he was a master of deception.

Bolt threw himself to his feet, staggering away from his father. Naruto was content to stand, still as a statue, and watch him. Good. Very good. Bolt drew in quick, ragged breaths as he tried to regain some of his strength.

He'd need it.

* * *

Sarada felt tears roll down her cheek as the Hokage ruthlessly beat Bolt into submission. As he hauled his bloodied body away, she felt an overwhelming sadness consume her. Why had the two of them ended up this way? As, as much as she hated to say it, enemies?

She watched as Bolt collapsed to his knees, several yards from Naruto. He had yet to move from his spot. Several Anbu leapt from the roofs, descending into the city square. A pair moved in on Bolt.

"Stop," the Hokage commanded. They did. "I'll handle this," he said with a wave, taking a painfully slow step forward.

Sometimes, Sarada cursed her clan's bloodline. The Sharingan seared what happened next into her memory. She wouldn't forget it until her dying day, she knew.

Bolt turned, furious, a snarl of rage on his lips. He held an arm aloft, and she could both feel and see his chakra bottom out dangerously. A sphere of angry, whirling, raging chakra appeared in his hand.

Then it grew.

Larger and larger until it was as large as a house. It started out blue, then turned white in its intensity. There was a dull roar coming from the Rasengan; the telltale whine the technique made amplified hundreds of times over. Like a howling wind.

Then it shrank.

It shrank until it was no larger than her own fist, and Bolt _hurled_ it. Her Sharingan memorized the Hokage's face as his eyes widened in surprise and his lips parted in a silent gasp as the technique left the palm of Bolt's hand.

Then, as if it was some half mastered D-rank technique performed by an Academy student, the Rasengan _vanished_ into thin air. Naruto allowed his golden cloak of chakra to fade, a small smile turning his lips upwards. Sarada couldn't hear what he was saying, but her eyes read lips. "—both my children learning Rasenshuriken—"

But Sarada ignored his words. Placed them in the back of her mind. Because the Rasengan had vanished to everyone.

To everyone but her.

Bolt's chakra shone like lightning to her eyes as it continued on its path towards its victim. She saw Bolt raise his head to glare at his father, at the world. His features were twisted into a pleased, wrathful expression of victory. Naruto's slowly twisted into one of—not quite fear, but _anxiety_.

Then the Rasengan struck the Hokage, without his golden chakra cloak, and buried him under the rubble of his office.

Bolt _laughed._

Sarada screamed.

* * *

Bolt laughed.

He did it. He actually did it. The mighty Seventh Hokage, feared as the strongest ninja on the continent, beaten by him.

Bolt stared down at the wreckage of the Hokage's tower. He could see his father lying in the rubble. His clothes were torn and shredded, and his body bloodied, but he was alive. His eyes drifted south, studying the inky black markings on his father's abdomen.

His eyes widened, as he saw something that he had only ever seen in reference in the Uzukage's scroll. The Four Symbols Seal. Two of them, in fact, forming a seal of which he had no knowledge of.

"You're pathetic," Bolt spat, unaware that Naruto couldn't hear him. Hot, angry tears ran down his cheeks. He didn't notice. He didn't care. "A leech. A parasite. Without the fox, you'd be less than nothing! That's the only reason you became Hokage!" Bolt screamed, trying desperately to make his father hurt as much as he himself did.

Bolt's eyes flitted back and forth, as if looking for some response. He got none. His chest heaved for air, and not from exertion. He was only vaguely aware that he was sobbing. He didn't care. "If you care so much about the Leaf," he raged. "Then I'll destroy it! Maybe then you'll realize who you should really care about, you bastard!"

His eyes stung from crying. Bolt scoffed and spat on the ground. "You're no father of mine," he said.

Anger and adrenaline rapidly waning, Bolt came face-to-face with the consequences of his actions. Crowds had gathered; friends, comrades, civilians. Anbu were closing in all around him, though most of them were more concerned with seeing to their defeated Hokage than dealing with Bolt himself.

Time seemed to slow for Bolt. He was struck by a vivid clarity in that moment. Everyone had their eyes on him. He could read their emotions and thoughts as easily as he could read a book. There were a few faces contorted in anger. Mostly the Anbu. Bolt could see it in their eyes. Even more, especially his friends, marred by sorrow and confusion. Sarada was sobbing as she looked at him.

But, there was emotion prevalent above all.

Fear.

The villages looked to him with fear. Their faces were haggard and shadowed, as if seeing a nightmare come to life. The older they were, the more terrified they were. He could see children hiding behind their mother's dresses, or clinging to the legs of their fathers. An elderly couple seated at a bench were quaking. The old man clutched his cane like a lifeline.

It wasn't the attention Bolt wanted. It wasn't the attention he needed. But, perhaps, it was the attention he deserved.

And, in that one moment of terrifying, sickening clarity, Bolt realized something.

He liked it.

* * *

Sarada watched as Bolt ran. He was so _fast_. In moments, he was gone.

"Sarada!"

Sarada saw her teacher, Konohamaru, shaking her. "Pull yourself together," he commanded, with a hiss. "We have to track Bolt down. It's our duty."

She nodded. "Mitsuki!" Konohamaru yelled, breaking off in a sprint and pulling Sarada along. Her eyes drifted as Mitsuki ran beside them. Her eyes caught a familiar tuft of brown hair chasing them. He was masked by a white, porcelain cat mask. Anbu.

"I'm coming with you," the Anbu said.

Konohamaru nodded. "Right," he agreed.

Their chase led them to the outskirts of the city, and then into the forest beyond.

"How is he still running?" Mitsuki yelled, over the roar of the wind as they sprinted through the forest. Sarada wondered that herself. He had used a lot of chakra in his Rasengan.

"I don't know," the cat Anbu said. "But it doesn't matter," he stated.

"We'll find him," Konohamaru stated with certainty.

* * *

Bolt fought through the pain and weariness as he leapt through the trees. He had, quite by accident, discovered a "secret" of Yang chakra: it kept you going, even when you shouldn't. You could forgo food, drink, and sleep for days if you focussed on using your Yang chakra to fuel your body. It wasn't healthy, but it could save your life in a pinch.

Say, if your friends were pursuing you through a forest for attacking the military leader of your country.

At random intervals, Bolt activated his Byakugan to both make sure he wasn't caught unawares by his old team, and to make sure he was on the right path.

It was many hours later, when the sun was rising, that Bolt burst through the underbrush into a small clearing.

He was promptly pinned to the ground, a needle pressed against his neck. He stared up into the slitted eyes of a porcelain hunter mask.

Then he fell into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

 **A/N:**

And so, Bolt's next chapter in his character development begins as he heads out from the Leaf once more.

SPOILERS — What did you all think of Mitsuki's backstory? I'm a little torn on it. Just seems like Orochimaru is up to no good, again. Also, why is he now a woman? How did this happen, Kishi? As for how this new information affects the story: I'm debating not having Mitsuki know Sage Mode right off the bat. Maybe he has some lingering memory issues, maybe he hasn't fully mastered it (his physical appearance lends to that assumption). We'll see. — SPOILERS

A few things: last chapter I referred to Shinki as the nephew of the Kazekage, meaning he was Kankuro's son (which, to be honest, he probably is). If he isn't, as in the new manga proves he isn't, well, just pretend. This chapter Mitsuki used the Sword of Kusanagi, which was sealed inside Itachi's deus ex machina giga overpowered Susano'o sword. Headcanon says that Orochimaru found a way to get it back. He's just that good.

Thanks for reading! If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!


	23. Chapter 23

Hikari was having, in her opinion, an adequate day. Notions such as "good" or "bad" weren't a facet of reality, in her mind. After many long, grueling, uneventful weeks of hiking through mountainous and forested terrain, she had finally arrived on the wooded plains of the Land of Waves.

It was a pleasant country. The sea breeze blew inland, courtesy of a strong northern wind that blew from the Land of Wind. The air tasted of salt and was refreshingly cool. The thick, leafy trees that covered most of the Land of Fire gave way to the willowy pines that made up the majority of the vegetation in the Land of Waves, and the Land of Rivers to the west.

She sighed as she sat around her crackling campfire. She had promised Bolt that she would stay in the general vicinity for two months. If, at the end of such time, he had not came and found her, then she would continue on her journey. Hikari mentally plotted her course in her mind; she would go west to the Land of Rivers, then venture north, following the rivers for which the country was named, until she arrived in the Land of Rain.

The Land of Rain had been nothing short of a country filled with anarchy for decades. The Leaf, Stone, and Sand all waged war in the small nation during the First, Second, and Third wars. Its people were slaughtered and their homes razed, only to rebuild and have the process repeat itself again. They were blessed—or cursed, depending on who you asked—with powerful leaders for several years, only for them to be violently cast down.

Hanzo the Salamander led the country for years in the wakes of the Second and Third wars, doing his best to keep his homeland above water; both metaphorically and literally. Hikari spared a moment to indulge in a short, controlled fit of laughter. She would master the art of humor yet.

The Rain's leader was then murdered in his old age, only to be replaced by what their history books referred to as "the God." Said deity watched over the country for a time, and it knew a brief peace. Then, their god died. His second-in-command rose to power, dubbed "the Angel." She was murdered not days after assuming the post.

In the vacuum of power following the Angel's death, the country had borne witness to three civil wars. Bickering nobility and ninjas from a bygone age all fighting over who should rule their country. And it continued on, just like that, since the end of the Fourth war.

And that was her destination. The one place left in all the continent where an orphan like her, who had only known death and bloodshed, could call home.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Hikari prodded the campfire with a stick, watching as embers drifted skyward. She hoped that Bolt decided to go with her. It was selfish, she knew. He had a family, and a home, to go back to. She did not. But, somehow, the fool had won her friendship. A thing she hadn't been aware she could possess. There were no such things as "friends" in the hunter corps. The Mist took only the strong. The strong were not bound by their petty emotions. The strong did not have friends. Only tools.

Sighing, Hikari leaned back against the trunk of the tree she was resting against and closed her eyes. The next time she awoke, it was to the sound of pounding feet and the rustle of brush as someone tore through the forest.

She was instantly alert. Years of rigid discipline and extreme training kept her sleep light. She was never truly "tired." Hikari doused the fire with a quick water jutsu, and drew a needle from one of her many pouches. Her ears strained in the twilight of the dawn, listening for potential enemies.

Suddenly, a figure burst into her camp. In an instant, she had swept his legs out from underneath him and pinned him to the ground. She held her needle to the man's neck, drawing a thin line of blood. She stayed her hand as her mind caught up with her instincts. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Chakra scars on the cheeks. Bolt. Ally. Friend.

Hikari withdrew her weapon, but Bolt was already unconscious. Sighing, she noticed something she hadn't early. Blood. Lots of it. Hissing, she quickly got off him and cut his shirt away. His entire torso was covered with sickly yellow-purple bruises. In several places the skin was broken, freely bleeding. The worst injury was a rib that had broken through the flesh.

She rolled her eyes as she set to work. Typical. Just because there was a medic on hand, men had the notion that they could injure themselves as much as they wanted without fear of irreparable damage.

Hikari's hands glowed green as she ran her fingers over the numerous cuts and bruises. Her brows narrowed under her mask as the wounds resisted her technique. _That_ was strange. The body's natural instinct is to repair itself. The Mystic Palm technique stimulated the body's natural Yang chakra, which facilitated that process and sped it up with a healthy influx of the healer's own chakra.

It would take something especially _foul_ to impede the natural order of nature. A poison, or a disease. She had a vague knowledge of Bolt's medical history, as his—and every other Crimson Tide member's—primary care provider. That ruled out diseases.

So, poison.

Hikari was sure there was an interesting story behind that. Slowly, but surely, she extracted the poison from his body. It truly was foul. Goosebumps broke up and down her arm as she extracted, dissipated, and subjugated it. And, slowly, Bolt's naturally powerful Yang chakra began to heal him of his wounds.

She set his broken rib, moving it back into place with an advanced medical jutsu. Making a makeshift splint out of branches and a few strips of cloth cut from his already ruined shirt, Hikari ensured he wouldn't undo the work she had already done.

Then came the waiting. The sun had already begun its trek into the sky, and Bolt looked like he had sprinted from the Leaf to the Land of Waves in a single night. He probably wouldn't be waking any time soon.

That left Hikari with plenty of time to ponder what exactly happened to her friend. He had obviously been attacked, but the Land of Fire had the lowest crime rate in all the nations. And, after all that they had been through together, she didn't think just _any_ ninja could harm Bolt. He was too powerful. It had to be someone truly strong, or he let himself be injured.

Possibility one: he had been wounded during the Shinobi Union World Tournament—which she had been following, buying newspapers at the small villages she ran across—and had, for some reason, ran to her for treatment. Unlikely. The medics in the Leaf were, as much as it pained her to admit, much more skilled than she was. Tsunade of the Sannin, and her heir, Sakura Uchiha.

No, that wasn't it.

Possibility two: his identity had been discovered as a rogue member of the Crimson Tide, and he had been attacked by Cloud and Mist operatives. Unlikely. The Leaf was his home, and due to the tournament, would have heightened security. The Cloud and Mist would not risk an international incident over one small thorn in their side.

That wasn't it, either.

Possibility three: he had been attacked by allies. He wouldn't have been on guard against them, and would explain him being wounded by inferior opponents. Since they would be agents of the Leaf, he wouldn't feel safe staying and would flee to seek medical treatment. Her.

Possible.

If that was the case, they would follow standard asset recovery protocols. Send a team to recover him. Those were dreaded words in the Mist. When the hunter corps came for you, they only brought one thing back: your head.

Hikari wasn't familiar with the Leaf's standard protocol. Better safe than sorry. She quickly packed up her few worldly belongings and went about eradicating her presence and campsite.

Then, she gently scooped Bolt into her arms and made her way into the Land of Waves proper. The only entrance, and exit, to the island nation was a large bridge. Looking up, she silently muttered the name under her breath. "The Great Naruto Bridge."

How ironic.

* * *

Bolt groaned as he felt the first wisps of conscious thought arc through his brain. His body felt like it had been scorched and charred before being crushed. He flinched as sunlight filtered through a window and spilled across his eyes. With great effort, he threw a hand over his face. He sighed in relief as he was plunged back into the darkness.

"Don't move," a soft voice whispered.

Bolt smiled. He had thought that was just a dream, brought on by exhaustion and delirium. It wasn't.

"And don't grin, you fool," Hikari chided him. "I should charge you for services rendered."

Bolt laughed. The action sent pain rippling through his chest. "I said don't move," Hikari scolded him.

"What's the prognosis, doc?" Bolt quipped.

Hikari sighed audibly. "Contusions covering most of the thorax and abdomen, as well as numerous lacerations. You suffered a compound fracture of your eighth rib, and appeared to have been poisoned," she informed him.

"That sounds about right," Bolt commented, after a moment of reflection.

Hikari _sighed_. "Do I even want to know," she muttered.

"You're going to ask anyway," Bolt said. Hikari made an exasperated noise.

Bolt went silent as the ramifications of his actions hit him. He had said things, things he could never take back. Things that made him a traitor. Things that the Leaf would never let him get away with saying.

He had also ruined any chance of ever mending the rift in their family. Well, Bolt mused, the rift between himself and his family. Maybe, in time, his sister, mother, and father would grow closer. But never him. He was the black sheep. The odd one out. The disgraced failure. The stain on the Hokage's name.

And now there was no way to change that. He had dug his grave, and now he had to lie in it. He was Bolt Uzumaki, rogue ninja of the Leaf. He would never see his home again. It was highly unlikely he would see his sister again.

Bolt blinked as a few stray tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He was not going to cry. Absolutely not. He had done that already. And in front of hundreds of people, too. So he did the only thing he could do. He took those emotions, and be bottled them up. He crammed them in a bottle, then hid that bottle in a box. He locked that box, and then chained it shut. After that, he sealed it in a scroll. And then he took that scroll and buried it on some spit of sand in the middle of the Land of Water, never to be seen—or felt—again.

"I messed up," Bolt explained. "I was just so angry. I didn't know what came over me. Before I realized what happened, I attacked my—the Hokage." He wouldn't say father. That man was not his father. He didn't care about him, or any of their family.

Hikari didn't say anything, but Bolt knew she was still there. He bit his lip as his mind turned towards the future. What now. "Where are we?" Bolt asked, after several long minutes of companionable silence.

"The Land of Waves," Hikari answered.

"My old team was chasing me when I found you in the forest. Have you had any trouble with them?" Bolt asked.

"No," Hikari said. "I rented a room in an inn, and haven't left since. That was three days ago."

Bolt sighed. Konohamaru was an experienced jōnin, Sarada had her Sharingan, and Mitsuki's skillset was impressive. The Anbu, who Bolt was near certain the Wood Release jōnin who had tried to "rescue" him, would no doubt be the most troublesome.

First things first. He needed to rest and recover.

"To the Rain, then?" Bolt asked.

Hikari nodded, making an affirmative noise.

* * *

Sarada stared into their campfire, nervously tapping her fingers on her knees. They had been chasing Bolt's shadow for nearly five days. He had been at a dead sprint for nearly the first fifteen hours of the chase, and didn't slow. Eventually, their group could take no more and were forced to rest. Since then, he had been a ghost.

"We need to make a plan," Yamato said suddenly, drawing the attention of their small group.

Konohamaru nodded, while Sarada stayed silent. Mitsuki was quiet and focussed, unlike his normal aloof stoicism. "Given that Bolt should have been exhausted and wounded after his fight with the Hokage, there is only one possible explanation for how he has continued to evade us: he has help. Likely, he rendezvoused with an acquaintance that survived the purge of the Crimson Tide," Yamato explained.

"That means he won't be alone, and could have one or more allies to assist him if he chooses to resist capture. Given the nature of the downfall of his old mercenary company, I doubt that there would be more than one or two survivors. Still, we should plan for the worst and hope for the best," he said. Sarada's mind went back to her brief confrontation with the masked girl on the sandy beaches of that atoll in the middle of the Land of Water. She seemed strong. Strong enough to survive.

"From our previous encounters with the mercenaries, and intel provided by Sai, we can narrow down our list of possible allies Bolt has. Likely, he would have a combination of one or more of the following people," Yamato said, pulling out a thin, black book. "Eiji Yagami, their leader, specialized in Cloud style taijutsu and various lightning ninjutsu. Hikari Yagami, their second-in-command and chief medical officer, specialized in medical ninjutsu, water ninjutsu, and chakra enhanced taijutsu. Takeo, no surname, specialized in water ninjutsu and Cloud style taijutsu. Hiroki, also no surname, specialized in water ninjutsu and a possible sensor."

"They're all powerful opponents," Konohamaru commented, remembering his fight with the men called Takeo and Hiroki.

Yamato nodded. "Our priority should be the arrest and capture of Bolt. Once he is secured, we can retreat. We'll try diplomacy first," he said, with a nod to Sarada. "And, if that fails, force."

"How can you be sure we will be the ones to find him?" Mitsuki asked.

"I've called for Anbu reinforcements and scattered them throughout the region. They are instructed to call for backup upon sighting him, and I have yet to receive the signal. That, and I believe that he and his compatriots are in hiding somewhere in the Land of Waves. Bolt would have been too injured to continue on at a pace to outrun us. Likely, they would have holed up until he healed," Yamato explained.

The group fell silent as they mulled over that information. Yes, Sarada thought, that was likely. Bolt and that masked woman would hide in the Waves until he had recovered from the fight with the Hokage. Then, they would disappear. And she'd never see him again.

"I think it would be prudent for the two of us," Konohamaru said, looking at Yamato. "To fight Bolt, if it came down to that. Sarada and Mitsuki will handle whoever his ally, or allies, are."

Yamato nodded. "Right," he agreed. "Here's what we'll do..."

Sarada had a bad feeling. A nervous anxiety in the pit of her stomach. A coldness in her extremities. That night, she dreamed of Bolt and Naruto fighting. But it didn't end peacefully. It ended with Bolt, bloody and broken, laying before the Hokage wreathed in golden chakra.

The next morning, they made their way south and hid in the trees overlooking the Great Naruto Bridge. And, in the god forsaken hours of the early morning, when a pervasive mist clung to the bridge, two figures strode from the Land of Waves.

Sarada didn't recognize the woman. She was pretty, in a delicate sort of way. High cheekbones with soft, aristocratic features. Her inky black hair was kept in a bun that was held together by ornate metal needles. The man, however, she knew. Crimson hair and crimson eyes, with a slight tan and unmarred cheeks, but she knew all the same.

The soft tweeting of a bird call lilted through the forest; the sign. Steeling her heart, Sarada leapt from her perch in the willowy tree she had hidden herself in. She dropped to the ground in a roll, springing up quickly. Beside her, Mitsuki appeared. In front of her, Yamato and Konohamaru stood.

Bolt looked almost... resigned. There was a flash of surprise, followed by acceptance. Almost as if he was expecting them to catch him. An inevitability. He sighed deeply, releasing his transformation jutsu. Sarada couldn't help her earlier tension from crawling back into her thoughts.

"Bolt Uzumaki," Yamato said. "You are under arrest. Please, surrender peacefully."

Bolt scoffed, and Sarada saw the woman next to him tense. She knew, then, that this conflict wouldn't end peacefully. Tears welled in her eyes as a painful pressure began to mount in her sockets. "Please, Bolt," she begged. She just wanted everything to go back to how it was when they were children. "Don't do this. Just—just come back. We can work this all out. Your dad is fine, my mom healed him. He won't be mad, just—"

"I'm never going back, Sarada," Bolt said, in a dead voice. "Never," he added, with conviction.

Sarada frowned, and Konohamaru growled. "You're acting like a child, Bolt! Stop being so selfish! Your father is the Hokage, and he has a duty to protect our home. Sometimes that means sacrificing his own personal happiness, and that of his family," he stated. "Grow up," he commanded coldly.

"No," Bolt said coldly. "I refuse to accept that." Sarada felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest.

Yamato stepped forward, holding Konohamaru back. "You've broken more laws in the past week than any criminal in the Leaf's history since Sasuke Uchiha," he spoke. His gaze shifted to the woman at Bolt's side. "Including breaking numerous stipulations of your probation. Hikari Yagami is a dangerous criminal, wanted for crimes against—"

"Shut up," Bolt spat, with such vitriol that Sarada flinched. "You don't know a thing about her, or me. You're just trash, Mr. Anbu. Trash who doesn't understand the value of true friendship."

Sarada watched as Yamato turned thunderous with anger. "You're a traitor to the Leaf, Bolt, but it gives me no pleasure to hurt the son of a man I respect and call _my_ friend. For him, I'm taking you back with us. Whether you like it or not."

Bolt laughed, and Sarada frowned in worry. She watched, wide-eyed, as the clever genjutsu she admired began to unravel from his headband. The faux symbol of the Leaf faded, to reveal the whirling emblem of the Whirlpool. Then, Bolt snatched the headband from his forehead and pocketed it. He bent over, slowly, and withdrew a small slip of paper that he had hidden in his boot.

Sarada's heart began to flutter. There was a small wisp of smoke, causing everyone to flinch in expectation of an attack. None came. Instead, there in Bolt's hand, he held a length of black fabric with a sheet of metal sewn to it. Sarada watched in horrified fascination as Bolt carefully tied it around his skull, and raised his head.

There, etched into the metal, was the symbol of the Leaf.

It should have been a relief. But it wasn't. Because there was a long, ragged scar running through the symbol of their home, marking him as a rogue. A traitor. Sarada made a strangled, gasping noise.

Bolt smirked, showing the whites of his teeth, at their shocked faces.

No one said anything after that.

The time for words had passed.

Sarada tensed, and she saw Mitsuki begin to half-form seals using their teacher's back as cover. Right, Sarada thought, the plan. She needed to focus. Cut herself off from her emotions. Just for a short while. She could break down once this was all over.

They sprung into action. As planned, her and Mitsuki were to distract Bolt's comrade. Mitsuki erected an earthen wall that separated the two of them, and Sarada spat a ball of fire at the woman—at Hikari. The memories of their first battle came to the fore of her mind, and she was reminded just how outclassed she was. This time, it would be different.

Hikari had improved vastly from what her Sharingan remembered. She was quicker, more fluid. She darted forward, slipping around the fireball, and peppered her and Mitsuki with a barrage of throwing needles. The both of them had plenty of experience with that weapon, and the consequences of being hit just once by it. They dodged with everything they had.

Sarada swore as she saw Hikari leap over the wall that Mitsuki had erected. She leapt after her, and only her Sharingan saved her from a poisoned needle that had been thrown backwards at her. Sarada perched on the wall and weaved hand seals. She sent a raging inferno of fire chasing after their opponent, turned and spat a lance of water at her. The two techniques clashed, obliterating each other and covering a small portion of the bridge in rapidly dissipating steam.

"Mitsuki!" Sarada barked, as she jumped down and gave chase. She hadn't expected Hikari to be so determined to stick together with Bolt. Their mission became significantly harder. Mitsuki erected another wall, this one angled so that it was difficult to climb.

Sarada blurred forward, her Sharingan burning. Close combat was a risk she was going to have to take.

Hikari didn't even slow down. The woman charged, drew back her arm, and slammed her fist into Mitsuki's wall. It shattered, turned to dust, under the strength of her blow. Sarada cursed, fishing out a handful of shuriken and hurled them at her opponent.

They sailed overhead as Hikari leapt from the bridge, down to the water below. Sarada growled in frustration. Mitsuki was right behind her as the two of them followed their opponent. This was one of the worst case scenarios, according to Yamato. Both Bolt and Hikari were talented water jutsu users. Now, they had all the water they could ask for.

Sarada grunted as a wall of water slammed into her face, knocking the breath from her lungs. Beside her, she saw Mitsuki weave a few hand seals that knocked aside the jutsu. When their vision cleared, Sarada saw Hikari's back as she sprinted across the bay towards three figures in the distant mist. She saw sparks fly as metal clashed with metal, and heard the telltale roar of jutsu being shouted.

As they drew closer, Sarada saw Hikari slip in next to Bolt. They stood, back to back, as Yamato and Konohamaru whirled around them, desperately trying to land any blows. Sarada envied the way they worked together. Bolt was all speed and power and precision, raining Gentle Fist strikes down on his opponents. Hikari weaved around him, striking singular, powerful blows or harassing their opponents with throwing needles and the occasional water jutsu.

That should have been her and Bolt. He was her teammate and friend. None of this should have ever happened. The Hokage shouldn't have ignored his family. Bolt should have been strong enough to weather his father's distantness. But Naruto didn't, and Bolt wasn't that strong. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong.

Sarada and Mitsuki joined Yamato and Konohamaru. The two older men were breathing hard, and had earned several cuts on their clothing where Bolt's Gentle Fist had pierced them. "This is your last chance, Bolt," Konohamaru tried, again, to convince him to surrender peacefully.

Bolt scoffed. "I don't think you can—"

Sarada watched as a tendril of wood shot from the water and hooked around Hikari's wrist, before flinging her away. "Hikari!" Bolt called out, turning to try and grab her. That was his mistake. Two more tendrils shot up from the depths and ensnared Bolt, hooking him by the ankles.

Bolt swore, but Sarada only had eyes for their teacher. He had his fingers curled in an open-palmed fist, a ball of whirring chakra forming in the palm of his hand.

Bolt saw it, too.

Konohamaru sped forward in a blur as Bolt struggled with his restraints. "Rasengan!"

Sarada's eyes widened.

Bolt's eyes widened.

Sarada's eyes spun, forming three tomoe.

Bolt's eyes faded from blue to white.

Sarada closed her eyes as she was blinded by an explosion of chakra. She heard a man scream, and felt a wall of wind crash into her. She was knocked from her feet and sent sprawling backwards into the water. There was a blur overhead as _something_ was bodily hurled backwards with great speed.

When the light dissipated, Sarada crawled to her feet. Mitsuki cradled their teacher in his arms, numerous cuts having shredded his jōnin jacket. He was bleeding, but conscious.

But Sarada had only one thing on her mind: Revolving Heaven. The ultimate defense of the Hyūga. She knew the technique intimately from her spars with Himawari. But where Himawari's was an unbreakable shield, Bolt used it like a sword. His Revolving Heaven was violent and powerful. It broke an opponent's attack, threw it back in their face, and then slammed into them.

Bolt stood, unharmed. Yamato stood between her and him, his arms raised defensively as more tendrils of wood sprouted from the depths of the bay. "That's..." Sarada heard Mitsuki utter behind her.

"The Byakugan," Yamato confirmed. "It was always a possibility. We should have expected it."

The veins around Bolt's temples had bulged, until they were visible even below the skin. His eyes, the cerulean blue that she admired in him and his father, had faded to the Hyūga's distinctive pale lavender. They appeared unseeing, but were, in actuality, all-seeing. It was always hard to tell what a Hyūga was thinking, because their eyes displayed no emotion. The lack of pupils made them appear preternatural; beyond human.

And yet, Bolt gave them emotion. His brows were furrowed and angular, giving the alien eyes a wrathful appearance. Sarada knew that this fight had only just began. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Sarada quickly attended to Konohamaru. The backlash from having his Rasengan rebound had torn deep cuts in his chest. She didn't have time to do much more than stem the flow of blood and do a sawbones' job of stitching him together. Yamato stood in front of her, guarding her while she went about her work.

Bolt was content to let her heal their teacher. Sarada didn't know why, but she hoped, deep down, that he didn't _really_ want to injure him. Hikari had recovered from being thrown, and had returned to Bolt's side.

Konohamaru stood on shaky feet. "You should leave this battle to us," Mitsuki cautioned him. Their teacher only shook his head. "Very well," Mitsuki said. A small white snake emerged from the folds of his robes and bit Konohamaru on the neck. "This is a beneficial poison. It will numb the pain for a short while, before it returns," he added. Konohamaru nodded in thanks.

Bolt smirked. "There's no way you're going to beat me," he proclaimed, an arrogant smirk on his face.

Yamato grew serious. "Your arrogance will be your downfall," he quipped.

If anything, it only made Bolt's grin grow wider. "Hikari, let me handle them," he said.

From the way Hikari looked at Bolt, she thought the same thing Sarada did. He was being foolish, now. There was no way he could beat Yamato with his Wood Release, Konohamaru, their teacher, _and_ herself and Mitsuki. That was impossible.

"Don't be a fool, Bolt," Hikari scolded him. "There is a difference between confidence and arrogance. A fine line."

Bolt's expression grew serious. Sarada saw him touch his forearm, and he produced what appeared to be a soldier pill out of a wisp of smoke. He swallowed it with practiced ease.

Hikari sighed. "Be careful, then," she said, before retreating several yards behind her partner.

Sarada's Sharingan instantly began to go haywire. There were flashes of red light as it began rapidly predicting attacks she couldn't fathom. Bolt began to leak chakra from every pore, cloaking him in an incorporeal blue shroud.

Yamato began to flash through seals almost faster than Sarada could follow them. "Wood Release: Nativity of a Sea of Trees!"

Trees with trunks thicker than Sarada was tall began to erupt from the depths of the bay, surrounding them all. Tendrils of wood shot out, sentient in their design. They lashed forward, intending to ensnare Bolt once more.

"... Lightning Release: Lightning Armor!"

Sarada's vision was consumed by flashes of red light in the shape of Bolt.

He was gone.

Sarada's Sharingan was screaming at her. To her left. Her left. _Her left._

Bolt was there, shrouded in a cloak of arcing blue lightning. One moment his arms were at his side, the next, they were were raining down Gentle Fist strikes. Yamato was the first to fall. "Nintaijutsu: Eight Trigrams..." Bolt's voice echoed, high pitched and rapid. It was a sentencing as dreaded as any executioner's axe. "One Hundred Twenty-Eight Palms."

It was over in a flash. Sarada was blinded by a sea of red light as her Sharingan desperately tried to predict the path of Bolt's fists. The strikes came all at once. There was no buildup; no two palms, no four, no eight. Just one hundred twenty-eight continuous blows of a hammer raining down on Yamato.

Sarada tried to scream warnings to her team. But her eyes were working faster than her body. Her jaw moved in slow motion, as if it had trouble pronouncing the words.

Another flash of red. Mitsuki had unleashed a snake from the folds of his robes. Bolt flashed to its blind spot, cut it into pieces, and struck Mitsuki several times in the chest with his Gentle Fist.

Then it was over.

Bolt stood, back where he had started, surrounded by trees. They crumbled and turned to ash. Yamato and Mitsuki fell at the same time. Konohamaru caught Yamato, and Sarada snagged Mitsuki. Her teammate had several smoking, charred holes bored into his chest. They were superficial wounds, nothing that would cause permanent harm, but he was unconscious.

Yamato was worse. His jōnin jacket and slacks were smouldering. He was covered in smoking, charred pockmarks, not all of which had cauterized his wounds. Blood flowed from him, staining the water crimson.

Konohamaru threw Bolt a scalding glare.

"Don't look at me like that," Bolt said with a grin, his voice high pitched and rapid. Sarada might have missed what he had said had she not read his lips. "He got what he deserved. If you're going to talk trash, you should be able to back it up."

"Bolt!" Konohamaru roared, startling Sarada. He dropped Yamato, and summoned a shadow clone. The two of them held their fists aloft as a Rasengan began forming in their palms.

Bolt sighed. "Your pale imitation of my grandfather's technique doesn't impress me," he commented, holding out his own palm. Chakra began to coalesce and whir until it formed a Rasengan, easily twice as big as Konohamaru's and larger than Sarada's skull.

Her Sharingan began to scream at her again. "No, don't!"

Konohamaru charged. "Rasen—"

"—gan!" Bolt yelled, slamming his own technique into their teacher's back. There was an explosion of light and pressure that blinded Sarada and threatened to throw her off her feet.

When the light faded, Konohamaru had been thrown to the embankment and was lying in a crater.

Sarada stared up at Bolt as he loomed over her, looking down on her and Mitsuki.

Then, his armor _broke_. Bolt hissed as he began to smoke. Hikari appeared beside him in a flash, and doused him with a water jutsu. "I pulled my punches," Bolt told Sarada. "They should all live," he trailed off, gazing north for a moment. "There is an Anbu patrol approximately five miles north of here. Have them help you carry their bodies back to the Leaf."

With that, Bolt turned and walked away.

* * *

Himawari had nervously paced back and forth in front of the city gates every hour of the day, from dawn until dusk, for the past five days. She had all but replaced the border guards, her Byakugan allowing her to see people coming from miles away.

It was on that fifth day when her diligence paid off. She spotted Sarada, garbed in her trademark red Uchiha shirt that made her stand out.

She was flanked by Anbu operatives, each carrying a body on their backs.

Himawari's earlier feeling of unease turned to dread. "Call the medics! Ask for Sakura Uchiha!" Himawari yelled at the two border guards as she rushed out to meet the team that had gone after her brother.

* * *

Later that night, Bolt sunk into himself as he sat around the campfire that Hikari had managed to put together. They had been sprinting across the countryside for nearly eighteen hours, and he was empty with exhaustion after his fight with his old team. The Lightning Armor was powerful, but it definitely ran through his reserves quickly.

They were on the border of the Land of Fire and the Land of Rivers. Tomorrow, they would cross the border. Bolt reminisced that it may, in fact, be the last time he ever laid eyes on his home. From there, they would travel north and head to the Land of Rain and try to carve out what meager living they could, together.

There was a rustle in the bushes, followed by the snapping of fallen twigs.

Bolt stood and slipped into a Gentle Fist stance. If it was _another_ Anbu patrol, he might just forget to leave them alive this time.

Two eyes appeared in the darkness of the night; one, red as blood, the other, a light purple and rippled.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Some people were—justifiably—"confused" about how I've developed Bolt and Naruto. I think the answer to this is that there are so many Mary Sue fics in this fandom, that when confronted with characters who **aren't** perfect, they don't understand them. Bolt and Naruto are flawed characters. That is intentional. They don't act on cold logic, and their actions are not based on the moral high ground. They're emotional and selfish, and they act according to those things. Bolt wants his dad's love and attention, and Naruto is torn between his childhood dream and duties to the village, and his family. Yes, Naruto is a bit of an obsessive workaholic. Yes, Bolt is selfish and immature. Whether you agree with Naruto's actions, or Bolt's, is irrelevant, because they're meant to be imperfect. That is the conflict; the struggle.

I saw some people throw around the dark!Bolt tag, which, I guess _is_ justified. I just wanted to make clear the distinction between "dark" and "evil." Whilst Bolt's actions last chapter, and especially this chapter, might seem "evil," they're not, really. Bolt is in a dark state of mind, and it will take some time before he can get over it. It's all about the journey, not the destination.

From here on out we'll be getting more varied points of view, rather than just Bolt all the time. The story will still revolve around him, but the secondary characters and the events set in motion due to his betrayal of the Leaf are important to develop. So far, this includes: Hikari, Sarada, and Himawari. In the future, it will expand further.

Hikari doesn't know what Tailed Beast chakra is, and the closest thing it would resemble to her would be poison. It seems the manga casually forgot that the chakra of demons was toxic to even their containers—even in the case that they are on good terms, see B and the Eight Tails—let alone normal humans, as the series progressed; not so, here.

Anon — I prefer to think of it as symbolic, rather than unimaginative. Sure, I could have done something else, but it wouldn't have meant as much. The breaking of the cake, and the use of shadow clones to interact with his family, shows that Naruto hasn't changed, and that Bolt's time away was for naught. It galvanized Bolt's betrayal of the Leaf in a way that would have been difficult to show otherwise.

Thanks for reading, hope you guys enjoyed. Last chapter was easily the most popular, and I was inspired to write due to the number of reviews. You guys rock!


	24. Chapter 24

"Oh, shit," Bolt cursed under his breath.

The eyes in the darkness came closer and closer, until they were illuminated by the light of the campfire. Not that Bolt needed the light to identify their owner; there was only one person in the world who beat his sister in the terrifying eyes department.

"Hi, Master Sasuke," he chirped, laughing nervously. He saw Hikari rising from her slumber and fumbling with a handful of throwing needles. As imperceptibly as possible, he shook his head and gestured with his hands. _No! Fucking no!_

"Bolt," Sasuke greeted, his tone cold and quiet. His mismatched eyes drifted upwards, towards Bolt's forehead.

Bolt felt his stomach fall into his boots as his master laid eyes on his defaced headband. Sasuke sighed. "I was wondering when this would happen," he said, his eyes falling back to Bolt's own.

Bolt looked anywhere but his master's eyes. The Sharingan was exotic. It added a certain beauty to anyone's features. He shot many a glance at Sarada's eyes during their training that was more than just passing observation. The Rinnegan, however, was the only dōjutsu more alien than the Hyūga's Byakugan. And Sasuke used his to stare into the very soul of whoever met his gaze. At least he hid it behind his hair, most of the time.

"W—What do you mean?" Bolt asked, with a nervous, false laugh.

The wind blew, revealing his master's Rinnegan in full. Bolt shivered. It felt as if Sasuke was staring _through_ him, not _at_ him. As if he could see his very spirit; the core of his being. It was disarming in the most uncomfortable of ways. "It was always surprising to me, how our children ended up so different than we were," Sasuke said quietly.

Bolt didn't know what to make of that.

"Sarada reminds me of Naruto, and I see myself in you," he clarified, seeing Bolt's confused expression. "What happened?" Sasuke asked, in a tone that demanded an answer.

Bolt considered lying. He immediately discarded that idea. His master would see right through his lies. And he had learned his lesson from fighting his dad—the Hokage, Bolt reminded himself, not dad—there was no way he could beat him in a fight if Sasuke decided to capture him.

So, he told the truth. All of it. And, as he told the tale, he felt lighter than he ever had before. His cheeks grew warm as he told Sasuke—and, indirectly, Hikari, who was giving master and disciple their privacy by hiding in the woods—about how neglected he felt after Naruto became the Seventh Hokage. About how angry he felt that Naruto would abandon his sister and mother. About how inadequate he felt in the shadow of someone as great as Naruto. About how flawed he thought their home, the Leaf, was.

When he finished, he stubbornly rubbed at his eyes. He was definitely _not_ crying. Not in front of Hikari, and _definitely_ not in front of his master.

Sasuke remained quiet for a short moment. "Let me tell you a story," he said. Bolt perked up. "It is about a man who lived long ago. A man you and I have a great many things in common with. His name," Sasuke paused. "Was Indra. Indra was the firstborn of a great man. He, like you and I, was naturally gifted. Anything he set his mind to, he accomplished. As he grew older, he felt no need to rely on others due to his great strength. He lived a life of solitude, pride, and independence."

Bolt wondered who, exactly, this Indra was. He listened with rapt attention. "He was determined to walk his path alone. And the only thing matched by his solitude, was his power. And he did walk his path alone. Do you know what happens next?" Sasuke asked.

Bolt shook his head. "He got lost. Then, Indra realized, that even the strongest of men must not walk their path alone, lest they get lost in the dark," Sasuke said, smiling sadly. "Unfortunately for Indra, his solitude left him with no bonds. No one he could call friend. No one he could call family. And so he remained lost, for years and years. And, finally, when he found his way home, he was not the same man he was when he set out."

Bolt frowned. He didn't like sad stories. The hero always won; always slayed the dragon and rescued the princess. Those were his favorite stories. The ones he read to his sister late at night. "Indra returned to his family to find that his father had chosen his younger brother to inherit his title. So lost was Indra, that he attacked his brother in a fit of rage while their father lay on his deathbed," Sasuke continued on.

"And, in the end, brother slew brother, and both lay dead. But that wasn't enough for Indra. He continued their squabble, long after he died. He and his brother were reborn, and their reincarnations were fated to battle each other for all time," his master said.

"There were countless such men through the ages, some of which you know," Sasuke said, giving Bolt a piercing look.

Bolt's lips parted in a silent gasp as he realized what his master was saying. "You mean, _you're_ Indra!" Bolt didn't necessarily believe in reincarnation. He knew the ninja temples and their monks preached about it, and the Pure Lands, but not much else. The thought that he himself was some new facet of an old soul was disturbing, to say the least.

Sasuke nodded sagely. "My own story would have ended up much the same as Indra's, had your father not been so..." Sasuke said, fumbling for the right word.

"I know," Bolt said.

Sasuke nodded. "When I was lost, he showed me the way," he said, standing up from where he sat around the fire. "Indra's path is long and dark, and you will have miles and miles to go before you sleep."

Bolt pondered his master's words, watching as he stood and strode over to him. Before Bolt could react, Sasuke reached out and gently prodded him in the forehead.

Bolt turned a spectacular shade of crimson. He was one of the few people alive that knew what exactly that gesture meant. He had seen Sarada and her mother receive it the few times his master had been in the Leaf. "Don't get lost like I did, Bolt," Sasuke said, before he stalked into the darkness of the night.

And, in the dark of the night with only the crackle of the fire for company, Bolt knew what it meant to be loved. He laughed happily, both hands holding his forehead as if it would disappear without his grip.

In the woods, Hikari smiled beneath her mask.

* * *

Naruto stood, heavily bandaged, in a spacious hospital room on the highest floor of the Leaf's premier hospital. It was reserved almost exclusively for ninja of the Leaf, and was personally overseen by some of the best medics they had ever trained.

He himself had been on this floor of the hospital many a time. Most were because he was admitted. Some, because his friends were. Those were always the worst. He would rather suffer ten of their worst injuries to spare them the most minor ones, if he could.

So, it was with a heavy heart that he was brought to the intensive care unit of the hospital. Naruto sighed. He had just been released the previous day, and he was already back. Gathering his courage, he knocked on the door softly. "Come in," a voice called.

Naruto entered and felt the icy claws of fear began to claw at his chest. Sakura flashed him a brief, reassuring smile as she and Tsunade labored over Yamato. The two medics, the best that had ever been born, had been called in immediately once the first responders had seen the shape of one of their ANBU's finest.

And it was a good thing, too. Whilst the report he received hadn't been detailed, the message had been clear: Yamato's prognosis was grim. "How is he?" Naruto asked quietly, for fear of waking his former teacher and longtime friend.

Sakura's lips turned downwards ever so slightly, before she steeled her features. Tsunade sighed. "I've done the best that I can," she said, and Naruto felt his heart beating in his throat. "Sarada's reports are unclear, but whatever form of Gentle Fist that your son has developed is unlike anything I've ever seen."

"What does that mean?" Naruto demanded, fear settling in.

"Relax," Tsunade said, waving him off. "Yamato isn't going to die. But he has been... scarred. Quite literally. Normally, the Gentle Fist functions by the practitioner inserting their own chakra into the victim's pathways, and then blocks their chakra points by changing the consistency of their own chakra so it resembles something like a tar."

" _This,_ " Tsunade said, gesturing at Yamato. "Is completely different. He's changed the very nature of the Gentle Fist's blocking. Instead of obstructing their chakra points, Bolt temporarily numbs it with lightning chakra. Normally, the body can undo blocks on their chakra points after several hours of rest. It leaves no lasting harm. With the way Bolt uses lightning chakra, the body thinks its cells have been damaged. Scar tissue builds up as it naturally undoes the block."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Naruto asked. He had never been very knowledgeable in the areas of healing. His own expertise was limited to pumping his own Yang chakra—courtesy of the Sage of Six Paths—into someone and hoping they pull through. It had worked for Gai, and he was on the very precipice of death.

Sakura sighed. "What it means is that, while Yamato will recover fully, in time, his chakra pathways have developed scar tissue. It will inhibit his natural chakra control somewhat. Certain things will be harder. Water walking. Tree climbing. Small, precise movements. Chakra efficiency in larger scale techniques," she explained.

Naruto swallowed, hard. "You mean," he managed to bite out. "That Bolt has _crippled_ him?"

Tsunade shook her head. "No, absolutely not. Yamato will hardly notice a difference, I think. He should be fit to return to active duty as soon as he has fully healed," she told him.

"But," Sakura said hesitantly. "It would be extremely dangerous to be exposed multiple times to whatever Bolt has done. If Yamato were to suffer the same injury again... it could lead to a more serious loss of control over his chakra."

Naruto felt a weight settle on his shoulders as the implications hit him. "Naruto," Tsunade said, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. "Whatever jutsu Bolt has developed, it's a kinjutsu. You know that, right?"

Naruto nodded. He did. He himself had developed his own kinjutsu—the Rasenshuriken—at roughly the same age. The difference was that he was a loyal ninja of the Leaf, and Bolt was, as much as he hated to admit it, a rogue ninja.

Rogue ninja who knew kinjutsu were classified as S-rank criminals.

Naruto released a long, ragged sigh as Sakura wrapped him in a brief hug. "Don't worry. The ANBU will find him before you have to take any drastic measures," she assured him.

He nodded. Naruto wanted to believe her words so much that it hurt. But he had a bad feeling that he just couldn't shake. If Yamato— _Yamato_ —couldn't restrain Bolt, along with Konohamaru and his team, then could the ANBU really hope to succeed? And if so, at what cost? Bolt had been "lenient" in his attacks against his team and friends. What if he didn't extend that courtesy to the ANBU? What if he took it farther, and crippled them. For life, if he understood Tsunade correctly.

Naruto walked back to his office with his head hung. He had decisions to make. Tough ones. Ones that would have long lasting consequences. Ones that he could not afford to make a mistake with.

He collapsed into his chair and stared down at his desk, and the mountains of paperwork beside it, with apprehension. For the first time since he had been inaugurated as Hokage, he regretted chasing his dream. He had dreamed—literally dreamed—of having a family since he could remember. When other kids used to daydream about adventures, he daydreamed about having a family. A mother. A father. A brother or sister. As he got older, that changed to a wife and a son, or daughter. He never gave voice to those dreams, though. Who would want him, the orphan, the dead last, the vessel of the Nine-Tails.

" _ **Rude,"**_ Kurama said. Naruto chuckled under his breath.

Naruto steeled his resolve. There was no other option. The alternative was too heartbreaking to imagine. Not just for him, but for Hinata and Himawari, too. "Bird," he called.

A masked ANBU appeared in an instant. "Yes, sir," he spoke, kneeling.

"Summon Mirai Sarutobi, her team, as well as Sarada Uchiha, Mitsuki, and my daughter," Naruto commanded. "On second thought, summon my daughter first, then the others."

"Yes, sir," the ANBU bade, disappearing in a blur.

Naruto didn't have to wait long. Himawari, it seemed, had already been on her way to his office. The moment she walked through the door, Naruto knew that their first words as father and daughter were going to be confrontational ones.

Himawari strode up to his desk, an expression of thunderous anger marring her beauty and forcing her Byakugan active. She reached across the desk, and slapped him.

Naruto could have dodged. He could have blocked. It would have been trivial. The slap had been telegraphed from the moment she walked in the door. But he didn't. He just took it. The sting helped steel his resolve, even as the pain faded under the influence of Kurama.

"How could you?" Himawari asked, her anger fading to sorrow as the tears welled in her eyes.

Naruto stood and swept her into a hug as his daughter broke down and sobbed. "I'm sorry," Naruto said, as Himawari cried into the crook of his neck and pounded her fists on his chest in impotent anger. "So, so sorry," he said. He repeated his apologies over and over, like a mantra. He was vaguely aware that the rest of his guests had arrived, but his ANBU were keeping them at bay.

Ten minutes later, when Himawari had exhausted her tears, Naruto let her go. He kneeled, just taller than her. "I promise," he swore. "Things will change. Once this tournament ends in a few weeks, I'm taking time off. I don't care if I have to drag the Fire Lord himself in to cover for me. We'll spend it together, just us, your mother, and Bolt."

Himawari nodded feebly. "No more long hours. No more nights spent at the office. No more missed birthdays or holidays," Naruto swore. She smiled, ever so slightly, and it made Naruto's heart burst with happiness.

"How are you going to get Bolt back?" Himawari asked, sniffing and trying to make herself look presentable.

"That," Naruto said, motioning for the ANBU to let his other guests in. "Is why you're here."

Naruto watched as Himawari turned and saw the number of people that had been summoned. He watched as realization slowly dawned on her. Mirai stood rigid at attention, and Naruto stifled a laugh as, slowly, the others mirrored her pose.

He returned to his seat behind his desk, and steepled his fingers in thought as his eyes roamed over each and every member of the team he had just assembled. Naruto had vague flashbacks to a moment very similar to this, when he and his friends had gathered to retrieve Sasuke.

Naruto snapped his fingers, and the walls of his office glowed blue with chakra. He had the distinct pleasure of watching the genin—and lone chūnin, he amended, looking at Shikadai—sweat.

"What you are about to hear is to be considered an S-class secret," he told them, watching as many audibly swallowed. "As you know," he said, gesturing to Mitsuki, who was still bandaged. His own wounds were not nearly as serious as Yamato's; he hadn't even developed any scar tissue on his chakra pathways.

"Bolt has attacked the team that had volunteered to retrieve him," Naruto said. "What many of you may not know is that Bolt has created a kinjutsu. It is extremely dangerous, and is capable of permanently damaging your ability to manipulate chakra."

Naruto saw Mirai pale. Not in fear of the jutsu itself, but because of its ramifications. "What does that mean?" Sarada asked, the first to find her voice.

"It means," Shikadai said, answering for him. "That, if the Hokage were to report him as a rogue ninja, he would be classified as an S-rank criminal. International law dictates that S-rank criminals be slain on sight."

Leave it to Shikamaru's son to know international law. The others, predictably, grew solemn. Their eyes hardened as the implications of their friend's circumstances found him. "And I will report him," Naruto said, carefully. He didn't miss the look of scandalized rage he received from his daughter.

"The Shinobi Union dictates that every Kage must report rogue operatives at our monthly summits—to prevent another Sasuke, as they've termed it. My memory, however, seems to be failing me in my old age," Naruto mused. Had the situation been less dire, they probably would have laughed. As it was, they didn't. "I can forget once, but not twice," he pondered aloud.

"Troublesome," Shikadai said with a deep sigh. "You want us to retrieve Bolt before you're forced to report him."

Naruto nodded, his attention turning to Sarada. "From Sarada's reports, we've summarized that Bolt has, somehow, replicated a jutsu that the Raikage were feared for: the Lightning Release: Lightning Armor. With it, he is faster, stronger, and has greater reflexes. As all Raikage are," Naruto explained. "However, that alone does not make it a kinjutsu. When applied with his Gentle Fist, it damages the chakra points of the body irreparably."

"Your mission is one I do not give lightly. If I could give it to my ANBU, I would. But I fear that Bolt will cripple them without restraint—"

"We're going," Himawari _demanded_. She hadn't asked anyone if they wanted to go, she had just decided for the group.

Naruto smiled. Not one of them had even blinked as Himawari spoke what was all on their minds. He nodded. "Your mission is the capture of Bolt Uzumaki. You are to avoid direct combat and, instead, incapacitate him before he has an opportunity to fight back. This is an S-rank mission, the first since the end of the war. You leave tomorrow at dawn with a time limit of two months. An ANBU will provide each of you with the intel we have tonight," he said.

There was not a hesitant face in the crowd, though several had revealed an undying determination. Sarada. Himawari. Shikadai. Mitsuki. They would be the keys to this mission's success. "Dismissed," Naruto said.

The team disappeared in a blur, each leaving to prepare for the most important mission of their lives.

Naruto could only pray for their success.

* * *

Bolt grunted as he swung his machete at a particularly thorny bush. The Land of Rivers was a beautiful country. Not quite as beautiful as the Land of Steam, but it was undeniably beautiful. The only problem was that it was damn nearly impossible to make any sort of good time travelling through its thick forests, deep ravines, and raging rivers.

The trees were tall, towering high above the forest floor. Their branches were high and thin, making poor candidates for tree climbing like in the Land of Fire. The landscape was dotted with ravines and crevices that made every step dangerous. If you weren't paying attention, you could fall. If you were lucky, you'd fall into a dry riverbed and break your legs on the stone. If you were unlucky, you'd fall into a raging river and be swept below the water and into the vast expanse of underground caverns—never to be seen again.

And it was hot. So fucking hot. The western winds from the Land of Wind blew hot, desert air inland. Bolt would find himself unbearably sweaty and covered in grains of sand. He had given up all hope of looking somewhat presentable. Not that there was anything in the damn forest to present himself to. They hadn't seen a—snake! Bolt swung his machete and cut its head from its body.

He watched, a little fascinated, as its body continued to wriggle and writhe after it had been decapitated. Hikari prodded him with the business end of her own machete, and the two of them continued on. They hadn't seen a soul as they continued their trek north, towards the Land of Rain. The only sign that they made any progress was the slowly gathering storm clouds in the northern skies, pregnant with rain.

"I hate this—"

Bolt tumbled forward, panic causing his heart to flutter as he feared the worst. He fell, tumbling into a depression in the land. He rolled through thorny bushes, and tried his best to avoid tree trunks on his way down.

When he stopped, he was covered in leaves, grass, and sticks. Bolt shook as he sat in the basin, his rage building and building and building. "I fucking hate this country!" Bolt screamed, as loud as he could. If an ANBU patrol found him now, it would be their funeral. Their fault, too. They should know not to challenge an angry Uzumaki.

Seething, Bolt stood and kicked a tree trunk. He hissed, leaping back and holding his foot as he stubbed his toe on the bark. Lashing out, he spat a blade of water that cut deep into the forest. He grinned in satisfaction as part of the forest bowed before him.

A light, lilting giggle drew Bolt's attention. His head snapped to Hikari, who looked as cold and disciplined as ever. "It's not funny!" Bolt screamed. From the way her eyes shined behind her mask, she thought otherwise.

Bolt's chest heaved as he breathed in and out deeply. "Who puts a damn _bowl_ in the middle of this fucking wasteland," he grumbled, his anger activating his Byakugan.

He looked down. What had once been, what he assumed, a cave, had collapsed. The earth had fallen with the cave, creating a large bowl. Nature had emerged victorious, as it always has, and reclaimed it. Trees and grass and bushes had filled it in, masking it as the deadly, vicious trap it was. At least, in Bolt's mind.

Bolt turned, about to continue on, when he caught something in the distance. A flash of red paint. Perhaps the cave had been something other than natural? He dashed off in pursuit of his curiosity. He laughed as he weaved between the trees, hearing Hikari sigh behind him. She had grown used to his eccentries, if not accommodated them on occasion.

Bolt came to the edge of a cliff that fell for hundreds of feet into a deep ravine. At the bottom, a river raged. It bellowed white froth as the waves churned and disappeared into a sheer face of rock. Bolt knew that if, somehow, the river swept him away, that he would drown in the underwater cavern systems.

Still, he saw the object of his fascination. A tall, rotten wooden gate. It had been painted red at once time, but now, only a few specks of paint remained. "Interesting," Hikari commented, next to him. Bolt didn't notice her approach. Even in the God-forsaken forest, she was as silent as a spirit.

Bolt's eyes narrowed as he spotted a series of narrow stairs hewn into the stone that led down to the river. He flashed Hikari a boyish smile. The one he knew she would indulge him with. "Let's explore!" Bolt proclaimed, quickly scampering down the stairs.

They were steep, almost vertical. Bolt had heard the expression "climbing stairs" before. In this case, it was rather literal. The rock was slick with the spray of water and various mosses and lichen that had taken to calling the stairs home. With the liberal use of chakra, Bolt managed to cling to the rock. He imagined that if a civilian had discovered the cave, they would have slipped and fallen to their death.

The two of them reached the bottom, where it appeared the debris of the collapsed cave had been vomited from the cavern entrance. It gave them an excellent—and more importantly, safe—spot to explore. With his Byakugan, Bolt explored the cave. It must have been a sight to behold. The main atrium would have been at least one hundred feet tall, with branching, smaller caverns. Bolt could see that, at one point, the river had flown into the cave, creating an inlet of water. Perhaps it had been a shrine?

He scoured the cave's ruins, looking for an altar or some sort of religious artifact. He found none. Looking deeper, however, revealed something much more interesting. Tunnels. "There are tunnels underneath the rubble," Bolt informed Hikari, who looked exceedingly bored. To be fair, she didn't have the Byakugan.

Upon closer inspection, the tunnels weren't _just_ tunnels. Well, they were, but they weren't _empty_. There were what appeared to be crates and racks. Bolt's curiosity gnawed at him. "We can take a short break, can't we?" Bolt begged. To be honest, if he had to hack his way through more jungle he would probably attempt to throttle Hikari. He couldn't take it anymore.

Hikari sighed audibly. "Fine," she relented.

Bolt smiled, and, with a flair for the dramatic, flourished his hands and produced a large brush and jar of ink. He could practically see—because, well, through some miracle, the hunter corps masks obstructed the Byakugan's vision—Hikari's eyebrows rise in interest.

Bolt began to happily dab his brush in his ink and paint the rocks blocking the entrance to the cave. He hummed a merry tune as he went about his work, channeling chakra into the seal-in-making. "What are you doing?" Hikari asked.

"I've been working on a new seal," Bolt explained happily. "You see, common explosive tags are really just highly concentrated chakra contained in a flimsy piece of paper. It's the seal itself that changes that chakra into the explosion. But you see, the explosive tags resemble Fire Release more than Explosion Release. All fire, and no bang. This," he said, gesturing to his scrawled seal. "Is my attempt at an Explosion Release tag."

Hikari began to crawl back up the stairs with haste.

"It's perfectly safe, don't worry!" Bolt called out, his voice echoing through the ravine.

"The last time you were working on a new seal, you set the galley on fire," Hikari yelled. "The cook nearly put you in the soup that night, remember?"

Bolt did. For an old, retired ninja, the man's skill with a cleaver had been frightening. His favorite tale had been how, in his early days of service, a prisoner of war from the Hidden Stone had complained about his cooking. As the cook told it, he stormed into the galley and scalped the man right then and there. No one ever said a word about his cooking after that, even when he served them dog shit for dessert after a spectacularly failed mission.

A bitter taste soured in Bolt's mouth at the memory that the cook had died when the bastards from Cloud had attacked them. A small part of Bolt hoped that, of all the people that would be hunting him, Samui and Atsui would be the first to find him. He would take great joy in sending them to the Pure Lands, just like they did to his comrades.

Bolt leapt up to where Hikari was on the steps. She grabbed onto him, holding him steady as he formed the Ram hand seal. "Seal: Release," Bolt whispered, his eyes closed in a silent prayer.

Nothing happened.

"Huh," Bolt muttered, as Hikari released him. He wandered back down the steps ever so carefully to inspect his work.

An explosion rocked the ravine.

"Holy shit!" Bolt swore, as the seal detonated and brought down some of the cliff above them. As one, Bolt and Hikari wove hand seals. Water Release: Water Bullet Jutsu was one of the staples of any water jutsu user. They shot falling rocks as they fell, destroying them or knocking them away.

When the final rock had fallen, and the debris cleared, Bolt admired his work with pride.

"I thought you said it worked," Hikari said, her voice terse.

Bolt chuckled nervously. "I said I was working on it," he countered. "Besides, it worked!"

And it did. The cavern had been cleared of enough debris to access the tunnel that led far beneath the earth and to where, Bolt hoped, riches lay in waiting. An old buried treasure of gold? A cache of weapons, armor, and supplies from the wars in ages past? Who knew.

Together, the two of them proceeded into the depths. Bolt, with his Byakugan, and Hikari, with a torch she had produced from a storage scroll.

It took them nearly two hours to get to the end of the tunnel. It was hard going. The rock was slick with dripping water and hanging rock formations forced them to squeeze through at certain points.

But they made it.

The tunnel faded away to a small cavern, no larger than a house. Hikari held up a torch, casting light.

Bolt frowned. Some of the stuff was almost... new. Well, not _new_ , but recent. It wasn't some lost treasure. He sighed, and strode for the first thing he saw: a raised stone with a book resting atop it. He carefully checked for traps, and after thirty minutes of debate with Hikari, deduced that it was safe enough to take.

Bolt blew the dust from its surface, and found that it was a leatherbound book of some kind. There was no title. He cracked open the first page. The paper had turned brittle and yellow with age, but was still legible.

Bolt read aloud, for Hikari's benefit.

" _It must seem silly, that a woman my age would write a journal. I know even I sometime question my sanity in these dark days. Maybe I am going insane. Reverting to childhood mannerisms to cope. Well, in any case, my death is fast approaching."_

" _I am no fool. I know that with my ascension to Amekage, he shall come. To put an end to me, and to desecrate the corpse of one of the few people I have ever loved. That, I cannot allow to pass."_

" _And yet, pass it shall. I know that I am no match for him, if he is who he says he is. But I shall not die quietly, or easily. If this is to be my end, then it will be his as well. My greatest fear is that, should I fall, my country will never know peace."_

" _It is my hope, if you are reading this, that, somehow, he has been defeated. If he has, then no doubt the name of our country's great hope for peace would be marred and sullied beyond recognition."_

" _And, truthfully, it should be. I have killed so many, many men in the pursuit of a bloody peace for an even bloodier country. More often with word than deed, but killed all the same. History may hate us, but they shall never forget our name."_

" _Let me tell you a story. The story of a little girl, and two little boys, who thought they could bring an end to the bloody rain that falls eternal. Let me tell you the story,"_ Bolt trailed off, his eyes widening.

" _Of the Akatsuki."_

* * *

 **A/N:**

Next chapter features a large (?) POV with Hikari. Maybe. Depends on how long I want the chapter to be.

A special thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, as we've recently passed the 200 mark. You guys rock! Special mentions to those who leave the long reviews, I appreciate it!

This chapter featured Sasuke and Naruto, two things I know a lot of people have been clamoring for. I hope this satisfies your appetite, for now.

Cake-kun — Bolt is 15, and his bounty (as of now) remains at 10 million. Bingo books, bounties, and bounty hunting will be expounded upon later in the story.


	25. Chapter 25

The former lair of the Akatsuki was a horde of the greatest value: not in gold, or power, but in knowledge. It outstripped anything Bolt had imagined when he first decided to explore the cave system. There were literally— _literally_ —dozens upon dozens of ancient scrolls kept in racks that lined the walls of the small cavern from floor to ceiling. Each of them stored a different technique, or contained knowledge of arts long since forgotten, or were personal journals and musings of the different leaders of Akatsuki.

There were plans for bringing peace to the Land of Rain, written by Yahiko. There were detailed logs of experiments written by a man named Pain, whose sheer brilliance awed Bolt. A few scrolls, detailing the history of the organization and their true goals, were written by the woman, Konan, who had written the journal at the fore of the cavern.

This was, apparently, her last resort. She feared that Madara Uchiha would take control of the organization and smear their once good name. And she was right, for he did.

Bolt stared at an old photograph, wrinkled and faded from age. It was the trio from their younger days. Yahiko, tall with broad shoulders and wild orange-colored hair. Nagato, a feeble and sickly looking young man with flowing crimson hair—the telltale trait of the Uzumaki, Bolt recognized it instantly—and rippled purple eyes; the Rinnegan. Konan, a true vision of ethereal beauty. She had chin length deep blue hair and amber eyes; the former being a rare genetic mutation caused by an overabundance of chakra in the womb. Yahiko held Konan to his chest with one arm, and hung his other over Nagato's shoulders. All three were smiling broadly.

It was a cruel twist of fate that their smiles would be robbed from them, as they died one by one. Bolt compared what was written in Konan's journals to what was written in the Leaf's history books, and found the latter marred by bias. History was written by the victors, after all. It was little more than a fable that was agreed upon.

For the fourth time, Bolt paged through Konan's journal, re-reading their organization's history. They had lofty goals and even more righteous beliefs. It was interesting how each leader's vision of peace changed from one to the next. Yahiko, who acted as a peacemaker and negotiator, ever trying to stop the spread of violence with peaceful resolution. Nagato, maddened by the death of his friend, who sought to create the ultimate weapon of mass destruction and enforce peace by fear. And Konan, who simply tried to keep the broken fragments of her homeland together in the wake of so much death.

A shame that they were slain before they could see the world made peaceful.

With a sigh, Bolt snapped Konan's journal shut and placed it back on the stone pedestal. Hikari was reading through several thick scrolls on water jutsu. Bolt wandered the cavern, simply trying to process the sheer amount of knowledge contained in the small room. It contained more information in an armful of scrolls than the entire library in the Leaf.

"Bolt," Hikari called, drawing him out of his musings. He jogged over to her. "What do you make of these?"

She stood before a towering bookcase filled with what appeared to be ancient scrolls. Bolt recognized their value instantly, for they were written on sealing paper. Sealing paper was vastly different than normal parchment, and by far more expensive. It was made from the pulp of trees who were grown by being fed chakra. In a way, the paper itself became the physical manifestation of that chakra. It helped stabilize and empower any seal written upon it, and was the preferred method of most seal masters.

The scrolls in front of them, inparticular, were written with the highest quality sealing paper available: Wood Release trees. The telltale earthen brown color gave them away as being formed from the pulp of a Wood Release tree. "Wow," Bolt uttered.

So many. Gingerly, he reached out and grabbed one. He unravelled it slowly, being careful not to damage it. His eyes roamed the page as he did so, taking in the writing. It wasn't written in any common language, and was instead transcribed in an older dialect most modern sealing alphabets used. It took him several minutes to understand what they were for. "They're summoning contracts!" Bolt exclaimed, upon finding row upon row of signatures written in blood.

"For what? Who could have possibly had contracts with so many creatures?" Hikari asked, her head tilting backwards as she looked up and down the bookshelf. There were tens, maybe even hundreds, of scrolls.

Bolt shook his head. "I don't know," he said, suddenly grinning. "But I'm not letting this opportunity go to waste! I'm signing one."

"Wait!" Hikari said, grabbing him by the wrist before he could dig through the mountain of scrolls. "These contracts have obviously been down here for a long time. How do we even know they are active anymore? Or if they would be receptive to new summoners?"

Bolt just shrugged. "Worth it," he quipped, and began to sort through the scrolls. He smirked as he opened one and began to read it, trying to find out the name of the creature it belonged to. Hikari sighed audibly behind him.

"Oh," Bolt commented. "Rhino contract!" He placed the scroll down in a neat pile on the floor and moved to the next one.

Hikari left him to his own devices and went back to reading the water jutsu scrolls. "What kind do you want?" Bolt called out to her as she walked away.

"I don't want one," she said tersely.

"Aw, come on! Don't be like that," Bolt pouted.

Hikari sighed. "You do know that whatever beast you sign with has a right to refuse the contract, right? There are hundreds of summoning clans, but only a select few summoners at one time. Some have allegiances to villages, or to certain clans. They won't even consider the contract with you in that case," she informed him.

Bolt frowned, reading between the lines. He had gotten exceedingly good at that skill with his stoic friend. "You're scared that they won't choose you to be their summoner?" Bolt asked.

He could see the way she rolled her eyes, even from across the room. "I'm not scared, I am just being realistic. It is highly unlikely that I would be accepted as the summoner for any creature. You, on the other hand, would likely have several handfuls who would fight over the privilege to be yours," she said.

Bolt scoffed. "You'll be accepted, don't worry! And if they don't, then I'll force them to!" Bolt declared loudly.

Hikari sighed. "You'll see," Bolt muttered. "Ox contract!"

And so it went. The hours were whittled away as Bolt went through the entire stack of scrolls. There was one for nearly every type of creature imaginable, and even some that weren't. In particular, some sort of demonic bird species with thick beaks and several pairs of wings and legs, as well as a breed of dog that grew multiple heads.

None of them drew Bolt's interest. He wanted something that spoke to him. Something that embodied his path in life. He wanted... something that could fly. To give him the wings of freedom that he had sought all his life. Plus, flying was a rare ability in the ninja world. He would be one of the few people who could. That alone made his decision easy.

So far, his pile of flying creatures consisted of: the strange demonic birds, a type of gull, and a species of dove. None of which he particularly liked. His pile for Hikari included a species of pufferfish, a crustacean creature that resembled a shrimp-lobster hybrid, and a species of shark whose skull was shaped like a hammer. She really wasn't into the whole shopping for summoning contracts thing.

Moving a scroll, Bolt caught sight of another one beneath it. Unlike the others, who were coated in a thick layer of dust, this scroll appeared to be somewhat clean by comparison. Opening it up, he quickly navigated down the archaic script.

He saw a diagram of a bird; a hawk. "Hawk contract!" Bolt declared, standing up immediately. This was it. He wouldn't accept any other contract than the one with the hawks.

Hikari trudged over, hearing his excitement. Bolt quickly withdrew a kunai and sliced the palm of his hand open. He wrote his name—his handwriting perfect by product of months of intensive sealing jutsu training—and signed with a bloody palm print.

"Bolt, wait!" Hikari cried, as he slammed his palm down.

He disappeared in a wisp of smoke, along with the contract. In his place was a small hawk hatchling who eyed Hikari with clear animosity.

Hikari sighed.

* * *

Bolt blinked and found himself staring at the clear blue sky. Wispy white clouds drifted lazily overhead, growing smaller and smaller— _and shit!_

He was falling. Bolt flailed as the wind roared past him. The hawk contract fell with him, and he lashed out to grab it. Clutching it close, Bolt contorted his body midair. A few dozen feet away was the side of a mountain. There was nothing else for miles and miles in every other direction. "Fuck," Bolt swore, his curse lost to the wind.

He shoved the scroll into his shirt and quickly began to weave hand seals. The wind tore the jutsu's name from his lips, but it worked all the same. A blast of wind from his palms shot forth, sending him careening into the mountain. Bolt thanked whatever gods there may be that his weakest element had been strong enough to save him. Sometimes he regretted his primary element being lightning, and his secondary being water.

Bolt grit his teeth as sharp protruding rocks tore his jacket and shirt to shreds and slashed at his flesh. With a quiet whimper, he kicked off the mountain and righted himself. He pushed the scroll into his pants, securing it with his belt. His shirt, now shredded, hit him in the face as he continued his descent. Fighting through the pain and the uncomfortable warm, sticky sensation on his back, Bolt withdrew a kunai.

Lightning danced across his blade as he sank it into the stone and channeled chakra through his feet. The kunai caught a boulder and was knocked loose, sending Bolt tumbling backwards. Righting himself, Bolt tried again. The soles of his boots was rapidly worn down until he could feel every flaw in the mountainside through them.

Bolt's fall slowed, but not soon enough. His boots gave out, and sharp stone tore into his feet. He cried out as pain lanced up his legs. Bolt clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, fighting through it. He knew that if he let go, he would fall to his death. Mercifully, his descent came to an end a short minute later.

His kunai had held fast in the rock, leaving a winding, jagged trail up the mountain. His feet, bloody and shredded, found a hold in a crack in the stone. Bolt shivered as his muscles burned from exertion and pain. The only thing that kept him from falling to his death was a precarious grip with his toes and a now dulled kunai.

A piercing cry cut the air. Bolt felt his hair stand on end as his instincts screamed at him. Cursing, he leapt from his perch and climbed the mountain. A gust of wind shredded the mountainside where he had been standing, cutting deep into the stone. A large, crimson colored hawk dived at him, screeching a battle cry. "You've got to be kidding me!" Bolt yelled.

He released his grip on his kunai and flashed through the hand seals. He spat several lances of water at the approaching hawk, who dodged them with expert precision. This was not what he had expected when he signed the contract. He should have listened to Hikari.

The hawk paused in its dive and beat its wings furiously as it kicked up another gust of wind. Gritting his teeth, Bolt jumped again. He managed to find purchase on a small ledge, barely a few inches wide. Again, the wind cut into the stone. Bolt knew that if even one of those blades of wind caught him, he would die. Not even his Lightning Armor would save him.

Bolt quickly grabbed his kunai before he could fall. Steadying himself again, he let go and weaved more hand seals as the crimson hawk came around for another dive. Lightning arced down his arm and leapt at the bird. Bolt smirked as the attack headed straight for the hawk.

His grin fell as the hawk beat its wings once, destroyed the jutsu with a gust of wind, and then descended upon him. A large, leathery claw snapped shut around his body. Bolt grunted as he felt the hawk squeeze him tightly and flap its wings. It began to ascend.

"Destroy this, you bastard!" Bolt yelled as he gripped the hawk's thin legs and channeled lightning into them.

The hawk squawked, more in alarm than pain. Then he was falling, again. Bolt's vision swam as he was assaulted by vertigo and blood loss. He didn't have the strength of chakra to slow his descent again. He didn't even think he legs would hold up if he had to endure the mountainside grinding against his feet.

Bolt saw the hawk descending upon him, its beak parted in a battle cry. He felt it bite into his shoulder. The pain was almost too much to bear. Then, the hawk tossed him skyward. Bolt's stomach lurched for a moment before two claws clutched him.

Then he knew only darkness.

* * *

Bolt blinked languishly as the first wisps of conscious thought returned to him. He grimaced as he felt a great many somethings poking into his back. With a groan, he turned his head. He flinched, as his eye was nearly poked by a stick. Looking around, he appeared to be in... a nest.

With a strength of will Bolt didn't know he had, he managed to drag himself to his feet. The nest was large, larger than a house. Clearly not made by normal sized birds. A handful of eggs rocked back and forth in one corner.

"Oh, fuck no," Bolt swore. He was not going to be the first meal of some hatchlings. No fucking way.

He ran to the nearest wall of the nest and began to climb. He managed to climb all about two feet before the pain in his feet was too much to bear, and he fell backwards. Bolt whimpered in pain as he lay there for a moment, before opening his eyes. Above him loomed an utterly titanic hawk. It was a pretty shade of brown-gray, with bestial yellow eyes that were trained on him.

Bolt and the hawk locked eyes. Neither moved. Neither breathed. Neither blinked. Swallowing, Bolt broke the deadlock. "Don't eat me," he said.

"Don't give me reason to, little one," the hawk spoke.

Bolt nodded several times. He didn't have the strength to kill this creature, slay its children, then fight his way through the other hawks and escape whatever nightmare he had been summoned to. Especially not with the way his feet ached. "Your—your kids won't eat me either, right?" Bolt asked for clarification, watching as the eggs rocked back and forth ever faster.

The hawk laughed—which was an odd sound. Bolt didn't know how animals could laugh. "No. You humans are too crunchy. Too many bones," she answered.

Bolt laughed nervously. That didn't exactly assuage his worries. "So, uh, why am I in here?" Bolt asked, keeping one eye on the eggs and the other on the hawk looming above him.

"You are a hatchling. Hatchlings belong in nests," she answered, her slitted eyes never wavering. It was unnerving.

Bolt felt as if he should have been insulted for being called a "hatchling," but wisely kept his mouth shut. Bolt tensed as the hawk slowly bent and peered at his wounds. He was ready to leap away at the slightest aggression. "You are injured. Do not move," the hawk commanded.

He went rigid as the hawk's head rose ever so slightly.

Then the hawk vomited on him.

"What the fuck!" Bolt screamed in impotent rage. He was covered in a pale gray goop made of sticks, bones, scraps of fur, and some kind of plant matter.

The smell would haunt his nose until his dying day. Shuddering violently, Bolt tried to clean himself. He flinched as the hawk's claw pinned him to the ground. "Do not move, hatchling. The salve will speed your recovery," she said.

Bolt was tempted to tell her to fuck off. He would rather suffer the pain than be covered in disgusting hawk vomit. However, given that he was facing what seemed to be a hostile clan of hawks, he bit his tongue and suffered through it. "Why are you helping me? I was attacked by one of you," Bolt asked.

The hawk peered at him. "That was Suzakumaru. You will have to forgive him. He's always looking for a reason to fight," she answered.

"Am I in some sort of trouble? I didn't mean to offend your clan," Bolt said.

The hawk quirked its head. "Perhaps. But it is not my place to say. Our leader will explain once you are well again," she explained.

"When is that, exactly?" Bolt asked. He didn't know how long he had been wherever he was, but he didn't want to overly worry Hikari.

"Now," the hawk answered, scraping and licking off the gray paste. Bolt marvelled as he was, for the most part, healed. Granted, he was filthy and smelled foul, but healed nonetheless. "Come," she bade. "Our lord will see you now."

The hawk took flight. Bolt pumped chakra into his legs and leapt onto the wall of the nest, quickly climbing the rest of the way. He stared in amazement as he gazed out upon an expanse of flat, stony gray rock. Nests dotted the landscape, with pairs of hawks watching over them. One set of eyes from each pair was always upon him as he walked through the maze of nests.

Bolt resisted the urge to shiver. Some of the gazes were downright predatory. Bolt had no disillusions that they would eat him, despite what the earlier hawk had told him. He was glad this "lord" of the hawks was to judge him, for whatever sin they had pinned on him.

He was led to a cave that towered for hundreds of feet above him. Swallowing his fear, he wandered into the depths. There were holes in the cavern's ceiling that allowed light to filter in, so at least it wasn't totally dark. Bolt marched onwards in silence until they came to the rear of the cave, where he could see the crimson hawk that had attacked him. Suzakumaru, as he had been informed, stared at him with thinly veiled aggression.

"Calm yourself, son," a voice echoed through the cave. What Bolt thought was the cavern wall _moved_. A hawk, if it could be called that, larger than any animal he had ever seen—bigger than the boss of the toads, even—turned its great eye on him. The slit of his eye was large enough that Bolt could have walked through it without bending at the knees. Suzakumaru was nothing but a hatchling before this hawk.

Bolt took an involuntary step backwards. The pair of bestial eyes glowed in the twilight of the cave, and moved skyward as the hawk raised its head and stepped forward. It was simply too massive to be real. Its plumage alternated in colors, ranging from rusty red to bright vermillion. In the light filtering through the ceiling, it almost appeared to be coated in blood. Bolt's eyes snapped to its wings and tail feathers—they were on fire. They burned with a pleasant yellow flame, flickering in some invisible wind.

The lord of all hawks _chuckled_ at him. "Most humans have the same reaction," he spoke.

Bolt mentally berated himself and forced himself to focus. Now was not the time to marvel at an aberration of nature. "I am Suzaku, Lord of the South and Ruler of Summer," it said.

Bolt bowed respectfully. It couldn't hurt his odds of survival any. "I apologize for my son's actions," Suzaku said. "He assumed the worst when you returned with our ancestral scroll in tow."

"A—ancestral scroll?" Bolt questioned. He didn't understand.

"Yes," Suzaki spoke. "The scroll you signed was an ancient one, one we have long since thought lost. It was stolen from us many decades ago. You understand, then, that young Suzakumaru thought you a thief."

Bolt nodded nervously. He was most definitely not a thief. Nope. "Instead of feeding you to our young, as my son had wanted, I have decided to hear your tale of how you came to possess our scroll. Speak the truth, and you have nothing to fear," Suzaku told him.

"Well, you see, I'm not the thief," Bolt said, clearing that up right away. "I found your scroll in a cave in the Land of Rivers. My friend and I wanted summoning contracts, and your scroll was the one I chose."

Suzaku and his son peered down at Bolt, who swallowed nervously. "The one you chose?" Suzaku asked.

"Ah, yeah," Bolt said, relieved that they hadn't decided to eat him yet. "I found a bunch of old summoning contracts in this cave. I've been going through them."

From the way both hawk's eyes narrowed, Bolt knew they were either interested, or angered. He hoped it was the former.

"The Great Heist," Suzaku mused aloud. "How fascinating. How many scrolls are in this cave of yours, hatchling?"

Bolt closed his eyes for a moment as he did his best to recall the exact number. "Maybe one hundred, give or take a handful," Bolt guessed.

Suzaku bobbed his great head. "Yes," he said. "I believe you have found the cache of one of the greatest thieves in history. Many decades ago, a man stole scrolls from nearly every summoning clan in existence and forced himself into a contract with us. Whoever he called upon was enslaved to his will, and were never the same again. I believe you have discovered the scrolls he has stolen."

Bolt just nodded, unsure of what else he could say or do. "I apologize for my son's brash actions," he said. "For returning the scroll to us, we would be honored to call you our summoner."

Suzakumaru squawked indignantly. "Father, we already have a summoner! We have never had more than two living at the same time!"

Suzaku, with a single beat of his wings, sent Suzakumaru crashing into the wall of the cavern. Bolt willed his heart to stop hammering in his throat, thankful the lord of the hawks' anger was not directed at him. "Who is your other summoner?" Bolt asked hesitantly.

Suzaku gestured to the wall of the cavern closest to him. Walking closer, Bolt saw that there were countless names etched into the stone. Bolt assumed they had been scratched there by Suzaku himself. Towards the end of the list, came a name Bolt knew very well. "Master Sasuke?" Bolt yelped.

"Oh?" Suzaku said, moving his mass to peer at the wall. "You know our summoner?"

"Yeah," Bolt answered. "I... trained under him." He frowned. He couldn't sign the hawk contract. His master could reverse summon him at any time. Bolt had no doubt that the Hokage would command Sasuke to do so the moment he discovered Bolt had signed the contract.

"What is wrong, hatchling?" Suzaku asked.

"What is your policy on loyalty to multiple summoners?" Bolt asked. Maybe they wouldn't let Sasuke reverse summon him?

"What do you mean?" Suzaku asked, exhaling a great plume of smoke.

"I am not on the best of terms with the man my master reports to," Bolt explained. "Could Master Sasuke reverse summon me, if asked?"

Suzaku bobbed his head. "Yes," he answered.

Bolt frowned. Of course. "Then I'm, uh, afraid I can't agree to be your clan's summoner, Lord Suzaku," he said, trying to be as courteous as possible. It couldn't hurt to be respectful.

Suzaku beheld Bolt for a moment. "What is your name, child?"

Bolt blinked. "Bolt Uzumaki," he answered.

Suzaku's eyes trailed to his son, who sat quietly in the corner where he had been cowed. "What would you do in my stead, Suzakumaru?"

The much smaller version of Suzaku hobbled over to glare at Bolt. His slitted eyes darted between the blonde, and the stone wall. "We have always only ever had one summoner, father. It is tradition. We should not take a second," he advised.

"But?" Suzaku prompted.

"But," Suzakumaru continued. "We owe this _Bolt_ a debt of gratitude for returning us our original scroll. Perhaps... given our other summoner's eccentricities, we could come to a compromise?"

"What kind of compromise, exactly?" Bolt asked, a little weary of how the hawks were speaking of him and his master.

"Tell me, young Bolt, what do you know of the contract between man and beast?" Suzaku asked.

"... Not much," Bolt admitted. Summoning contracts were a closely guarded secret among those who held them. Such information was not shared lightly.

"You do not think we enter a contract with a human out of the goodness of our hearts, do you? We assist them, and they assist us," Suzaku explained.

Bolt nodded. That made sense. "In return for the service of my clan, our summoners have assisted us in various matters. In the same manner that you can summon us, we can summon you. Summoners have been called upon to fight our mortal enemy, the owls, on many occasions. Assistance during nesting season. Treatment of wounds beyond which we cannot heal. Use of jutsu which we ourselves cannot cast. Any many, many more."

"Our current summoner has not called upon us since the end of your last great war, and neither has he heeded our call when we have asked for his assistance. His continued affiliation with the _snakes_ ," Suzaku spat the word. "Is a disgrace to one who calls themselves a hawk."

"What we offer is this: for your return of our scroll to us, we shall allow you to become our second summoner. If you adhere to your duties as our summoner, we shall not allow your master to call upon you without your permission," Suzaku offered.

Suzakumaru made a small squawking noise. "In addition," he said. "If you would return the other stolen scrolls, we would be willing to be more lenient in your future duties."

Bolt's eyes narrowed. The hawks were shrewd negotiators. But Bolt had seen better in his time with the Crimson Tide. The hawks were clearly upset about Sasuke's treatment of their contract, judging by the way they spoke of his association with the snakes—which made sense, given that they were natural enemies. They also wanted help in numerous ways, least of which was _war_ with another summoning clan and its summoners. And... though Suzakumaru had tried to hide it, they were interested in the other stolen contract scrolls. Perhaps, if the hawks were this grateful for theirs, the other clans would be as well?

Bolt smirked. "I have a counter offer," he proposed, seeing a path for mutual benefit.

"Oh?" Suzaku questioned, eyebrows raised—how did a hawk even have eyebrows?

"You're obviously upset that my master has a contract with your natural enemy, the snakes. From what you've told me, skirmishes with the owl clan is at least somewhat frequent. And, even though Suzakumaru has tried to hide it, the rest of the stolen scrolls are extremely valuable. I bet the other summoning clans would be just as grateful as you to get their scrolls back, am I right?" Bolt explained.

Both hawks remained silent. "How about this," Bolt offered. "I'm a budding master of sealing jutsu. I can set up seals all over the mountain that would make your war with the owls child's play. In addition, whenever they attack, I will fight on your behalf—against the owls themselves, or their summoners. As a gesture of good faith, I will return the stolen scrolls to you, which you can then use as political clout against the other clans—which was your plan anyway."

"And in return?" Suzaku prompted.

"And in return, you accept me as your summoner, negotiate for a friend of mine to receive a contract of her choosing, and dissolve my master's contract—which you would be happy to do, due to his contract with the snakes, if he wasn't your only summoner," Bolt said, a pleased grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

He felt a little guilty about betraying his master like this, but he had to be sure. Just the word of the hawks was not enough. If there was even the slightest chance that Sasuke could reverse summon him, it was too risky. This way, he was safe.

Bolt watched as Suzaku and Suzakumaru spoke with each other silently. After a few minutes, they turned their heads to face Bolt again. All three were silent for a moment, before Suzaku, with a single beat of his wings, sent a gust of wind at the wall of the cavern. A deep slash in the stone obliterated his master's name. "Agreed," Suzaku crowed, clawing his name into the stone after Sasuke's.

Bolt immediately felt a drain on his chakra as the contract was finalized. He sunk to his knees, not expecting it. "We shall call upon you tomorrow, at the same time. When you are summoned, bring the rest of the stolen scrolls and the contract your friend wishes to be bound to," Suzaku spoke. Before Bolt had the chance to respond, a sealing matrix spread beneath his feet. "Reverse Summoning Jutsu!"

Bolt blinked at the sudden change from light to darkness as he was whisked through time and space back to the Akatsuki hideout. Bolt's knees buckled as he was struck in the face. "You idiot!" Hikari seethed. "Do you listen to anything I say? No, no you don't!"

Bolt chuckled as she kneeled and began to heal what little wounds he still had. "And you smell like shit," Hikari hissed at him.

"True. But I do have good news," he said.

Even though she was angry at him for doing something as reckless as signing a summoning contract with a potentially dangerous clan, Hikari still cracked a small smile underneath her mask as he regaled her with his adventure. Bolt could tell. It was in the eyes.

He grinned when she gasped involuntarily upon learning he had negotiated for a contract for her.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This chapter was mainly dedicated to expanding upon the lore of the Summoning Jutsu, as well as giving Bolt and Hikari their own contracts. Some things about the hawks explained: Suzaku is the Vermillion Bird in Japanese, who is one of the Four Symbols in the Chinese constellations. It always bugged me that everyone had these summoning contracts to help them, but the animals themselves never got anything out of it. That was touched upon in the chapter. The natural predator of young hawks are owls, which explains the war with them. Snakes are both a predator of young hawks, and prey of older ones. Same thing, there.

For those that didn't read between the lines: the cave is the first Akatsuki hideout we see in the series, where Gaara "died." Konan hid as many of the Akatsuki treasures there as she could before she died. Of these, Nagato's Animal Path contracts were stored. He was the thief who stole the contracts that was mentioned in this chapter.

Some people might dislike that I've removed one of Sasuke's powers, but that is just the way the cookie crumbles. Sorry. I mean, really. He's strong enough. Literal demigod. Next thing you know, he'll be using eye hax to propel Amaterasu out of his feet and fly like Ironman. He can afford to lose one summoning contract.

This chapter (and the last one, to an extent) were slower paced than the previous two/three. We're done with the "big" conflicts for a few chapters now, so we're back to the slower adventurous pace momentarily.

Next chapter features Hikari, and our duo finally ventures forth to the Land of Rain! Huzzah!


	26. Chapter 26

Hikari did not like the strange obsession Bolt had with Akatsuki.

Not at all.

Bolt sat on a rocky outcropping, reading that god damned journal. Again. She had lost count after the tenth reading. He wore an older set of charcoal gray shirt and pants—which he had found among a stash of Akatsuki uniforms—that replaced the clothes that had been destroyed by his journey to the hawks' domain.

Hikari watched as Bolt read the last page of the journal, then promptly turned to the first page and began again.

No, she did not like his obsession at all. Perhaps if it had been towards a more "respectable" group—she used the term loosely—she might have tolerated it. The Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, perhaps? Granted, the group was all but defunct now, but they weren't a terrorist organization hell-bent on world domination.

The Mist's hunter corps education was a little more thorough than that of the average ninja academy. She and her brothers and sisters in arms knew _exactly_ who the Akatsuki were, what they stood for, and what their members did in the name of "peace." They were trained to keep an ever watchful eye out for organizations with similar ideology.

They had found a few, too. They were ruthlessly put down; hunted to extinction to the last man, woman, and child. Lord Chōjūrō would not abide the second coming the Akatsuki so soon after the world knew peace. The Mizukage was many things, not all of which Hikari agreed with, but in his own twisted, cruel way, he preserved the peace.

Bolt suddenly snapped the journal shut and pocketed it before moving to a nearby rack of scrolls. That rack, in particular, had interested him the most. It contained, from what she could tell, the mad ramblings of a man tortured by pain and loss: the second leader of Akatsuki, "Pain."

"What are you doing?" Hikari asked wearily.

"Konan mentioned something about the Hidden Rain," Bolt said, as he sifted through the scrolls. "Nagato had a technique—a water jutsu—that allowed him to control the rain. He used it to spy on the people of the village. It should be here, somewhere."

"What would you use a technique like that for?" Hikari asked, fearing the answer.

Bolt shrugged. "It would be useful. The Byakugan allows me to see for approximately five miles, at my current limit. The amount of optical data I have to sift through at that distance is staggering. If I had this technique, I could expand my range and narrow down the search area—easing the strain on my eyes. Plus, I could create water on demand for any jutsu, instead of creating it myself," he explained at length.

Hikari heard Bolt make a pleased, gasping noise as he plucked a scroll from the middle of the second highest shelf. It was a pleasant dark blue color, with two iron caps on each end of the scroll. A sky blue length of ribbon secured the parchment, which Bolt quickly untied and began to devour the information within. "Rainmaker Jutsu," Bolt uttered under his breath. "Bird—Rat—Ox—Monkey—Rat—Snake," he repeated, over and over, as he memorized the technique.

"Bolt," Hikari said, attracting his attention. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to nip her friend's growing obsession in the bud, before it grew to be something... more destructive. "We're leaving. Today."

Bolt looked at her, wide-eyed and shocked. His expression _almost_ made her reconsider. Almost. "But, Konan left me all of this!" Bolt said, gesturing wide with both arms and spinning. "I can't leave, not yet! There's so much to learn! Nagato was a genius! He had these metal rods which he could use to imprint his dōjutsu on others! Think of what I could do if I learned that? I could give my friends their own Byakugan! And—"

"Bolt," Hikari cut him off. He'd list a thousand reasons to stay if she let him. Instead, compromise. " _Konan_ didn't leave _you_ anything. We are leaving. Tomorrow. Pack whatever you want to take with you."

They had spent ten days in the small cavern, and were quickly running out of rations. They needed to leave, almost as much as Hikari wanted to in order to stem Bolt's infatuation.

His blue eyes darted back and forth as he eyed her, and the room. For a moment, Hikari's breath caught in her chest as she thought he would choose the room over her. Bolt sighed. "Fine," he said.

Hikari released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "But I'll need your help," he said, quickly seating himself and setting the scroll next to him on the floor. He bared his right forearm to her. Slowly, an inky black seal appeared. "I need to modify this seal. It's not powerful enough, or designed, to carry this many objects," he said, gesturing to the entire room.

"What do you need me to do?" Hikari said, kneeling before him. Bolt pressed a finger to the seal, and withdrew his "secret" scroll, as she had dubbed it. The one she couldn't read that apparently contained the wealth of knowledge the Uzumaki clan held on sealing jutsu. He tucked it into his shirt for safekeeping.

"This seal was made by the Uzukage. It's quite powerful, but was designed to hold only a small weight—and nothing that needed to be preserved, like food, or..." Bolt trailed off.

"Or bodies," Hikari provided for him, with a nod. It had ruined her appetite when he had explained that the seals for containing food and corpses were remarkably similar. It made sense, in a sick, twisted sort of way. Both were perishable and needed to be preserved.

"Right," Bolt said. "It's main strength was that it needs Uzumaki chakra to seal and unseal. I want to modify it, keeping its security measures, but increasing both the number of things it can seal, as well as the quantity. I also want to make it permanent."

Hikari watched as he withdrew a small brush and began to alter the seal. "Permanent?" Hikari questioned.

"Most seal masters will use ink for the seals they place on their own bodies, in the beginning," he explained. "But as they grow more experienced, and powerful, they begin to tattoo them. It makes the seal stronger, and more difficult to forcefully remove. I've been studying it for a while now, and I think I'm ready. It's just difficult to focus on the chakra, and work the needle at the same time."

"Ah," Hikari said. He wanted her to tattoo him while he focused on the seal. "Okay," she agreed.

Bolt chewed on his bottom lip as he labored over the intricate characters and designs of the seal he was modifying. The original was a more intricate version of the Uzumaki clan's stylized whirlpool symbol. Bolt enlarged it, drawing more lines that added more arms to whirlpool. They coalesced in the center, forming a dot. Around the outside, he wrote in the archaic script of the sealing language. The words quickly faded, moving across his skin and joining the symbol of the whirlpool like water rushing down a drain. As they did so, several empty circles manifested at each of the cardinal directions on the seal.

Hikari watched with fascination. To her, and many people—ninjas and civilians alike—sealing jutsu was akin to magic. Seal masters could do the most fantastical things with a brush and ink. Things that nobody could even imagine.

"There," Bolt said, grinning at his success. He placed the bottle of ink on the floor between them and brandished his arm. "Just... just be careful, alright? Removing the tattooed seal would be painful."

Hikari scoffed under her breath. Her hands were steadier than most surgeons. Years of experience with throwing needles, combined with her medical training and hunter corps service, gave her perfect control over her hands. Withdrawing an unpoisoned needle, she dabbed it in the ink and methodically began to dye Bolt's skin black.

She could feel his chakra writhing just underneath the skin. Each time her needle punctured him, it lashed out and grabbed hold of the sealing ink and integrated it into his system. Hikari was extra careful when she worked on the outlines of the seal. She could feel Bolt tense every time her needle lowered, fearing that she would make a mistake.

Hikari never did.

An hour later, she discarded the needle and admired her work. Bolt's chest was heaving from exertion—an hour of channeling chakra into his arm and maintaining the seal would tire anyone. But it was done. Bolt had a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he clenched and unclenched his fist. Unlike before, the seal did not fade when he stopped channeling the chakra to it.

Hikari watched as he fed the seal both the "secret" scroll, and the Rainmaker Jutsu scroll. Both disappeared into the seal with a small wisp of smoke. "It worked!" Bolt exclaimed happily, as he moved to one of the nearby racks of scrolls and began to ceremoniously feed them to his forearm.

Hikari laughed lightly under her breath. She thanked whatever god was watching over her that the seal didn't explode like his attempt at the Explosion Release explosive tag a week ago. It was, by rough calculation, evening. Hikari crawled over to her sleeping bag and curled up. She fell asleep to the sound of rustling scrolls and muffled footsteps.

They left the following morning.

* * *

"Are you sure this is going to work, Hikari?" Bolt whispered to her.

Hikari cast a glance backwards. Bolt followed her like a lost dog, wide-eyed and afraid of the world around him. Given the looks the whores of the red-light district were giving him, he probably was.

"Yes," she assured him. She had completed operations of a similar nature many times. She had the situation under control. Didn't he trust her? She wasn't going to let one of the whores steal his innocence. She knew that feeling all too well. Granted, he was a young man, and would probably enjoy his stay at one of the Hidden Valleys' many fine brothels. But Hikari knew the emptiness that followed. She would spare him that, if she could.

"How sure?" Bolt asked nervously. "I think one of them is following us."

Hikari cast a subtle glance back down the road. Sure enough, two whores were indeed following after Bolt, eying him like a rabid dog eyed a steak. She couldn't blame them for their actions. That was the goal of this little operation, after all. That was why she had him wearing a well fitted, dark yukata that was cut almost sinfully deep, exposing plenty of sculpted chest.

"Don't worry," she whispered reassuringly. "We're almost there."

And they were. She turned the corner, pulling him along by the sleeve of his robes. They entered into a dark alleyway with overhanging neon signs. Several businesses were located in the seedy alleyway, all with lanterns lit in their windows. _Open for business,_ they said.

All but one. One brothel whose window's lantern was extinguished. Hikari pulled Bolt over to an even smaller alleyway that ran parallel to the brothel. She found what she was looking for: a door. She rapped sharply on it several times, and waited. She didn't need to wait long. A few moments passed when a scantily clad woman appeared, garbed in a translucent, wispy cloth. "Can I help you?" the woman asked.

"Yes. We'd like to speak with the Madam, please," Hikari requested sweetly. She could feel Bolt's nerves pouring off him in waves behind her. She smiled.

"One moment," the woman said, disappearing into the brothel. There was a loud click as a metal bar secured the door. Hikari palmed several throwing needles, just in case the Madam came back with several bodyguards in tow.

"Alright. You remember the plan?" Hikari asked. She received a single, nervous nod from her blonde companion. "Good. Stall, try to keep your clothes on, and keep it in your pants," she reiterated. "I'll come for you as soon as I can."

The moment she finished her briefing, the door opened again. The Madam appeared, eying both her and Bolt. The "Madam"—Hikari used that term loosely—was a man, who had stuffed himself into a tight fitting dress that left little to the imagination. Poorly applied makeup marred his features, and it was clear to her that he hadn't shaved in quite some time judging by his jutting chest hair.

Hikari bit her lip to force herself to focus on the task at hand. "I have some merchandise I think you would be interested in," she said, stepping back and gesturing at Bolt. This brothel, inparticular, catered to a more eccentric taste according to rumor. She was counting on it. They wouldn't get in, otherwise. And they needed to talk to one of the men currently staying there.

Hikari watched as the Madam leaned forward and parted Bolt's yukata a little more than what would be considered decent, eying his abs. "Yes, I would. Please, step inside," he—she—bade.

Bolt entered first, practically pulled in by his sash. He made a silent squeak, which nearly sent Hikari into a fit of laughter. The Madam led the two of them deeper into the brothel, making small talk with Bolt—his new "merchandise." Bolt cast her a backwards glance, a look of pure horror on his face. It was the look a drowning man gave a liferaft.

And Hikari darted up the stairs, leaving him to his fate. She quickly navigated up to the second level of the brothel, and followed the sound of laughter and the smell of body odor. Her target wasn't very hard to find.

It was all too easy to creep into the room while three naked women fawned over the man. In an instant, she had sunk one throwing needle into each of the whores' necks. They dropped like puppets with their strings cut. The man would have screamed out, but Hikari silenced him with a needle coated in a strong paralytic poison.

She sat across from him at the low set table, admiring how comfortable the cushion was. The man that she sat across from was Gorou Kusakabe, the fifth son of a lesser noble in the Land of Rain. His father was a member of one of the many political alliances vying for control of the Land of Rain. Whilst a minor noble himself, he was still privy to information that was intrinsically valuable. "Hello, Mister Kusakabe," Hikari greeted him.

Gorou looked at her with wide, fear filled eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not here to kill you. If you answer my questions, you have nothing to fear," she said sweetly. The man nodded as best he could under the effects of the poison coursing through his veins.

"Good," Hikari said, with a smile and a nod. She held up two throwing needles. "This," she said, gesturing to the left one. "Is the antidote to the poison keeping you paralyzed. I'm going to give it to you in a moment. This," she said, gesturing to the right one. "Is a powerful poison that induces necrosis of the central nervous system."

Gorou looked at her with confused, tearful eyes. "If you scream after I give you the antidote, I will give you the second needle without a moment's hesitation and leave you to your fate. You will die slowly, in great pain, as the organs that hold your very consciousness slowly rot and turn to pulp. Do you understand?" Hikari asked.

Gorou nodded with great enthusiasm, despite the paralysis. "Good," Hikari said, stabbing him not-so-gently with the needle that contained the antidote.

In moments, Gorou had regained control of his limbs. He swallowed, his eyes darting from Hikari, to her needle, to the door, and then to the whores. "Don't worry," Hikari said sweetly. "They're just sleeping." His fear of her was very well founded, though she was a little insulted he thought she would kill three innocent women just to talk to him.

"What do you want?" Gorou asked, his voice hoarse.

"I want to know what you know, Mister Kusakabe," Hikari said. "Who are the powers that be, in the Land of Rain? Who is the most likely to emerge as the new Rain Lord? What is the state of the Hidden Rain, and who is their Amekage? What factions are recruiting? Who can be trusted?"

Gorou swallowed audibly, his eyes darting from Hikari's face—a haughty, beautiful noble's daughter from the Land of Water she had copied; the same she used in the Land of Waves—and the needle she held in her hand.

He told her everything.

"Thank you, Mister Kusakabe," Hikari said lightly, carefully pocketing the needle she had threatened him with. It was one of the few poisons she was not naturally immune to, and though she had the antidote to it on hand, she preferred to not tempt fate.

Instead, she stood and calmly walked to the door. Hikari heard the nobleman sigh and sag in visible relief. As she strode through the door, she slung another needle at him, and he joined the whores in their slumber.

Now, to find her missing companion. Hopefully undamaged, and with all his clothes on. Though a small peak wouldn't hurt anyone. She darted down the stairs and slinked through the darkened hallways of the brothel. Hikari didn't know where, exactly, the Madam had taken Bolt, but she knew it couldn't have been far.

She got her answer a few moments later; a loud squeak followed by a crash. Hikari deftly cracked the door open and peaked in. Confirming that it was indeed her friend and not another customer of the brothel, she snuck inside.

Bolt was cornered in the far corner of the room. His robe top had been parted, falling to his thighs. The crash she had heard was a small porcelain vase that had been shattered during his attempt to escape the clutches of the Madam who was looming over him. With the smallest flicker of her chakra, she appeared behind the Madam and struck him in the back of the head. He collapsed in a boneless pile of flailing limbs. Hikari sneered at the man's bulging crotch as she walked over to Bolt.

Bolt looked up to his savior like a damsel in distress. He looked like he had found religion in her very presence. No doubt the monks at the temples would be throwing celebrations if they knew. Hikari extended her hand. He took it, and she hoisted him to his feet and helped him slip back into his robes. "Never again," Bolt said, looking her in the eyes.

She smirked. "Never again," Hikari agreed.

The two of them stuck to the shadows as they avoided the whores of the brothel and slipped out into the night.

The Hidden Valleys really was quite beautiful. It lay nestled between two great towering crags of white stone that had been bowed out through the years by continued mining and expansion. The houses were mostly chiseled from the very stone by skilled masons. High above them, where the top of the crags loomed, were towers that hung like great stalagmites. They were hollowed out and turned into luxurious abodes for the wealthy and powerful. With the night sky and moon shining brightly, the Hanging Gardens of Tanigakure lived up to their reputation of extraordinary beauty. It was quite breathtaking, in Hikari's opinion. Not that she cared for things like that. Not at all.

Hikari noticed that Bolt had stopped following her. She turned, and found him reading a tattered newspaper under the light of a softly glowing lantern. His brows were furrowed and his nose scrunched as his eyes darted from left to right, reading furiously. "What's wrong?" Hikari asked.

"This doesn't make sense!" Bolt exclaimed, slapping the paper with the back of his hand and shoving it in her face.

Hikari took the newspaper and read it aloud softly. "... In a twist of fate, the shocking final conclusion of the Shinobi Union World Tournament came down to a battle between sisters. Kagami and Kagari Akiyama of the Hidden Stone battled each other for nearly three hours before the eldest, Kagami, emerged victorious. Both sisters are renowned for their prowess in ninjutsu..." Hikari trailed off.

Bolt was looking at her expectantly. "What?" Hikari asked.

He groaned in annoyance. "It's strange! One of my friends should have won! Sarada probably, but Mitsuki's wounds weren't that serious and he can easily heal himself with his freaky snake healing technique. I just... can't believe they would lose. The twins weren't anything special when I watched them fight..." Bolt rattled off.

Hikari looked at the picture on the front of the newspaper. The sisters were twins, differentiable only by their alternating hairstyles; the elder wore hers covering her left eye, the younger, her right. She had long since learned to never judge a book by its cover, as it were, but she agreed with Bolt's opinion. They didn't look powerful enough to be the strongest ninjas in the tournament.

Hikari sighed, and placed a reassuring hand on Bolt's shoulder as she crumpled the paper and tossed it into an alleyway. "I'm sure your friends did the best they could," she offered weakly.

Bolt grumbled under his breath. "What are you doing, Sarada? You could have wiped the floor with those twins," he muttered.

* * *

"Have you seen this man?" Sarada said, producing a sheet of paper. It had a picture of Bolt in the top left hand corner, a photograph from their childhood that displayed his blonde hair, blue eyes, and prominent chakra scars. The next one was the disguise he had been so fond of; crimson hair and eyes, skin devoid of the "whisker" marks as she so fondly called them.

The barkeep spat on the glass he was polishing and renewed his work with a fervor. "Ain't neva' seen 'im," he bit out.

Sarada rested both elbows on the bar, pushing the paper closer with her left hand and pushing down her glasses with her right. The barkeep leered at her as Sarada looked over the rims of her glasses. Her eyes bled red, fading from black to crimson as her Sharingan spun wildly. The man didn't even have time to flinch.

Sarada smiled ferally as his features slackened and his shoulders drooped. "Try again?" Sarada said. The barkeep put down the glass he had been polishing and carefully examined each of the photographs of Bolt.

His eyes came to a halt on a photograph in the third row. Sarada's heart fluttered for a moment. "Ye', I think I seen 'im," he said. "Leas', me daughter 'as. Red 'air 'ad 'er panties in a twist. Rare round 'dese parts."

She swallowed her enthusiasm. "When did you see him last, approximately? Do you know where he was headed?" Sarada asked.

The barkeep went slack-jawed. Sarada increased the strength of her genjutsu. The man blinked several times slowly, as if he was desperately searching what little brains he had for the answer. "Ye', tink 'e 'n tha lil' missus was 'eadin west, 'bout... week go," the barkeep answered, finally.

Sarada frowned. "Little missus? Was he with a woman? Tall, wears her hair in a bun? Porcelain mask? Or, maybe," she said, producing and unfolding a sketch. It was the woman's face she had seen on the bridge in the Land of Waves. The ANBU said it was unlikely that a trained hunter corps ninja would ever reveal their face so blatantly, so it was likely it was a transformation jutsu. "A woman with this appearance?"

The barkeep frowned and examined the sketch in great detail. Sarada was a fair artist, most Uchiha were, once they awakened their Sharingan. It was easy to draw when you could replicate most things perfectly after seeing them only once. "Ye', thas 'er," he slurred.

Sarada frowned. The genjutsu was taking its toll on the man's feeble mind. "And you said they were heading west, correct? Into the Land of Rivers, or farther, the Land of Wind?" Sarada asked, for clarification. That was an important detail. They only had two months to find and capture Bolt. Almost to the day, in fact.

The barkeep swayed on his feet. "They was goin' ta' River, 'ah think," he said. "Wasn' dressed fo' da' sand."

Sarada nodded. That was all she needed. "Thank you," she whispered, pocketing her two photographs. The genjutsu ended, and the man went back to polishing his glasses. He dropped to the floor the moment Sarada turned her back on him. He'd be fine, but he'd wake up in three hours with a killer headache.

She slid into the booth their team was seated at. "Find anything?" Shikadai asked, with a raised eyebrow. Chōchō was devouring a small feast, and Inojin was doodling on a napkin.

"Yeah. The barkeep says he saw them, perhaps between five to eight days ago. They were heading west, to the Land of Rivers, but he said they weren't dressed or prepared for the desert. Likely, they'll go north," Sarada informed them. Mirai, Himawari, and Mitsuki were out gathering more intel, so they'd have to be informed later.

"The Land of Rain, then," Shikadai muttered. "Troublesome," he sighed.

"Why is that troublesome?" Sarada asked with a frown.

Shikadai sighed. "The Rain is where people go to disappear. Sometimes literally," he said, poking at his food. "They've been embroiled in a civil war for over a decade, and the government is nonexistent. There is a reason travel there is restricted by the Leaf. Sometimes people go there, and they end up floating face down in a river."

"That's probably _why_ they're going there," Inojin commented, lazily sketching the symbol of the Leaf.

"Okay. We head north. The Land of Rivers is harsh terrain. It will take them some time to navigate through it. We can head north, cutting through the western border of the Land of Fire. If we make good time, we can maybe catch them before they get to Rain. If we don't, then we play the same card everyone else does: nameless mercenaries for hire," Shikadai explained.

Sarada nodded. It was as good of a plan as any. "What are we going to do once we find him, though?" Sarada asked. They had, so far, avoided any concrete planning. No one was willing to breech the subject of how, exactly, they were going to restrain him. By the ANBU's estimates, he was as powerful as a high jōnin.

Mirai plopped down next to Sarada startling her. Himawari and Mitsuki sat opposite of her, next to Shikadai. "That is the big question, kid," Mirai huffed.

Shikadai nodded. "Direct confrontation should be avoided. Ideally, we set a trap. With the element of surprise, my team and I can restrain him long enough for Himawari to block all his chakra points. If we fail, well..." Shikadai trailed off.

Mitsuki cleared his throat. "If, and that is _if_ , you fail," he said. "I believe I can fight him, for a short time. I was caught unprepared during our previous encounter."

"And I've been working on my speed, too," Sarada added. "I fully awakened my Sharingan as well. If it comes down to a fight, I won't be helpless."

Shikadai sighed. "The problem is," he said, with a whisper. "Is that you two will risk your careers over a battle you are more likely to lose than win."

"Shikadai is right," Mirai said. "If the ambush fails, we retreat and live to fight another day. No one is risking their bodies over a botched mission."

No one argued with her. She was, technically, the highest ranking officer among them. Shikadai was allowed point to gather experience, at the request of his old man. Sarada thought it was kind of ironic, considering her mother told her the story of how Shikamaru had lead the mission to retrieve her dad. Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it, as it were. The irony was not lost on her.

"Did you guys learn anything?" Sarada asked, changing the subject. She would drop it. For now. But she had no intention of failure. If it came to a fight, she would fight.

Mitsuki shook his head as Himawari frowned sadly. "Don't worry, Hima. We'll find him soon. I promise," Sarada said, trying to cheer her up. "Want to train? We all should, while we have the chance. We can use the time to practice our ambush tactics."

Everyone seemed to agree with that.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Anyone got reading recommendations? I've been on a binge lately, reading "Team 7's Ascension: Blood Wings" (metal as fuck title) by Eilyfe. It's pretty damn good.

 **Notice:** I'm still looking for _**one**_ more original character to involve in the plot, somewhere down the line. If you'd like to leave suggestions, feel free to do so in a review or contact me via personal message. I'm looking for characters that have an engaging persona and provocative history. They may hail from any land, and may have any powers you deem fit that adhere to canon and are not overly unbelievable (no dōjutsu, sorry!).

Some people were confused on how, exactly, the hawk contract was among Nagato's stash. Since we never saw how Sasuke got the contract, I assumed it was after he killed Itachi and joined Akatsuki, but before he fought Danzo—the first time we saw him summon a hawk. That was a very small window of time, which suggests that he signed it after joining the organization. The most logical conclusion is that Akatsuki was in possession of the contract—as part of Nagato's Animal Path stash.

Anon — You're entitled to your opinion, but I disagree. The summons we have seen have been overwhelmingly shown to be intelligent. The toads, slugs, snakes, dogs, monkeys, weasels, and turtles were all shown to have intelligence. In fact, I would argue that is the key difference between an animal and a summon. Why would a ninja tame a random, mindless mutt when they could have a ninja dog who is capable of complex thought, reasoning, speech, and the ability to use chakra? They wouldn't. Just because we don't see all of them speak doesn't mean they aren't intelligent. I'm also aware of how Reverse Summoning works—whether Sasuke does it himself, or summons a hawk loyal to him, does it matter how he achieves the reverse summon? The result is the same.


	27. Chapter 27

Thunder clapped, and lightning crackled across the sky. The heavens were dark with storm clouds, perpetually weeping in an attempt to drown the land and the people of the Land of Rain.

Bolt liked it.

Their new home deigned to greet him with his elements; lightning, and water. Both were aplenty here. Bolt could feel the window vibrate as the wind howled. The small tavern they were renting was dirty and cheap, but it kept them out of the storm. That was the most important thing in the Land of Rain. Keep dry and warm.

Hikari sat on one of the two beds, sharpening her needles and applying poison to them. It was only just past high noon, but you would think it would be evening if you looked at the sky. The entire country seemed to be locked in an eternal twilight, somewhere between dusk and midnight. Bolt pressed a finger to his tattooed seal and channeled his chakra into it. He had spent many hours cataloguing and organizing every scroll from the former lair of the Akatsuki.

The jutsu he wanted to try was something of a legend among the people of the Land of Rain. He unfurled the scroll, quickly re-reading it again. Just to make sure. He contorted his hands in quick succession, molding his chakra and bending it to his will. Bird. Rat. Ox. Monkey. Rat. Snake.

Bolt felt his chakra leave him in a great exodus of energy as he directed it skyward. He had underestimated just exactly how much chakra the Rainmaker Jutsu used. It gathered in the clouds, spreading like a sickness and infecting the heavens. Then, Bolt felt it.

He could sense the fishermen down by the docks, struggling to pull in nets of floundering fish. He could sense the trio of Rain ninjas perched in willowy trees overlooking the lake, nearly three miles to the east. He could sense the butcher down the road, dumping a bucket of gore into the street. At the very farthest reaches of his senses, he could sense the old hermit he and Hikari had passed in the mountain pass at the border of the Land of Rain and Rivers.

Bolt felt his cheek burn and blinked. He was laying on the wooden floorboards of their room, Hikari kneeling over him. He held a hand up to his cheek where she had slapped him. "Ow," he said.

"You used too much chakra," she informed him snidely. "Do not use that technique again. At least, not on the scale you used. Keep it smaller. Focussed."

Bolt nodded. His chakra reserves were not yet fully grown, and wouldn't be for four or five more years. And the technique was created and used by Nagato, who himself possessed the Rinnegan. He didn't have that advantage. But, someday. Someday, his strength would be great enough to use the technique to its fullest. Bolt fully intended to train himself into a coma to maximize his chakra reserves before that time came.

Hikari pointed out the window. "Did you do that?" she asked.

Bolt peered out into the twilight. The heavy rainfall had slowed to a light drizzle. He hadn't seen it stop raining since they had arrived in the dreary country nearly three days ago. "I don't think so," he answered.

Hikari shrugged. "We should make good use of the weather. We've been stuck here for more than a day, who knows when the rain will let up next?"

Bolt agreed. He slung on one of the heavy black raincoats he had found in the Akatsuki hideout; remnants from the first iteration of the organization, led by Yahiko. Even after being sealed in scrolls for so long, they held up remarkably well. They kept his body warm and dry, a feat that was impressive in a country famed for its cold climate and rainy skies.

The two of them set out from the small tavern they had rented a room in and began to run northwest. Simply walking in the Land of Rain was an exercise in chakra control. The constant downpour turned the ground into a marsh of mud that could swallow a grown man whole. Travel over land was mostly restricted to ninjas. It was an odd combination of water and sand walking. But it kept them from drowning in sludge, and that was all that mattered. Bolt took it as a training exercise; refining his already naturally precise chakra control even further.

They were heading to a small cove in the northwest portion of the country. It bordered dangerously close to the Land of Earth, but Bolt hadn't paid the dangers any mind. The comments of the Tsuchikage still stung in his mind. If one of her ninjas crossed his path, he'd delight in showing them just how much of a stain on the name of Hokage he was.

Hikari had extracted a veritable treasure horde of information from a lesser noble's son. By the way she told it, Hikari practically had the man soiling himself. Bolt trusted the information was accurate. After much debate, they decided to offer their support to the Sugawara clan. They were a minor clan who enjoyed the popular support of a good fraction of the people. The Sugawara clan came to power by taking advantage of their country's natural export: water. They sold it to the parched Land of Wind and the Hidden Sand, making ryō hand over fist. They used their newfound wealth to enter the political arena, and had enjoyed success there for several generations.

According to their informant, the Sugawara clan had holed up in the mountains bordering the Land of Earth. Rumor had it that a small force of men loyal to them were camped in the cove they were currently heading to, and hopefully, that would provide them their in.

Overhead, the thunder clapped. The rain began to fall heavily again, and Bolt could feel the cold seep into his bones. He sighed. The weather was fickle in the Land of Rain. It was the "perfect storm" as Hikari liked to dub it. The country was nestled between the mountains of the Lands of Earth, Wind, Rivers, and Fire. Clouds built up, heavy with rain and unable to pass the mountains. That led to a near perpetual rainfall. The only difference was in how much rain fell in a single day.

Luckily, their contact-to-be was just up ahead. Bolt could see the entrance of the cove every time the lightning flashed. He and Hikari ducked into the cove, sighing in relief as they were granted a reprieve from the rain. At the back of the cove, a handful of torches glowed softly.

Bolt crept forward, his footsteps light. Something wasn't right. His ears twitched as he heard the telltale twang of a bowstring. He rolled forward on instinct. An arrow sunk deep into the muddy earth he had been standing on. He turned, having already weaved hand seals, and spat a beam of water at the rocky ledge he thought the archer had perched on.

There was a crash as stone broke under the pressure of the jutsu. A figure leapt into the darkness of the cave and disappeared. Hikari stepped forward and hurled a handful of throwing needles into the darkness. There was no hiss of pain, nor thud as a body dropped to the ground. She had missed.

It was the first time Bolt had ever seen her miss. "Come out!" Bolt barked, his voice echoing through the cove.

There were movements in the shadows as men—armed men—emerged. They were a ragtag bunch; bandits, thugs, and thieves. Their clothes were worn, what little armor they wore was rusted and patched with mismatching material. Their weapons, however, were well maintained and sharp. They gleamed in the dim firelight of the torches.

"Are you members of the Sugawara faction?" Bolt asked, palming the hilt of a kunai. The fact that they had attacked first led him to believe that they were not, in fact, members of the faction they were looking for.

The men chuckled. "Yeah, sure, kid. That's us," one of them said, stepping forward and brandishing a sword.

Bolt's eyes narrowed. In the blink of an eye, he hurled the kunai forward. Lightning arced from the tips of his fingers as the knife left his hand. The kunai sunk deep into the man's chest, piercing his armor with ease. He died on the spot. "Kill 'em!" one of the men barked.

The cove descended into a chaotic melee. Two large, barrel chested thugs ran at him. Both had large spears clutched in their hands. Bolt dodged the first spear, then leaned into the guard of the other man before he could attack. He prodded him with his index finger, sending a lance of chakra through his heart. Bolt had a close up view as the thug's eyes widened in pain and disbelief before he too joined his comrade in the Pure Land. The other thug roared in fury as Bolt casually leaned backwards, avoiding the thrust of his spear, and dragged a kunai across his neck.

Blood splashed across his cheek, but Bolt ignored it. He turned to find Hikari dancing between men swinging their blades at her. She would take a step, throw a needle, then take another step. Every time she did, a man dropped dead or dying. Bolt smirked. He fished out a handful of shuriken and threw them at the distracted mob. Four men cried out in pain. One dropped to the ground, clutching at his throat.

There were only a handful of men left standing when Hikari was through with them. They stood, back-to-back, and retreated deeper into the cave. Bolt could see their swords shaking in unsteady arms from where he stood. They were dead, and they knew it. They picked the wrong marks to rob. They charged all as one. Hikari threw two needles at the first two, then stepped into the third's guard and crushed a fist into his sternum. The sound bone breaking echoed through the cove.

Hikari dusted her hands theatrically. "Well done," Bolt congratulated her. "Let's see if our bandits have anything good on them."

Bolt kneeled to sift through one of the thug's pockets. Then, he heard the twang of a bowstring. He rolled sideways this time. Good thing, too, because the arrow sunk into the mud a good two feet in front of where he stood. Had he rolled forward, he would have been dead. Bolt sighed. He had forgotten the archer.

Then, the cove was lit by a great ball of fire roaring down at them. Bolt leapt away, rolling to a stop and exhaling blasts of water as thick as his wrists towards the darkness. Hikari had ducked under and overhanging rock and avoided the fire. She hurled a handful of throwing needles, but hit nothing.

The sound of boots slopping over mud echoed through the cove. Two men emerged from deeper into the cove. One dressed in a snug, dark outfit that clung to his body. He had a crossbow held in his hands, a bolt already nocked. The other was dressed in a heavy dark green raincoat, a kunai clutched in his right hand. Both men wore rebreathers and had a headband with four bars etched into the metal.

Rain ninjas.

Which meant next to nothing. The Hidden Rain was all but a defunct village. Bolt had been surprised to learn they had not one, not two, but _three_ men claiming to be Amekage. Their forces were scattered and broken. There was no military might in the Land of Rain.

"It took us a long time to recruit these kids," the man with the kunai said darkly. "You'll pay for killing them." He nodded once to his companion with the crossbow, and he melded into the darkness.

Bolt sighed. His eyes faded from blue to a pale lavender. The archer was perched behind him, on a ledge overlooking the cove. He produced a single kunai and slung it backwards without looking. He heard a strangled, gurgling gasp followed by a loud thud as the body of the archer fell to the muddy ground with his kunai lodged in the man's throat.

The other Rain ninja looked at him with clear fear, his eyes locked with Bolt's own. There weren't many who didn't know of the Byakugan. He turned and ran. Hikari was already in pursuit, slinging poisoned needles at him. To the man's credit, he dodged or blocked them. Impressive skill.

Bolt followed Hikari as the man tried to evade her. A few seconds later, he cried out in pain as a shuriken sunk into his left heel. He fell to the floor, clutching at his leg. "Who are you? Why did you attack us?" Hikari demanded. Maybe they were just bandits. Maybe they weren't. She wasn't taking chances.

"Tetsu!" the man cried out.

Bolt frowned. In the darkness, something moved to his right. It was so large he thought it was a boulder. But boulders didn't have chakra pathways, did they? He leapt backwards as something came crashing down between him and Hikari.

Bolt gasped as a man stepped into the light of the torches. _Man_ did not seem to be a word you would describe him with. He was a mountain. Twice as tall and twice as broad as Bolt himself, he _towered_ over him. Yet, Bolt could tell there was not a lick of fat on his body. It was all muscle, thick as any armor. In his right hand he clutched a sword that was as long as Bolt himself was tall. A shorter sword hung in a sash around his waist.

There was hardly notice before the man lashed out with his sword. Hikari leapt into the air as it cut through the stony walls of the cove as easily as it cut through air. She kicked off a rock, and landed softly next to Bolt. Together, the two of them slowly backed out of the cove. Enclosed spaces didn't seem to hinder the mountain of a swordsman, so they would retreat where they could more easily move.

The swordsman followed them, and the Rain ninja from earlier followed closely behind him. Neither one saw Bolt drop a scrap of sealing paper on the muddy ground as he ducked out of the cove's mouth. The swordsman's boots missed the scrap by an inch as he marched out of the cove. The Rain ninja, however, stepped on it heavily. An explosion tore both his legs from his body, leaving him in a bloody pile of spilled innards.

The swordsman turned and frowned at the body of the former Rain ninja. He turned to face Bolt, his brows narrowed in concentration. In the light of day, Bolt could admire the specimen of man. He had to be at least seven feet tall, probably more. His arms, at their thickest, were nearly as thick as Bolt's waist. Thick red hair was held in a topknot that rapidly darkened when exposed to the rain. A pair of cold, crimson eyes stared back at Bolt's lavender ones. The swordsman couldn't have been more than two or three years older than him.

Bolt darted forward, his right arm extended. He would fall to the Gentle Fist, as sure as any other man. Bigger just meant there were more places to stick a blade. There was a flash of silver. The veins in his temples writhed as Bolt came to a sudden stop. Pain blossomed in his face as the blade of a sword cut through his nose, severing skin and cartilage. Blood ran over his lips and down his chin in rivulets.

Only his Byakugan had saved his skull from being cleaved in two. The swordsman was fast. Too fast. Faster than a man of his size had any right being. Bolt sucked in several breaths through his mouth before he could inhale any blood. That would be a fatal mistake. The swordsman was obviously skilled.

Hikari hurled a barrage of needles at the man. Bolt smirked.

His smirk turned to ash as the swordsman whirled on the needles and struck them down so fast that Bolt could hardly follow the motions of his sword with his Byakugan. He swallowed audibly. Rushing forward, he focussed on the swordsman's blade. He lashed out with his hand, chakra lancing from his fingertips.

The swordsman swung his sword at him. Bolt ducked, but felt the blade take a portion of his hair with it. He threw his fist forward in a jab. Then, a fist as large as his entire skull slammed into the side of his head.

Bolt's world went black.

He blinked several moments later, spots in his vision. He was laying face down in the mud. He felt something prod him in the ribs; Hikari's foot. She stood above him, a machete in her hands; a remnant from their time in the Land of Rivers. She was no swordsman. The mountain of a man easily trounced her with a blade, but she bought him enough time to recover.

Bolt leapt to his feet, putting several yards between him and the swordsman. He weaved hand seals. There was one thing Bolt knew about the Land of Rain: those who could use Water Release reigned supreme.

He spat a beam of concentrated water at Hikari's back. She dodged at the last moment. The swordsman, confronted by the jutsu at the last moment, brought his sword up to block it. Bolt thought it would mangle the man's sword as it had any other weapon.

Instead, the swordsman's blade glowed blue with chakra. With a single slash, he deflected the jutsu. Bolt grit his teeth, and leapt forward in a blur of speed. He was in range of his divination. Bolt wanted to see him block the Eight Trigrams Palms.

"Two palms!" Bolt cried, lashing out with both fists.

The swordsman's blade met his fists in an explosion of chakra. Bolt staggered, and couldn't even blink as another fist the size of a boulder crashed into his sternum. The air was knocked from his lungs in an instant. Bolt flailed backwards, gasping for breath.

"You are a worthy opponent," the swordsman spoke. "It is an honor to cross swords with you. This one is known as Tetsu."

Hikari helped Bolt to his feet, a handful of needles clutched in her free hand. "He's too fast," she whispered.

Tetsu shifted his stance. "Your fighting style is indeed fast, but you appear to have never faced an opponent of similar prowess. This one shall show you the errors of your ways," he said, brandishing his sword.

Bolt growled as the truth in the swordsman's words rang true in his ears. No one had been as fast as him. No one. Not even Eiji. Sure, his father and master were, but they outclassed him in every way. This was his first opponent whose speed matched his own. This was his first opponent where his Gentle Fist was not enough.

"Arrogant bastard!" Bolt hissed, rushing forward in a burst of speed.

He lashed out with his fist as his chakra thrust forward. Tetsu met his Gentle Fist strike with the edge of his sword. His arm was batted away, and then a leg as thick as a tree trunk slammed into his gut. Bolt grunted as he was sent soaring through the rain and crashing into a nearby tree.

Hikari leapt to the sky, inhaling a great breath of air. She exhaled, and spat a wave of water that crashed upon Tetsu's sword. With a single swing, he cut the wave in half and stepped forward. Hikari was already weaving more hand seals. Lightning arced from her fingertips and danced across the puddles. It leapt from raindrop to raindrop, creating a storm of electricity that surged towards the swordsman.

Hikari's eyes narrowed dangerously behind her mask as Tetsu's sword glowed blue once more. She vaguely recognized it as the sabre technique the samurai of the Land of Iron used. "Flash," he intoned, swinging his sword. A wave of raging chakra leapt from the edge of his sword and bisected the lighting jutsu in two. And still, it continued on. Hikari fell backwards, narrowly missing the attack. She watched as it passed in front of her mask by no more than a few inches. Then, Tetsu was upon her, his sword raised high.

A lance of water hissed as it cut the air. Tetsu was forced to block it with the flat of his sword. The sheer force behind the water forced the swordsman to take several steps backwards. Bolt appeared in a blur, his brows narrowed angrily. He fisted the fabric of his raincoat and tossed it to the ground, leaving him wearing nothing more than a mesh shirt of armor.

Then, he glowed blue. Lightning crackled and danced across his skin. The world slowed to a crawl as his lightning chakra seared through his nervous system, enhancing his reflexes. The rain seemed to fall in slow motion, giving him ample time to admire the drops. He could count the number of Hikari's stray hairs that blew in the wind.

He was in his own little world. A world in which he was king. A world in which no man or woman was as fast as he was.

Bolt surged forward in a flash of electricity. He grinned ferally as his Gentle Fist sunk deep into the man's shoulder. Not his sword arm, but it felt gratifying to finally deal him a real blow. How the thugs had convinced a swordsman of his skill to fight for them was a mystery to Bolt.

Tetsu staggered backwards, obviously not having expected the sudden great increase in speed. He quickly righted himself, adopting a defensive stance.

Bolt was upon him again, fists raining down. Tetsu took the first strike to his forearm, but caught the second with the flat of his sword. Then, he did something Bolt knew no samurai did.

He let go of his sword.

All of Bolt's synapses fired. The veins in his temple bulged. His Byakugan zeroed in on a flash of movement. Tetsu's second sword had been drawn from its scabbard so quickly that its blade wasn't visible to the naked eye. Bolt leapt backwards, channeling chakra into the chakra metal of his mesh armor for all the good it would do.

Bolt skidded through the mud as he felt a warm, sticky sensation flow down his abdomen. A quick glance revealed that his mesh armor had been easily slashed, and a thin cut across his torso had drawn blood.

Iaidō. The one word no ninja ever wanted to hear when facing a samurai. It was the skill that made Mifune a legend. The old samurai general could cleave your head from your shoulders before you could even form a hand seal. Bolt didn't know why a samurai of Tetsu's skill was in the Land of Rain, but he didn't care to find out. He just wanted him dead.

His blood sang. Finally, someone who could match his Lightning Armor. Eiji had been an okay sparring partner, up until he mastered level one. Then, the student became the master. Since then, he had only used it three times in a fight: the first, against a group of Cloud swordsmen who outnumbered him twenty-to-one; the second, against a twenty million ryō bounty who specialized in speed—not fast enough; the third, against his team.

This would be the fourth. The first time his enemy had actually been worthy of it.

Bolt charged forward, leaving arcing footprints in the mud. Another flash of movement. Another quickdraw arcing towards his chest. He leapt to the side and earned a shallow gash along his arm, running from his shoulder to his elbow. For his wound, Bolt closed a chakra point in Tetsu's sword arm's shoulder. The fact that he only had time to close a single point, even with his Lightning Armor activated, spoke volumes for the samurai's skill.

They clashed again. Bolt closed a chakra point in the man's abdomen. For his victory, he was dealt a bone-deep gash on his calf. And again. Bolt closed two points in Tetsu's chest. The swordsman's blade cleaved a length of skin off his ribs. And again. Bolt closed another point on the swordsman's sword arm. The tip of Tetsu's sword cut between the webs of Bolt's fingers, leaving an inch wound that dug into the palm of his hand.

Bolt's chest heaved as he felt the effects of chakra exhaustion and loss of blood assail him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hikari watching the two of them deul closely. She was waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. She only needed to sink one needle into their opponent's flesh and it would be over.

But Bolt didn't want it to be over. He felt his heart beating like a drum in his chest so loud that it rattled his bones. His blood hammered in his ears so loudly that he couldn't hear anything else. He wanted to be the one to end the battle, not her. He wanted to prove, not to anybody but himself, that he was strong enough to overcome any battle.

Bolt thundered forward, a battle cry tearing from his lips. His right fist glowed with arcing, chirping lightning. The rods and cones in his Byakugan were all firing. He saw Tetsu's entire body tense. Waves of muscle rippled as he drew his sword. The blade moved too fast for his eyes, as powerful as they were, to follow. But he didn't step back.

He stepped in.

Bolt ducked low, and threw his shoulder forward. He felt the sharp bite of steel parting flesh and bone, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. There was no retreat. One foot in front of the other, he pressed forward. His right fist lashed out and struck the swordsman in the chest with a clap of thunder.

The mountain of a man was bodily thrown from his feet, and sent crashing into a small copse of willow trees. His sword had caught fast in Bolt's shoulder.

Bolt sagged as his Lightning Armor dissipated. He wobbled over to the samurai's first sword that he had discarded. Picking it up, he channeled lightning through it. The metal turned cherry red and melted and warped beyond use.

Hikari appeared beside him, holding him upright. She guided him over to a small boulder next to the mouth of the cove and ushered him to sit. "You are a fool," she hissed under her breath. Her hands glowed green with the soft light of the Mystic Palm. In a quick, jerking motion, she pulled the sword in his shoulder free.

Bolt whimpered in pain as fresh blood flowed down his chest. It was stemmed barely a moment later as she placed her palms over the wound. "You are beyond lucky. Do you know how many arteries that sword nearly cut? You would be dead if it was even an inch deeper of further," she chided him.

Bolt chuckled darkly. "I won, didn't I?"

Hikari scoffed. "Men and their pride," she spat. Flesh began to knit back together. Muscle would take longer, bone even more. His clavicle had been cut clean in twine.

Bolt's eyes peered at Hikari's own behind her mask. He smiled weakly at the concern he saw reflected there. Then, there was movement in the copse of willow trees. No way. No fucking way.

The mountain of a man rose again.

He staggered into the muddy clearing, a crimson stain marring his robe top. He drew in deep, ragged breaths.

Bolt couldn't believe it. He had a dozen closed chakra points and a gash in his stomach that would put down even the most sturdy of men.

Tetsu collapsed to his knees. "You are a most worthy foe," he rasped, digging in the folds of his robes. "I concede defeat. Would you honor this one with your name, mighty warrior?"

Bolt swallowed. He considered lying, but the man had impressed him with his skill and had admitted defeat. A dark part of his mind whispered that he shouldn't tell the truth. Another one said he should honor the man's request—perhaps his final one. In the end, honor trumped pride.

"Bolt Uzumaki," he said.

Tetsu nodded, pulling out a long, sharp dagger. It was equal parts ceremonial and utilitarian. Its hilt was wrapped in fine, red silk. In the pommel was a ruby as red as blood. It reminded Bolt of Sarada's eyes during their spars; beautiful, but deadly. Just like the Sharingan. It had a crossguard of gold, but the blade was a beautiful silver steel.

"It was an honor crossing blades with you, Bolt Uzumaki. If I might have a final request. Burn my body with a strong western wind, so that my ashes may return to my homeland," Tetsu spoke solemnly.

Then he raised his dagger high with both hands, preparing to sink it into his abdomen.

Bolt gasped in horror. Ritual suicide. Seppuku.

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the desire to cling to some part of his shredded morality. Maybe it was the strange circumstances that placed the samurai in a band of ragtag thieves? Maybe it was the crimson hair and eyes, so like that of his clan?

He slapped away Hikari's hands and flashed forward. He winced as he felt his shoulder wound tear open, spilling warm blood down his chest. The dagger came down with the same impressive speed and strength Tetsu had shown in their duel.

Even wounded, Bolt was fast. There was a reason Hikari liked to fashion him the title "lightning bolt"—even though it irritated him. He liked his name. It was a good one, named after his prodigal uncle. He braced both arms and caught the man by the wrist with his forearms. Bolt sunk to his knees under Tetsu's impressive strength. With a flourish, he bent the larger man's wrist at an odd angle and forced him to drop the dagger. He pocketed it, and scooted backwards. Just in case Tetsu took his actions badly.

The swordsman's crimson eyes bored into Bolt's own. Bolt allowed his eyes to fade back to their natural cerulean color; the danger passed. Hikari was knelt beside him, quickly and angrily healing the wound he had just torn open.

"Why?" Tetsu rasped.

That was the question, wasn't it? Why indeed. Bolt looked up at the man. Even on his knees, Tetsu was as tall as he was standing. From his seated position, Bolt only came up to his navel. "I don't know," he said. "You don't belong here. Those men back there were scum. The lowest of the low. You're not. Too strong. Too fast. Too talented."

Bolt winced as Hikari began to run a needle and thread through his skin, sewing the wound together. His eyes met Tetsu's. "Who are you?" Bolt asked.

Tetsu frowned. "This one is but a humble rōnin," he answered. "I walk the road of life in search of an honorable death."

Bolt scoffed. An honorable death. As if there was such a thing. Once you were dead, that was it. There was no honor in death. You just ended. Or went to the Pure Lands, if you believed in that crock of shit. "There is no honor in death. If you want honor, live," he said.

Tetsu's stare was unnerving. Bolt flinched as Hikari pinched his nose with both thumbs, putting it back into place as she began to heal it. The swordsman really did a number on him. "The Way of the Samurai dictates that I must find honor in death. I have disgraced my master," Tetsu said.

"What master? That sack of shit back there?" Bolt said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder and pointing at the smear of blood at the entrance of the cove.

Tetsu's brows narrowed, in either anger or displeasure. Bolt wasn't sure which. "I owed that man a debt. He saved my life when no other would bear a humble rōnin such as I. Alas, it was my previous master whom I had disgraced. I failed to defend his life. It was only his last order that prevented this one from following him in death," he said.

Hikari pulled Bolt to his feet, and held his arm aloft so she could have access to his ribs. She peeled off the remnants of his mesh armor. Bolt whimpered quietly as she did so, feeling skin coming off with it. Then, she gently placed her hands on his flayed side and began to mend the broken skin. Bolt sighed in relief as her chakra washed over him. It was cool and soothing, like ice on a hot summer's day in the Leaf.

Bolt's eyes roamed over Tetsu's features as he pondered the man's story. It was a pitiful tale, even if he didn't know the details. Samurai were warriors who held honor above all else. They chose a single master, and followed him until they died, or their master did. Then they followed him to the Pure Land. Those who didn't choose to follow their master in death, or who had betrayed or otherwise lost favor with their master, become the pitied rōnin.

Tetsu's hair and eyes were so distinctly crimson that he had to have been an Uzumaki, or had some Uzumaki blood in him. The only other people who had hair similar to theirs was the Kazekage's lineage in the Hidden Sand. Whilst closer geographically to the Land of Rain, Bolt couldn't help the dregs of hope that welled up inside him at the possibility of finding another member of his clan. The Uzukage and the struggling Hidden Whirlpool could use all the strength they could get. Tetsu was powerful, nearly as powerful as Bolt himself. If he was an Uzumaki... he would be a great boon to their clan's recovery.

Bolt turned to Hikari. He could tell by the steel in her eyes that she knew what he was going to ask before he even said the words. "Heal him, please," he asked. Bolt could see her eyes twitching through the thin slits of her mask. "Please, Hikari," he begged quietly.

Hikari sighed, kneeled, and her hands began to glow with a soft green light as she ran them over the wound on Tetsu's abdomen. Bolt activated his Byakugan and undid the blocked chakra points he had closed. He frowned when he saw that Hikari's chakra reserves were dangerously low. He didn't know she had used so much of her chakra to heal him. She only needed to perform basic battlefield first aid. He could bear the pain and heal naturally on his own. She didn't need to spare him that pain.

With a sigh, Bolt began to weave hand seals. He was slow and methodical. It was one of the first seals the Uzukage had taught him, and one of the most dangerous to untrained and undisciplined seal masters. He placed the palm of his hand on the muddy ground, and a series of inky black markings spread under his feet. Good. It worked. Forming one hand seal with his left hand, he placed his right palm on Hikari's back. She tensed, but only for an instant before relaxing into his touch.

"Chakra Draining Seal: Release," Bolt commanded. The seal glowed blue. He felt the seal invade his pathways, leeching his chakra and passing it to Hikari through his arm. With his Byakugan, he could see the two chakras mix and mingle as Hikari's own reserves were bolstered by his. After a few moments, he released the seal and collapsed to his knees. Bolt's chest heaved. He didn't think he had given her that much chakra.

Empowered by his chakra, Hikari began to heal the wounds Bolt had dealt Tetsu. It was deep, and mangled some of his intestines. It would take time, and several healing sessions, but she could repair him. "It will take time, but I can heal him," she informed the two men.

Bolt nodded, then crawled into the cove and out of the rain. He ignored the corpses, and promptly fell asleep between two large boulders.

* * *

Hikari shivered and rubbed her arms with her hands. She was cold, as usual, and her hair was still wet from the rain. Tetsu, the mountain of a man who could break her with a single finger, sat across from her around the fire. He was as silent as the grave, and hadn't said a word since Bolt had asked her to heal him.

That was just fine. She didn't trust the samurai as far as she could throw him—which she couldn't, at all. But she trusted Bolt, and he had to have had a reason for sparing the man. If Tetsu wanted to commit his ritual suicide while her only friend was asleep, she would be more than happy to let him. It was too bad he had passed out after transferring his chakra to her.

Hikari shivered again as the last dregs of Bolt's chakra coursed through her pathways. She had always known he had an impressive amount of chakra. It was a given. He was part Hyūga, who were touted as the most powerful clan in the Leaf. All of their clansmen had higher-than-average chakra reserves, as well as a powerful dōjutsu. He was also part Uzumaki, a clan so feared for their long lifespans and mystical prowess in the sealing arts that they were hunted to near extinction. And his parents weren't just any members of those clans. They were the best of the best: the Hokage, and the heiress of the Hyūga.

But it wasn't the quantity, but the _quality_ , that set her senses ablaze. She had felt powerful chakras before. Eiji's was like a brooding storm, dark and heavy and ready to explode at any moment. The Mizukage's: as cold as ice, but as sharp as steel. But Bolt's was something else. Unbearably hot, yet cold at the same time. The heat made her break out in goosebumps and her hair stand on end. It was electric. Not in the sense of a thunderstorm, like Eiji's, but in the sense of raw lightning itself. Wild and unpredictable, with a bite that stung more than any blade and was blinding in its intensity.

She could deal with sensing it. She had since they began training together several years ago. But she couldn't deal with feeling it. It was inside her, and it made her feel restless. Like the nerves she used to get before a battle. Half excited, half terrified.

Had Tetsu not been there, Hikari would have been pacing restlessly back in forth. Since the swordsman was, she just grit her teeth and beared it. Hikari glanced at Bolt's sleeping form next to where she sat. She didn't know how he could feel like _this_ all the time. It was intolerable. She felt like she needed to be up and doing something. She didn't like to feel so _energized_. The legends of the Uzumaki's vitality was absolutely true. She had proof.

Hikari flinched as Bolt's eyes sleepily blinked back at her. She turned and gazed into the fire before he could catch her staring at him. She watched as his higher cognitive functions began to take hold, and his body went rigid as he tried to figure out where he was. When he realized he was safe, he relaxed and sat up.

"How long was I out?" Bolt asked.

"Seventy-three minutes," Hikari informed him. She had counted. Anything to try to burn through the excess energy she had.

Bolt made a "that's interesting" noise, and stretched. He sat closer to the fire, warming his limbs. Hikari had grown used to the warmth that the Land of Fire and Rivers gave her. The cold of the Land of Rain was a shock to her senses. It was like being home, in the Land of Water, all over again.

"So, Tetsu... do you have a last name?" Bolt asked, suddenly. Hikari wondered what his aim was. She had a feeling she was about to find out.

The mountain of a man frowned. "No. I was an orphan. When I was old enough, I was drafted into the military of the Land of Iron," Tetsu answered.

"Huh," Bolt commented. Hikari could practically see the gears turning in his mind. He seemed to ponder something for a moment. "So what brought you to the Land of Rain?"

Hikari watched as Bolt idly massaged his tattoo that she had given him. Tetsu frowned, but answered nonetheless. "After my time with the Land of Iron, I journeyed forth to find a master I could pledge my life to. I found him here, in the Land of Rain. I served him to the best of my abilities for many years," the swordsman answered.

"I see," Bolt said. "But you're a rōnin now. How did that happen?"

Hikari saw Tetsu visibly grow saddened. Bolt should have known not to ask a samurai about their dishonor. "He was one of the noblemen vying for leadership of this country. One of his allies betrayed him, and he was slain. With his dying breath he ordered me to live on, denying me the honor of accompanying him to the Pure Land," Tetsu said.

Now _that_ interested her. They were here to offer their services to the highest bidder, after all. Traitors were often the highest bidder, because they had no intention of paying that bid in the end. Hikari wanted to know what clan she should avoid.

Tetsu's face grew stern and his eyes shone with an inner steel. "The Mononobe clan," he all but spat. "Traitorous dogs."

Hikari knew who the Mononobe clan was. They were an old family, who immigrated to the Land of Rain from the Land of Grass many decades ago. They hailed from a wealthy family who owned vast swathes of land in Grass. They imported food from their farms and sold it at great profit to the impoverished serfs of the Rain. The country simply drowned all but the most hardy crops. Agriculture was not a powerful industry in Rain. Using their newfound wealth and power, the Mononobe clan began to integrate themselves in politics and rose to the highest offices.

They were greedy, and they were corrupt. All traits Hikari didn't mind. But they were dishonorable, something she couldn't abide by. No one crossed her. No one crossed _them_ and lived to tell of it, she amended, casting a sideways glance at Bolt.

"You said the two of you were looking for the Sugawara clan, yes?" Tetsu asked. Hikari and Bolt both nodded. "Why?"

Bolt cleared his throat. "You could say we are rōnin ourselves, in a way," he answered. "We were looking for a master and a cause. We found it here. The Sugawara clan seemed like the most just clan to support."

Tetsu considered them both for a moment before nodding. "In thanks for sparing my life, I shall lead you to the true Sugawara clan. The men you slew today were bandits preying on the weak in their name," he offered.

Hikari watched Bolt smile. "We'd appreciate it," he said, pressing a finger to his tattoo. A scroll appeared in a wisp of smoke. She made sure to make no noise nor expression of recognition. It was the scroll the Uzukage had given him.

Bolt unfurled the scroll and held it out to Tetsu. "Hey, mind trying something? Channel your chakra into this scroll," he said, ever so casually. Hikari palmed a handful of throwing needles. If the man dared to attempt to steal or damage the scroll, she would murder him.

Tetsu looked at Bolt strangely, but reached out and pressed a single, giant finger to the parchment. A moment later, nothing happened. Hikari stayed tense. That didn't mean anything. She couldn't read the scroll either, after all.

"See anything?" Bolt asked. Hikari could hear the slight tint of hope coloring his voice.

Tetsu frowned. "I cannot read," he admitted.

Hikari could see the look of disbelief and anger on Bolt's face. Who couldn't read in this day and age? Education was compulsory in practically every nation. Being an orphan did not exclude one from an education. "That's okay! But can you see anything on the paper? Anything at all?" Bolt asked.

The swordsman frowned as he peered at the paper. "There are... symbols? And drawings of... hands?" Tetsu ventured.

The smile that lit up bolt's face was from ear-to-ear. He furled the scroll up and sealed it within his forearm. "Good news! You're not an orphan anymore! Your name is Tetsu Uzumaki," Bolt declared loudly. "Welcome to the family. You could be my long lost great great cousin, or something!"

Hikari's lips turned ever so slightly upwards as the mountain of a man weathered Bolt's verbal assault as he began to explain their shared ancestry.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Since the Land of Rain arc might get complicated, here is a list of clans, who they are, and who supports them.

Mononobe - Traitorous dogs. Murdered Tetsu's master.

Sugawara - The People's clan. Supported by Bolt and Hikari.

Kusakabe - Minor noble clan. Whoremongers.

 **What is everyone's favorite Naruto movie, not including "The Last" and "Boruto: the Movie"? I quite like Blood Prison, myself. How about you guys?**

I've noticed that a large majority—which is really surprising—of people's submitted original characters include Swift Release. I've kind of declined the first person who had that power because it is, technically, non-canon. But it's been so popular I'm reconsidering my stance on the movies. I may or may not take them as canon, with a grain of salt. So we'll see. I was mainly toying with the idea of giving Bolt and Himawari an older half-sibling, the son/daughter of Naruto and Shion (the priestess from Shippūden the Movie). I cracked up laughing when she asked Naruto to father her a child and he cluelessly agreed, to the horror of everyone else. Maybe she called in that favor, prior to him and Hinata getting together? Jiraiya would be so proud. I miss him. He was easily my favorite character.

Regarding everyone's use of Swift Release: here are my thoughts on it. It's not "really" a nature release. It's more of a "I'm super fucking fast" technique. I'm thinking a unique kekkai genkai? One that, perhaps, allows its user's mind to function at a higher level of cognizance so that their body can work at that speed? Also, perhaps not a kekkai genkai at all, but a clever use of two elements at the same time: lightning, to increase their reflexes, like Bolt and his Lightning Armor, and wind, to reduce the wind resistance allowing them to move quickly. Thoughts?

TheGangstaOfLove — Cool! I actually really like this idea. I've been brainstorming characters to match the badassness of Bolt and Hikari, but I really like your idea. Maybe I'll slip in a character like that. Also, every time you post a review I have to listen to Steve Miller. I can't help but start singing that song. It's infectious.


	28. Chapter 28

"Again!" Sarada barked.

"Two palms! Four! Eight! Sixteen! Thirty-two! Sixty-four!" Himawari yelled, her arms a blur.

Her Sharingan saw each strike fall. She dodged the first twenty-one. The twenty-second and third struck true. She dodged the next ten. Then took the next five. Then dodged the rest. Sarada rested her hands on her knees as she gasped for breath. Her shirt had long since been stained a dark shade of red by her sweat.

Their team was camped next to a small creek in the northern reaches of the Land of Fire. It was evening, but there were still a few hours left of daylight. As had become the norm, the team trained to their absolute limit. When they went to bed, they stumbled into their tents and collapsed into sleep.

This was just another day.

Sarada winced as Himawari unblocked her chakra points that had been closed. She, too, was breathing heavily and soaked from head to toe in a thin sheen of sweat. "Again!" Sarada yelled.

Himawari dragged herself to her feet and slipped into a Gentle Fist stance. They would do this drill all day, every day, until she wasn't hit a single time. Sarada was determined. She would accept nothing less than perfection. "Two palms! Four! Eight! Sixteen! Thirty—"

Himawari slipped on a stray root and fell to her knees. Sarada could see a small trail of crimson flowing down her leg from where she had scraped her knee raw. She sighed, and kneeled next to her friend. She wasn't her mother, not by any means, but she knew enough. Her hands glowed green with the light of the Mystic Palm.

"Thanks," Himawari offered lamely.

"No problem," Sarada said with a small smile.

The break she took to heal Himawari gave her much needed time to catch her breath. How did you prepare to face someone whose speed was as fast as the Raikage were? Training. Lots and lots of training. Their entire team had worked themselves ragged. Team Mirai would work on their clan combination techniques, while Sarada and Himawari fought each other until exhaustion set in. Mitsuki sat and meditated. He said that it did more good than any amount of training would do. Sarada doubted that.

"Better?" Sarada asked, as the blood stopped flowing. Himawari nodded.

The two of them stood and took ready stances. "Again," Sarada said.

And again. And again. _And again._

When the sun crested the mountains and dusk reigned, Sarada and Himawari wandered back into their small camp. They shared a tent, and it took their combined efforts to unzip the flap and fall into their sleeping bags. They didn't even bother to zip the entrance closed; they were too tired.

The next morning, they woke with the dawn. Their entire team was exhausted. Sarada could see it in the way their eyes were glazed over. The way dark bags formed under their eyes. The way they lazily leapt through the branches. The way they never talked during their forced march north.

The entire team was taking the Hokage's order seriously. This would be the most difficult mission of their life. They had two months— _two months_ —if even that, to find Bolt, train to be able to capture him, and then actually succeed in capturing him. It was a daunting task.

Sarada's eyes lazily fell to the bridge they walked across. It spanned a large crevice in the earth that separated the Land of Rivers from the Land of Fire. To the west lay a chain of mountains that Sarada didn't know the name of. But it was the pass between those mountains that led to the Land of Rain, that she remembered.

Shikadai said their best chance to capture them was in the pass. They could post up, set a trap, and wait for weeks if need be. So, now they had to do recon. Did Bolt already pass through the Land of Rivers and into the Land of Rain, or was he still making his way north?

"Spread out," Shikadai commanded, sighing as he stretched. "Find the nearest town and gather information. Ask if a man and a woman had travelled north into the Land of Rain together, alone. Report back here in two hour's time. Dismissed."

Sarada nodded and shot off through the forest. The Land of Rivers trees were so different than her home's. They were tall, with few branches. What little branches they did have were too thin and weak to support her weight. That left trekking through the thick undergrowth.

She emerged through a wall of bushes and fell.

Her Sharingan flared to life, and she spun and caught the ledge with the tips of her fingers. Her dōjutsu told her that it was a long drop and a sudden stop that awaited her if she lost her grip. With a burst of chakra enhanced strength, she pulled herself back to safety. Chest heaving from adrenaline, Sarada looked down. One hundred feet below, a river raged through a canyon that had been carved through the centuries.

That was too close for comfort.

Standing on the ledge of the cliff, her eyes picked out movement on the other side of the canyon. A flash of bright colored clothing told her it wasn't an animal. A hunter, perhaps? She darted back into the underbrush several yards, turned, and sprinted. She leapt, clearing the canyon in a single bound, and rolled to a stop on the opposite side.

Sarada exhaled nervously. Her eyes bled to red as her Sharingan activated. She saw the way the grass was bent, the way the bushes were pushed aside, the way the flowers were crushed underfoot. She had a path. Uchiha were natural trackers. When your eyes came with photographic memory, the natural flaws in the world stand out like a torch in the darkness.

She tracked the hunters through the underbrush, over hills, and up a river. Just when she thought she was about to run into a small village on the river, she came to a clearing that lay before a cave. Three men sat around the smoking remains of a campfire, and unless hunters had begun using swords to hunt deer, they weren't hunters.

They were ninjas. Judging by their manner of dress, and their rusted headbands with four vertical bars, they were from the Hidden Rain. Odd, Sarada thought. Why would they be so far south?

But, it seemed luck was on her side. Who better to ask about the Land of Rain than two of its ninjas? She strode from the bush she had hidden in and waved at them. From the way their heads snapped up, Sarada knew she had made a mistake. She played it off, anyway. Maybe they were just jumpy. "Hello," she greeted them. "I was wondering if you had seen a man and a woman travelling together, headed for your country? We think they might be in the area."

There was a tense silence.

Why were these guys looking like they didn't want to see her? They were in an era of peace. No village was at war with another, as far as she knew. One of the men slapped the other in the chest with the back of his fist. "Uh, no, we haven't," he said tersely.

Sarada's eyes flicked over to the cave. Her eyes narrowed as she peered into the darkness. She saw a flicker over movement, followed by a pained moan. Her Sharingan predicted the men's expression as their faces morphed into one of aggression. She had mere moments to plot a course of action.

This, too, was a gift in its own way. Opponents she could practice on. Her hands flew through the hand seals. Tiger. Dog. Rat. It was a clever combination of genjutsu and body flicker, a technique that was recorded in the Uchiha clan archives. As the only living Uchiha in the Leaf, they were hers to peruse.

The men darted forward, swords drawn. Ten perfect copies of Sarada appeared surrounding them, a kunai twirling on their index fingers. The nearest swordsman slashed at her. Her clone disappeared in a blur, like a wisp of smoke cast to the wind. From the clone next to it, Sarada leapt out and punched him in the jaw. He fell to the ground in a pile of flailing limbs.

"It's just a clone jutsu!" one of them barked.

Not _just_ a clone jutsu. An _afterimage clone_ jutsu. She could easily leap to any one of her clones with a body flicker. The moment an opponent attacked one, she appeared next to them. It was one of the techniques she hoped would stand up to Bolt's speed.

She didn't have high hopes for it. While the Byakugan did not make the Hyūga immune to genjutsu, their incredibly sensitive chakra pathways made them highly resistant. They could control each and every chakra point as easily as Sarada could control her fingers. If someone started playing with her fingers, she'd notice. Same principle.

Another Rain ninja tried to cut down another clone. He did, and Sarada appeared behind him and kicked him in the back of the head. He crashed into a tree and fell to the ground unconscious.

This wasn't even fit to be a spar.

The last man was backing towards the cave, as if it would save him. All of Sarada's clones advanced on them. She pondered what she should try on the last practice dummy. Fire jutsu wouldn't work, if he was Bolt. Too slow. The fire had to travel through air. He was too fast for that. Her only other element, lightning, he was nearly immune to. That left her taijutsu, which she was working on; her shurikenjutsu, which she would never be able to throw fast enough; and her genjutsu.

Genjutsu it was, then. You couldn't play with Sarada's fingers, but, like a master pickpocket, if you were ever so skilled and careful, you could make them move how you wanted. She hoped the principle transferred to the Hyūga's chakra pathways.

Sarada started simple. She met the man's eyes with her own, and she replaced his current reality with an exactly identical one. Sarada and her clones still advanced on him, but this time, they were all fake. Then, the clones rushed him. He cut them down, one by one, and just like before, she would appear and try to take him by surprise.

He was obviously the most skilled of the trio, and actually managed to avoid her surprise attacks after seeing how both his comrades were defeated. He learned from their mistakes. Then there was only one clone left, the "original." The Rain ninja stuck his sword into her, and Sarada took a page from her uncle's book.

She turned into a murder of crows.

The man paled in fear, not understanding. Good. But, Bolt would. He'd know the instant something didn't adhere strictly to the rules of reality. Turning into a murder of crows was practically screaming at him that he was under a genjutsu. Sarada mercilessly crushed the man's mind, forcing the genjutsu upon him more strongly. Bolt would be fighting to throw her control of his mind off. He'd probably succeed. This man did nothing.

The crows squawked angrily, flying around the cave with loud beats of their wings. Then, the crows turned on him. They dived, beaks parted. The man screamed as they began to take bites of him. After a few seconds of mindless sword waving, he collapsed, unconscious.

Sarada ended the genjutsu with a sigh.

Turning, she found a woman gagged and bound lying on the cave floor. She was staring up at Sarada with wide, hopeful eyes. Sarada scowled at the fallen Rain ninjas. Scum.

She kneeled and helped the poor woman.

* * *

It wasn't just Bolt, Hikari decided. It was every Uzumaki. Their energy was a disease.

Granted, she had only ever met one Uzumaki. Bolt himself. But, with the addition of the samurai to their little band of misfits, now she knew two. Hikari went to bed before the two of them, listening to them chatter—well, Bolt chattered, Tetsu listened silently—and, when she woke up, it was to the sound of Bolt explaining another chapter of their clan's history. The Uzumaki clansmen seemed to have a never ending spring of energy.

And for someone who didn't know of his heritage until only just months before she met him, Bolt knew _a lot_ about his clan. And he was doing his damned best to impart every scrap of knowledge to Tetsu. The samurai sat, stoic and silent, and listened to Bolt ramble.

Now that she had time to observe and categorize the samurai, Hikari had tentatively accepted him into their group. He was rather like a gentle giant. But Hikari knew a truth that many in the world tended to ignore. Of all the things a man should fear, one of them was thus: the anger of a gentle man.

When Tetsu had his sword drawn, he was a different man. A killer. And, thankfully, he had yet to turn his blade upon them. She still wasn't sure if Bolt had made the right decision to spare him. If it had been up to her, she would have slipped a dagger between his ribs in the night. But Hikari knew that would upset her blonde ball of energy, so she refrained.

The three of them sat around a rickety table. Well, two of them, actually. Tetsu was too large to sit upon any chair in the establishment without breaking it. He kneeled solemnly before the table, like it was an altar. One of the legs of the table was shorter than the other three, making it wobble whenever one of them ate or drank. It annoyed her to no end.

Bolt had his hood drawn, as he was wont to do. Even under the guise of a transformation jutsu, he still was paranoid about his identity being discovered. Hikari had been on the lookout for any glances of recognition since she had learned of his abandonment of his village. She had yet to find any. Which was good, in a way, since it meant she didn't have to murder anyone.

A drunkard tripped over one of Tetsu's feet, spilling his drink. He turned, a scowl on his face, and then paled upon seeing the mountain of a man. Wisely, he held his tongue and went on his way. Tetsu could have killed him by flicking the man, she was sure. Bolt laughed boyishly.

They had stopped and rented a room at an old inn on the border of the Land of Earth and Rain to wait out a storm. When the rain came down sideways, Hikari had enough. The only other time she had experienced such a storm was on the high seas in the Land of Water. They were miserable to be in.

Tetsu assured them they were only a day, perhaps two, from reaching the Sugawara clan's base of operations. But, in the Land of Rain, a day or two of travel was drawn out to a week or two because of the weather. Either it was too cold, or the rains too harsh, or the muddy roads too impassable. It irked her. Hikari was used to, and would accept nothing less, than the most efficient method of transportation. Remnants of her time with the Mist's hunter corps.

Bolt stood, collected their cups, and headed for the bar to refill them. Hikari palmed a fistful of throwing needles as Tetsu's hand slipped down to the hilt of his one remaining sword. She didn't _think_ he had any intentions of attacking either of them, since she recognized his eyes as he scanned the bar for possible threats. She did the same thing herself, many times. She just didn't know why his protection, like her own, extended to Bolt. Hell, she didn't even _like_ Bolt until his second year with the Crimson Tide. The samurai had only been travelling with them for a week.

It was odd.

Bolt took longer than expected. He returned, cups filled to the brim with some sort of juice extracted from some kind of roots—one of the few plants that could grow under the torrential downpour—and a smile on his lips. "You guys are never going to believe what I heard at the bar!" Bolt exclaimed, sliding them their drinks.

Tetsu remained as silent as ever. Hikari knew that he would tell them anyway, but she played the part. "What?" Hikari asked, with a sigh.

"There were these ninjas from the Stone at the bar, drunk out of their gourds. They just came back from a mission to the Land of Wind, where they said there have been disappearances all over the country!" Bolt informed them.

Abductions were not an oddity in their line of work. Hikari had performed many of them in her time with the hunter corps and the Crimson Tide. She assumed there was more to his tale. There was. "But, that's not the interesting thing! People go missing, sometimes days, sometimes weeks. Then, one night, they come back. The families are overjoyed, of course. Then days pass. They start noticing their loved one is acting different. Strange. They start wondering where they were, and what happened to them," Bolt said, taking a sip from the sickly sweet root juice.

"I assume there is more to this than the obvious?" Hikari questioned, with a roll of her eyes. Bolt was always one for tall tales.

Bolt grinned. "Of course! The Stone ninjas were investigating a series of murders. Dead bodies have been piling up in the mountains between Earth and Wind. They say that one of the families was a ninja family, and they killed the guy who went missing. When they cut him open, he was hollow! They think someone is killing people, dumping them in the mountains, and replacing them."

Hikari blinked slowly. "You listened to two drunk, old Stone men tell ghost stories," she drawled. Really. Bars were only good sources of information if you knew what you knew what to look for. Too little drink, and a man's lips weren't loose enough. Too much, and he told you a wild, drunken fantasy.

Bolt pouted. "But still! Imagine! A whole family abducted in the night and returned with hollow copies!"

Hikari sighed.

The three of them spent the next two days hunkered down in the old inn with the rest of the patrons, trying to survive the storm.

* * *

In the dark of night, a cloaked figure leapt from rooftop to rooftop.

Sasuke's feet were as light as a feather as he crossed the homes of the Leaf, making nary a sound. His mismatched eyes scoured the city as he tracked his prey. Naruto was not at the Hokage's office, nor was he—or anyone—at home. It was an oddity, considering his best friend worked himself to the bone to keep their home safe.

Especially odd considering his son was somewhere in the Land of Rivers after a spat with his father, who had apparently missed _another_ one of his daughter's birthdays.

Not that he was one to judge. He had missed his fair share of _everything_ regarding his daughter.

But Sasuke knew that it was for the best. There were threats in the world that needed to be dealt with. Threats that only he and Naruto would be able to defend against. Naruto, from the village, and himself, from the shadows. That was how it was meant to be.

He came to a stop, perched on the top of a tiled rooftop. Across from him was the first place he would look: Ichiraku's. The ramen stand had expanded since its infancy, enjoying a boom of popularity since it was known to be the Hokage's favorite dive. The old man—Sasuke forgot his name—had retired, leaving the business to his daughter. She hired new blood and now there were several stands in the Leaf, as well as across the Land of Fire.

Sasuke slunk from the shadows and stalked into the stand. It was popular, as always. Crowded and unbearably warm, with billowing steam drifting among the rafters and the overbearing smell of broth and cooked noodles.

And there he was.

Dressed in orange, as usual. Hinata sat next to him demurely as he slurped from the bowl. His table manners had not improved since their childhood. Their daughter sat on a barstool next to them, her legs dangling back and forth.

They looked happy.

Sasuke retreated back into the night before anyone was wiser of his presence. He kneeled on a nearby rooftop, silent as the grave and as still as stone. The chill of the night made him shiver, despite the thick cloak he wore. And so, he waited.

An hour passed, and the Uzumaki family walked the streets of the Leaf. Naruto ruffled his daughter's hair and placed a chaste kiss on Hinata's cheek before sending them on their way. Then, he turned and locked eyes with him.

Sasuke should have known. There was no fooling his best, and only, friend.

He appeared next to him, closing the distance a single bound. "Thank you for waiting," Naruto said, as the two of them strolled through the night. Downtown really was quite beautiful, even if Sasuke didn't understand all the technological advancements that had been made.

"No problem," he said quietly. The two of them walked in silence as they returned to the Hokage's office complex.

Sasuke was impressed. They had rebuilt it so quickly after Bolt had destroyed it. It looked like there had never been destroyed in the first place. Once inside, Naruto sat on the edge of his desk. With a wave of his hand, the ANBU hidden in the shadows left them. A soft, blue glow on the walls told Sasuke that privacy seals had been activated.

Naruto sighed heavily.

Sasuke tossed him a scroll; it was a compiled report of his findings over the past year. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than a prevalent sense of unease that he and Naruto both shared. "Still nothing?" Naruto asked, judging the scroll's contents from the look in his eyes. Sasuke really did hate it that he was so easily read by his friend.

"Nothing," Sasuke confirmed. "Kaguya's dimensions remained untouched, and I've noticed no foreign presence anywhere on the continent. It's possible there could be something on the other continents, but..."

"Right," Naruto said, his shoulders sagging. Neither one of them wanted to open that can of worms. They had enough trouble maintaining peace on their own continent. They weren't ready to have a relationship with the people of another continent. And neither Sasuke himself nor Naruto wanted Sasuke to wander a foreign land alone.

He looked tired, but there was a fire in him that Sasuke had not seen since the end of the war. And he knew the cause. Sasuke smirked. "I met your son," he said.

Sasuke watched as Naruto's entire body went rigid. "Where?" Naruto asked, his voice hoarse.

"The Land of Rivers, just outside of Waves," he told him.

Naruto let out a long, ragged breath. "He told me what happened," Sasuke continued.

Naruto's head snapped up. "And you didn't bring him back?" Naruto demanded.

Sasuke shook his head. "Would that have really fixed things? If you defeated me at the Valley of the End, the first time, and brought me back, would that have fixed anything?" Sasuke asked.

The look of profound sadness in his friend's eyes made him reconsider his words. "He's in good hands, Naruto," he said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "He made a friend."

And some friend she was. Sasuke was convinced the girl was going to murder him the moment she saw Bolt go rigid upon recognizing his eyes. Not that she would have succeeded, but it was the thought that mattered.

Sasuke watched as Naruto's jaw worked up and down silently, trying to find the words that he himself didn't know. "He won't get lost like I did," Sasuke said softly.

Naruto was silent for a moment as emotions danced in his eyes. Then, he threw his arms around Sasuke's shoulders and cried.

Sasuke resisted the urge to flinch back. Awkwardly, he returned the gesture and patted his friend on the back a few times.

Everything would work out in the end. Sasuke knew that.

He was living proof.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Question of the chapter: favorite character, other than Naruto or Sasuke, and why.

There is a minor time glitch here, that the eagle-eyed among you may have noticed. Sasuke's point of view occurs the night of the day that Naruto assigned the team to go after Bolt, which is why Himawari is included in the ramen stand scene.

I received some concerns that Tetsu was either overpowered, or Bolt was weaker than previously shown. Neither is the case. Samurai are the antithesis of ninja. They are all about strength and speed. Iaidō was developed almost solely to kill a ninja before they could even use a jutsu. Bolt had, up until this point, never fought _anyone_ who could match his speed. For a samurai, there were only three things they ever used in battle: a sword, their strength, and their speed. Tetsu is also an abnormality in that he is among the "elite" of the samurai. It always seemed odd, that in the entire Land of Iron, the only samurai who is capable of going toe-to-toe with a ninja is Mifune? What? Where are the Kakashi and Asuma and Yamato and Gai of the samurai? Where are the Lee and Kiba and Sakura and Ino of the samurai? So, yeah, that is Tetsu.

 **SPOILERS**

 **SPOILERS** — Boruto manga was leaked, and I'm pretty disappointed. The art style _really_ brushes me the wrong way on certain characters. Hinata's hair looks dumb, she lost her boobs and looks _much_ younger. She's basically not even the same character. Sasuke's hair is weird. Everyone is wearing belts? Sarada's outfit? Why did that have to change? Inojin wearing baby overalls? All of the younger generation look like toddlers, especially Himawari. Moegi is the sensei of InoShikaCho instead of Mirai (a Sarutobi, aka the people who are _supposed_ to be their sensei). _Naruto is dead._ Like what? Who in the fuck is strong enough to kill Naruto? Certainly not that prick we see Bolt fighting. Then we're getting a retelling of the movie... I don't know. Just disappointed. Only time will tell. — **END SPOILERS**

 **END SPOILERS**

Anyways, those things considered, this story is AU. I might pull a few things from the manga, but most of it will be how I dictate.

Special thanks to all my reviewers. You guys rock! Thanks for reading.


	29. Chapter 29

Bolt looked down upon the valley from his hiding spot among an old goat trail, high in the mountains. They had, finally, reached the Sugawara faction. Tetsu had been as good of a guide as he had promised. Now, the three of them beheld the fruits of their labor.

The Sugawara faction was not in hiding, as rumor would have it.

They were under siege.

A stronghold of stone sat high in the mountains, flags bearing the symbol of the Land of Rain flying proudly. Below that, a flag bearing their sigil; the blossom of a plum tree with a single feather. It was an old stronghold; high walls, thick doors, one entrance in and one exit out. Bolt's eyes faded from blue to a pale lavender. With his Byakugan, he could see patrols manning the ramparts. They were armed with swords on their hips and a bow and quiver on their backs. They dressed in old, but well maintained, armor. The steel had been dyed a dark blue, to the motif of the rain.

And all up and down the valley were war tents and earthen domes. They flew the same Rain flag, but their sigil was different. A wolf, its maw gaping as if to snap. Men, armored in armor that had been dyed red, marched in an orderly fashion. They, too, had a watch. Men with torches walking in pairs around the perimeter.

"What is going on?" Bolt whispered.

"The Orimura clan," Tetsu gritted out. "They are powerful allies of the Mononobe."

Ah, Bolt thought. Allies of the people who slew his master. From the way the samurai was gripping his sword's hilt, Bolt pitied the men that would surely die in the coming weeks. Tetsu was going to slaughter them. Perhaps Bolt would help him with his task?

"How do we get passed them? I doubt the Sugawara clan is going to let us waltz in their front gate," Hikari hissed back.

Also true. They were as likely to be speared as greeted. Bolt would be paranoid too if there was an army camped in front of his home. So, they couldn't go in through the front doors, and sneaking in through the back wouldn't earn them any favors. What to do, then?

As fate would have it, the drums of war began to beat. Men formed rank, their red armor shining in the dull light of day. Standardbearers marched at the front, next to young boys beating drums. They marched forward, their boots falling with the beat.

On the ramparts, archers flooded into position. Their bows were drawn, arrows nocked. The large wooden doors parted, and men in blue armor sprinted to get into formation. The first row of men had thick, square shields. The men behind them held long spears with vicious, pointed heads.

There were hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. And they were going to war.

Bolt leapt to his feet and hurled himself over the boulder he had been hiding behind. The old goat path they were hiding on was high in the mountains, but a little chakra made his descent a controlled one. Behind him, he heard Hikari curse under her breath and leap after him. He could hear Tetsu's boots crush stone underfoot as he followed them down to the battlefield.

The air was filled with a whistling sound. Arrows.

Then came the screams.

They were loud. So loud. The wails of the dead and dying. Those who were not fortunate enough to die instantly lay on the cold, stone ground and slowly bled to death. Bolt swallowed hard, feeling a pit well up in his stomach. This is what they came to the Land of Rain to be a part of. War. He crushed the rising disgust he felt and skidded to a stop.

He was far behind enemy lines. He could see the red and blue armored men clashing to his left; several hundred feet of chaotic melee separated him from their would-be allies. Behind him, Bolt heard Hikari and Tetsu arrive. He heard the telltale rustle of cloth as Hikari withdrew a fistful of needles, and the chime of metal as Tetsu drew his sword.

Bolt weaved hand seals.

There was a shout of surprise and fear. A man in the enemy army had noticed them. He was yelling frantically, pointing at them and jumping up and down. Too late. Bolt spat a wave of cascading water upon the army's flank. The closest were struck hard enough to be knocked unconscious. Those farther out were swept off their feet and send careening into their comrades next to them.

The valley was angled as such that the water flowed downhill, impeding the invading army. Men, armored in heavy steel boots, slipped and fell. They struggled to regain their footing under the weight of their armor and weapons.

Then, the surprise ended. The army turned their attention to the new foes within their ranks, swords and spears brandished with angry shouts and battle cries. An armored man leapt at them, wielding a spear with the banner of the Orimura clan flying just below the spearhead.

Tetsu cut him in twine, from left shoulder to right hip.

The next, Hikari peppered with two needles. He dropped to the ground, screaming and convulsing and clawing at his neck.

The three after that, Bolt spat a blade of water at them. It cut through their armor with ease. Their armor, once dyed a pleasant shade of red, turned crimson with blood.

A water jutsu cut through the air, forcing the three of them to leapt out of the way. A Rain ninja, perhaps. He used Water Release: Water Bullet Jutsu. It was weak. The bullets were no wider than Bolt's thumb was, and their quantity was nowhere near enough to catch any one of them. They were all just too fast. The ninja screamed angrily, his face contorted in rage.

Tetsu was upon him in but an instant. The samurai cleaved him in half, from left hip to right.

Then there wasn't any room for jutsu. Men in red armor were everywhere. To the left, to the right. In front, and behind. It devolved into a melee. Bolt lashed out, chakra lancing from his fingertips. It pierced their armor with ease. The first two came at him, swords arcing downwards. He stepped to the side, and thrust his chakra into their bodies where he thought their hearts were. It must have worked, because they dropped to the ground and began to claw at their armored chests. After a few moments, they stilled.

Hikari was in front of him, dancing between swords and spears, hurling wave after wave of throwing needles at her opponents. Sometimes they would scream, sometimes they just fell to the ground and were silent.

Tetsu had waded deep into the enemy lines, swinging his sword with practised ease and clear skill. Every swing of his sword, a man fell dead. Sometimes two. They rushed him, angry and fearful. They thrust spears at the mountain of a man. He cut the heads from the shafts. They tried to best him at swordplay. They failed.

Another group charged at Bolt. They fell to the Gentle Fist. There was a flash of silvery steel among the red armor. A headband; Stone ninja. His fists were encased in stone gauntlets. He swung at him. Bolt ducked. The gauntlet crushed the hauberk of an armored man behind him. Bolt prodded the Stone ninja five times in the ribs. He fell to the ground, and did not rise.

For ten minutes, it was nothing but a sea of red armor being crushed under the weight of hundreds of years of refined Gentle Fist taijutsu. Hikari was breathing hard, her Crimson Tide fatigues damp with sweat and cut in several places. She had retreated, fighting at range with her needles and the occasional precise water jutsu. Tetsu had tired and was slowly pushed back by the tides of red armored men. In the end, it was the three of them, back-to-back.

Then blue armor began to mix with red. A man in blue armor with a horned helmet sprinted over to them. "You three! Retreat back to the castle!" he yelled over the dull roar of battle.

Bolt was only too happy to follow the command. He, Hikari, and Tetsu worked their way back through the ranks of the Sugawara forces. The armored men parted, allowing them to pass. Bolt saw a handful of them nod respectfully as they brandished their swords and charged forward. Two even bowed to them.

The three of them walked through the towering double doors of the stronghold, and were ceremoniously ferried away by a contingency of servants and squires.

* * *

"Yes, young master."

"No, young master."

"I do not know, young master."

That was all Bolt got out of the servants that had herded him and Tetsu down to the bowels of the castle. Hikari had been taken by a gaggle of giggling maids. They learned the hard way that separating the three of them was a lesson in pain. Hikari snapped the maid's wrist who tried to pull her away. They had to stop and explain they were taking them to the baths before she would relent and accompany them.

The Sugawara castle was an amalgam of the old and the new. It was old stone, probably built by the ancient people of the Land of Earth many hundreds of years ago. But Bolt could tell that, over the years, it had been renovated and upgraded several times. There were modern lights bolted into the ceiling, and there had been heavy masonry work done on the floors and walls to allow for running water.

But the baths were not modern, in a good way. The bowels have the castle had been hollowed out, and the miners had unearthed a natural hot spring. Whatever plans the castle had called for had been abandoned in favor of building an expansive set of ornate, open air baths that were naturally warm all year round. It was a godsend after weeks in the wilderness and sleeping in dingy, drafty inns and taverns. Not as good as the hot springs in the Land of Steam, but still _good_.

The water was a pleasant temperature; not too hot, not too cold. The water was scented, a pleasant herbal scent. The water was recycled through a pair of ornate, gilded lions that had been carved out of a beautiful white stone. The only thing marring the occasion was the servants who awkwardly sat and watched him bathe. Bolt tried to make pleasant small talk, but they were as forthcoming as a rock.

Tetsu was the redeeming aspect of their little quest. He stared down the servants with a stony, piercing gaze that made them visibly uncomfortable and fidget. That was their punishment for their silence.

About half way through washing his hair of dirt and grime, there was a shrill shriek followed by a wail of pain. The women's bath, apparently, was only separated by a thin wall of ornately carved stone pillars. "Don't touch the mask!" Hikari screamed.

Bolt laughed. The maids would learn, or they would suffer. Given that he himself had yet to coax Hikari to reveal her true face, Bolt doubted a handful of maids would. He just hoped she didn't do any permanent damage to the help. They wanted to make a good impression, after all.

After the baths, came the tailors. Bolt was given a dark blue colored yukata with rippled wave patterns, while the tailors had to fashion something large enough to fit Tetsu's impressive frame. Then, the two of them were led back into the castle and up into the higher levels.

Bolt couldn't suppress a giggle.

The tailors had visited Hikari. Somehow, by the grace of god, they had managed to get her into a floral kimono that, through some sorcery, complimented her Mist hunter mask. By the icy anger reflected in her green eyes, Bolt knew that Hikari hated every single second she was in the garment.

"Another _thought_ and I will castrate you in the night," Hikari hissed at him.

Bolt stopped laughing. "So," he said. "I guess the boss is behind that door, huh?"

Hikari gazed at the gilded metal doors that separated the three of them from what they presumed was the leader of the Sugawara clan. "I would imagine so," she said, eying the gold trim with distaste.

"Your assumption would indeed be correct," Tetsu commented stoically. Bolt nodded. Tetsu would know the customs of the Land of Rain. Perhaps every politician lavished their guests like the Sugawara clan? Bolt doubted it.

The doors cracked open, revealing two armored guards with swords on their waists and spears in their hands.

And Tetsu was right.

The lord of the Sugawara clan was not what Bolt was expecting. He was an older man, perhaps in his mid-to-late fifties. He had a beard long enough to function as a scarf that was a gray-silver color. He was balding, but had two thick eyebrows framing his eyes that gave him an intimidating presence. Unlike most powers that be that Bolt had met, the man had retained a healthy weight. Bolt could see the waning muscles of youth in his arms. A former soldier for the Rain Lord, perhaps?

He was interesting. He commanded respect, even from Bolt. Something that was impressive, considering his blatant lack of respect for authority and the law.

"Greetings," the man said. His voice was deep and baritone. It seemed to echo through the hall impressively. He sat at the head of a low set table, a number of luxurious cushions acting as seats. "I am Michizane Sugawara. My men tell me that they almost surely would have suffered great losses if not for you three. But that begs the question, who are you, and where did you come from?"

The three of them shared a look. Tetsu was ever silent, and Bolt thought it best that Hikari speak for them. This was her plan, after all. "We are wandering mercenaries, searching for a cause, my lord," she said. Bolt caught the slight distaste that she used when spitting the "my lord."

"And do these mercenaries have names?"

"Hikari."

"Tetsu."

"Nagato," Bolt answered. Of the three, he was the only one that would warrant international attention. Hikari was wanted in the Lands of Water and Lightning, but they were far away. Too far for her name to have spread to the warring Land of Rain and a minor politician vying for the leadership of the country. So, he gave him the name of the second leader of Akatsuki. Bolt didn't catch Hikari's slight flinch at the name's usage.

"And do you three have surnames?" Michizane asked. Bolt remained silent, and so did his friends. Good. "I see. Please, sit. Eat."

Bolt did. He had survived off rations for the past month, and he wasn't dying to eat a real, hot meal. He didn't have to worry about poison; Hikari was immune to most of them, and could develop the antidote for those she wasn't.

The food wasn't of high quality, nor delicacies, but it was of great quantity. Which was good, in its own twisted sort of way. The people of the Land of Rain dealt with hunger and poverty on a near daily basis. The fact that the lord of the Sugawara clan wasn't overly opulent was a point in his favor. He simply had the money to buy food, and lots of it. But he wasn't wasteful. In fact, Bolt mused, they were probably eating soldier's rations right now. Just better cooked and prepared.

"So, what 'cause' brought you to my doorstep?" Michizane asked, taking a sip from a sake cup.

Hikari—who had refrained from eating or drinking, as it would have required her to remove her mask—answered for them. Bolt would try to steal some food for her to eat later. "Rumor has it among those in the know, that you are a people's champion," she said smoothly. "We came to Rain looking for a cause to support. Yours is the most just one. Simple."

Michizane nodded. "I'm honored you have considered me as such. But, while I am appreciative of your assistance in our most recent battle, I am afraid I must decline accepting your services," he said.

Bolt forgot how to chew as he listened to their host reject them. Was he blind? Did he not see them, nearly singlehandedly, repel a large portion of the army that had marched on his castle? He would have to be insane to reject them! They were his key to a swift and decisive victory. They were metaphorically his guaranteed inauguration as Rain Lord.

Judging from the stern, quiet look Hikari was giving the man, she felt the same. "I'm afraid I don't understand your reasoning," she said cooly.

"I don't trust you," the lord of the Sugawara clan said. "You could be spies. And even if you're not, I have no way of guaranteeing your loyalty; to me, or to the cause. Powerful you may be, yes. But useful to me? No. I will repay your kind deed with my hospitality, but no more."

Bolt exchanged a glance with Hikari. Their eyes met, trying to convey a silent conversation that only people with years of teamwork could.

 _What do we do?_

 _I don't know._

 _You're the experienced one! Use that silver tongue!_

 _You're the Hokage's son. Use your extensive political skills._

 _That! That—actually might work._

 _What? No. Don't even think about it._

 _Too late._

Bolt finished eating the chicken breast he had been chewing on, and formed a single hand seal. His hair, a pleasant dark blue-black color, faded and returned to its natural blonde. His matching scars on both cheeks emerged from underneath the faux skin of the transformation jutsu. Bolt took a casual sip of sake and resisted the urge to spit it out. A little liquid courage couldn't help, even if it tasted foul.

A look of confusion marred Michizane's face, followed by realization, then shock, then disbelief. "I believe you can safely say we are _not_ spies," Bolt commented, tearing off a hunk of bread. "And leverage to ensure our loyalty. I assume you know we don't wish to be found."

Point made, Bolt formed the seal for the transformation jutsu and resumed his disguise. The bread really was quite good. It was sweeter than the grain used to make it in the Land of Fire. Out of the corner of his eye, Bolt could see their hosts lips twitch upwards in interest.

"Indeed," Michizane said, almost conversationally. "But what is to stop me from informing the Hokage of your location and collecting the bounty for your safe return?"

Bolt frowned. Shouldn't he be listed as a criminal in the bingo book for his actions? Surely the Leaf wasn't offering the same old bounty for his safe return to the village? "Because," Hikari said, stepping in and resuming negotiations. "He, and we, are more valuable to you than the pittance of a bounty. You're a rich man, my lord. But for all your wealth, you can't secure the title of Rain Lord. Bolt's bounty won't help you with that. But, Bolt himself could. The three of us could assist you in defeating your rivals, and our loyalty would be assured so long as you remain silent about his, and our, true identities."

There was a tense silence for a few moments. Bolt slowly chewed his food, in disbelief that the man was actually considering their offer. Then, he grinned, from ear-to-ear. "Very well. I assume you would like to receive payment beyond what normal rank and file soldiers receive?" Michizane asked.

Hikari inclined her head, stating that yes, if they were going to fight, they might as well be paid well. Tetsu looked ill at the prospect of killing for money, as opposed to honor. Bolt would have to talk with him later. Ease things over, as it were.

"What kind of payment did you have in mind? Wealthy as I am, I doubt I could afford the services of the son of the Hokage and his companions who are undoubtedly much more skilled and powerful than the average ninja," Michizane said.

"I'm sure there are other _things_ with which you could pay us," Hikari mentioned casually. Sometimes, cold, hard ryō wasn't the best form of currency. There was something to be said with having the lord of a country owing you a favor or two.

Michizane smiled, a thinly veiled pride emerging from his features. "Standard soldier's pay, with rights to looting and seniority for any advancements in my hierarchy. Needless to say, there are several things I could offer each of you personally. Swords for the samurai, lessons in politics for the Hokage's son, and whatever I could offer to interest a Mist ninja hunter. Not to mention favors, once I am Rain Lord," he offered.

Tetsu, Bolt noted, looked much more pleased about the situation when he was offered the chance of plundering the Sugawara clan armory for swords. Bolt didn't really care for any "political lessons" the Michizane could give him, but he'd keep his options open. From the pleased glimmer in Hikari's green eyes, Bolt could tell she found the terms acceptable. "We have priority on all ninja tools and scrolls found during the war effort," she amended.

"Done," Michizane said, raising his cup in agreement.

The three of them did the same.

It was the start of a beautiful, yet deadly, relationship.

* * *

Sarada was lost in her thoughts as she listened to her heart hammer in her chest. She was only interrupted the sound of her boots beating upon the stone as she ran through the mountains. She leapt, fingers clutching at a ridge and hauling herself up before she could fall.

They had, after much consideration, come to the conclusion that Bolt and Hikari had already passed into the Land of Rain. No one in the Land of Rivers had seen hide nor hair of them, and it seemed likely that they had simply passed through the country with great haste in disguise.

So, they were somewhere in the country where it rained nearly every day of the year and was cloaked in perpetual twilight. The perfect search conditions. Not.

It was decided that their group would cut through the mountains separating the Lands of Wind and Rain, to avoid the torrential downpour that made quick travel all but impossible. From there, they would enter the country through old goat trails and mining roads that had long since been abandoned.

Sarada glanced to her left, then to her right. To the left, lay the vast expanse of cloudless blue sky and the harsh, warm air of the desert. To the right, the dark storm clouds that rained and rained _and rained._

It was an eerily beautiful sight.

Sarada leapt, crossing a crevice in the stone that was as wide as she was tall. For a moment, she feared her weights would drag her into the abyss. Then, she sailed across. She grunted as her feet touched stone, her combined weight causing them to crack.

It was speed training, courtesy of Lee and his father. She had asked them for a training regiment that focussed on speed shortly after leaving the Hokage's office the day she had been assigned the mission. They had, quite literally, broken into celebration and held her down as they strapped weights to her legs. She didn't recognize the seals placed on the weights, but from what she had gathered, they increased their weight over time as the wearer grew stronger.

Their only instruction: run. If she couldn't do ten miles, she would do twenty—running backwards. Sarada took creative liberty into her own hands and ran until she couldn't stand. She didn't ever run backwards as punishment for being unable to do their freakishly unnatural feats of strength and endurance.

Sarada wheezed as she came around the mountain path and saw that their camp was in sight. It was her third lap around the mountain, and she felt dead inside. Empty with exhaustion. She was going to curl up, collapse into her sleeping bag, and wake up tomorrow.

"And do it all again," Sarada muttered under her breath angrily.

A pair of dark haired heads popped up from a boulder that hid a path down the mountain. Mirai and Shikadai wandered into camp, looking tired, forlorn, and absolutely soaked to the bone. Shikadai shook his head back and forth violently, trying to shake out of the water. Apparently, they had gone down into the Land of Rain while she was out running.

Interesting.

She came to a skidding stop just outside the camp's perimeter. "What happened to you two?" Sarada asked them as they stripped of their chūnin and jōnin jackets.

Shikadai grumbled something that sounded like "Troublesome damned rain."

Mirai sighed audibly. "We went down into a small town near the border," she said. "Information gathering. Needless to say, we tried to gather information."

"Tried?" Sarada asked tersely. They were a chūnin and a jōnin. You didn't "try" to get information. You succeeded in extracting information.

Mirai nodded. "Basically, we learned the entire country is in chaos. There is no central political or military authority. There are over a dozen men vying for the title of Rain Lord, and three separate people have claimed to be Amekage—including the bastard daughter of Hanzō the Salamander, can you believe that?"

Sarada frowned. "I didn't know Hanzō had a daughter," she said.

" _Bastard_ daughter," Mirai corrected. "Apparently, the ol' Salamander got drunk one night and got a little too friendly with a serving girl."

"Any information about Bolt?" Himawari asked, emerging from her tent. Her face was so hopeful that it made Sarada's heart clench in sympathy.

Shikadai shook his head. "Nah," he said. "The country is in so much chaos that no one cares who comes and goes. Doesn't matter if you're the son of the Hokage or the Sage of Six Paths."

Sarada frowned at Himawari's crestfallen expression. "We'll just have to search for him, faction by faction," she said with conviction.

* * *

Naruto slumped into his seat with a sigh. He pushed a tower of old ramen cups into the trash, and tried his best to clear his desk of stray paperwork that he either had lost, forgotten about, or didn't care to do. After a few minutes, he managed to clear enough bureaucratic red tape to use his computer's keyboard.

With a few keystrokes, he picked up his phone and waited for the call to connect. He didn't have to wait long. His monitor flashed as the familiar visage of his long time friend appeared. "Gaara," Naruto greeted. "How are you?"

Gaara sighed heavily. By the way the redhead's shoulder slumped, he could tell that he was under a lot of stress. Welcome to the club. It was part of the job description as Kage. "Fine," Gaara managed to groan.

Naruto frowned. "Are you alright?" he asked, worried.

"Fine," Gaara waved a hand dismissively. "Long days trying to convince my counsil and advisors that we shouldn't do anything to anger the demonic sand tanuki that roams our land."

Naruto sighed. "Shukaku still looking for fresh sand?"

Gaara grinned ever so slightly. "You could say that," he said.

Naruto smiled, glad he could bring some small cheer to his friend. "I need to ask you a favor," he said.

"Anything," Gaara replied without hesitation.

"You remember what I told you about Bolt?" Naruto asked. Gaara nodded. "I just received intel from the group tracking him. They say he's in the Land of Rain."

Naruto didn't miss the slight frown that overtook Gaara's features as he heard the name of his neighboring country. "There isn't very many places he could go from there," Naruto continued. "If you could, I'd appreciate if you could station a team on the border who are loyal to you and can keep a lookout for him. Just in case."

Gaara nodded. "I'll have—"

Naruto frowned as Gaara broke into a fit of coughing. It lasted for only a few moments, but the sound was wet and guttural. When his arm came back, Naruto could see that his friend's lips were ever so slightly darker than before. Blood.

"I'll have Kankuro take his team out," Gaara said breathily. "Shinki has been eager to prove himself since losing to Sasuke's daughter in the tournament."

Naruto was torn between frowning at his friend's condition and grinning at Gaara's nephew's eagerness. "Are you going to be alright, Gaara?" Naruto asked.

"I'll be fine, Naruto," Gaara assured him. "It's the sand. It gets in your lungs if you're not careful. It's just something we deal with here."

Naruto didn't frowned, not sure what to think.

"I have to go, Naruto," Gaara said.

"Goodbye, Gaara," Naruto said.

Gaara nodded, and his screen went dark.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Since the Land of Rain arc might get complicated, here is a list of clans, who they are, and who supports them.

Mononobe - Traitorous dogs. Murdered Tetsu's master.

Sugawara - The People's clan. Supported by Bolt and Hikari.

Orimura - Allies of the Mononobe clan; sieging the Sugawara castle.

Kusakabe - Minor noble clan.

Reading recommendation: "Stumble" by writer168. It's pretty dark, but very good. Time travel/Sakura centric. What have you guys been reading?

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter. I _think_ it was the most popular, view wise, yet.

 **SPOILERS**

Amending my thoughts on the manga, after reading it several more times. The art, I feel, is going to have to improve by leaps and bounds. Quickly. There are just so many flaws that I can't overlook. It detracts from the reading. Some characters don't even look recognizable. Hinata, for instance. She just isn't the same character. Her hair is different. Her face is different. Her body is different. It's like an entirely new character. Other gripes: some pages seem to be very minimalistic—this is a monthly manga, I would expect a higher quality per page; less white space, more ink. The artist has, multiple times, simply _forgotten_ features. I counted three separate times where Himawari had no whisker marks.

In terms of story, I'm really not digging the _in media res_ approach. I also don't think killing off Naruto was a good decision—and Sasuke, while we're at it. If Naruto died, you can be damn sure that Sasuke would step up and protect the Leaf. Given that it was utterly razed, I imagine he is dead, too. The new "villain," Kawaki, feels cheap. Given his hair, which is black and blonde, I'm going to guess he is some sort of experiment of Orochimaru's that is part Naruto and part Sasuke. Honestly, even if that was the case, it wasn't their DNA that made them powerful, it was the fact that they were reincarnations. I just don't see how a villain could appear that could kill Naruto or Sasuke without there being a major asspull.

I guess, maybe, the only deaths I could accept for them would be dying of disease, or going out Third Raikage style and fighting 100,000 enemies at once to save the Leaf. But even then, Naruto just goes Kurama mode and wipes them out with a Tailed Beast Bomb. It's just so _sigh._ Bad writing. Would have preferred if it was more like Naruto part one. Naruto stays at home and is the Hokage while Bolt and company are out fighting minor villains that don't require their daddies.

I'll still read it, of course. Glutton for punishment.

 **END SPOILERS**


	30. Chapter 30

"Would you honor this one with a spar?" Tetsu asked.

Bolt looked up from the scroll he was reading. It was one of Nagato's journals, though it read more like a log of experiments. It was "dark reading" as he liked to dub it, as most of the Akatsuki scrolls were. This one more so than the others, mainly because it detailed his selection process for the systematic murder of people whom he wished to practice his necromancy on. He called them "Paths," but to Bolt, all he heard was "raising the dead to fight for me."

Tetsu loomed over him, casting a shadow. He held out a wooden sword ceremoniously—which, where the fuck did he get that? The Land of Earth had few trees, and the Land of Rain was miserable to traverse. Bolt thought he must have defaced some part of the castle and stole the wood. It was an expertly crafted wooden katana though, he had to admit.

"Yeah, sure," Bolt finally said, furling the scroll and depositing it back into the seal tattooed on his arm. He would pick up with that particular scroll later. He was lucky Tetsu found him reading it, and not Hikari. "I'm not really good at kenjutsu, so I'll just stick with my taijutsu."

Tetsu seemed to frown, as if he found it incomprehensible that someone would not wish to pursue the great Way of the Sword. "Very well," Tetsu said.

Bolt followed him down into the first floor of the castle. It mainly housed the servants' quarters, kitchens, and a large dining room. Many of the rooms had been converted to barracks for the Sugawara clan's soldiers. More than one room functioned as a miniature armory, packed to the brim with swords, spears, bows, and barrels of arrows.

But, above all, it had a training grounds. It had been a ballroom at one point, but Michizane had ordered it transformed into a sprawling training ground. Despite _technically_ not being in the Land of Rain, it still rained an awful damn lot on the border. When it did, the soldiers trained inside. When it was nice enough, they did so in the courtyard.

As it was, the god of storms was raging. They sparred inside.

Bolt took his position at the opposite side of their unofficial "ring" and slipped into a comfortable, defensive Gentle Fist stance. Tetsu brandished his wooden sword and held it aloft in a kenjutsu stance. Both men stared at each other and blinked once.

The fight was on.

Bolt was proud of his progress in the art of the Gentle Fist. It took a truly strong and gifted practitioner to ever advance to the level of skill needed to face an armed opponent. That was why, despite the power of the style, a majority of Hyūga clansmen were in the reconnaissance corps. Well, that, and their Byakugan.

But, still, many clansmen never developed the level of skill to use the Gentle Fist to fight an armed opponent. Especially one as fast and as strong as Tetsu. Bolt was one of the rare few who had mastered the style enough to do so. He grinned.

A slap here, and thrust there. Defense with the Gentle Fist was all about deflecting, not blocking. You slap the sword away with one hand, and attack with the other. It was much akin to a style of dual wielding, if one thought about it.

And still, Tetsu was just that _good_. Bolt would slap the wooden sword away, thrust forward to land a blow, only for his own hand to be batted away by the sword. Then they repeated the dance again and again.

Bolt landed a few good blows. But, for every one he did, Tetsu returned the favor. And, in terms of pain, having a single chakra point closed was far less painful than being smacked in the skull by a wooden sword.

After that, he made sure his guard covered his head at all times. It hurt like a bitch, and would probably bruise and develop into a nasty bump. Which was a crime in and of itself, marring his beautiful visage. How was he supposed to seduce the ladies if his head had a tumor growing out of its side?

Granted, the only "ladies" in the castle were maids and court ladies. The former were hired to clean rooms and serve soldiers. The latter had breasts that sagged to their navels. He was interested in neither.

When both of their breathing grew ragged, Bolt knew the spar had come to its natural end. Emboldened, he slapped away Tetsu's sword with vigor and charged in. Tetsu brought the sword up to guard, as usual. Bolt attacked. Not Tetsu, the sword. He had yet to try that just yet. Chakra lanced from his fingertips, easily capable of cutting flesh and more than capable of shattering wood.

Tetsu's sword glowed blue. He deflected the blow, and slashed at his skull. Again. Bolt leaned backwards, his eyes tracking the sword as it passed in front of him.

Or he would have, had the tip of the sword not glowed blue and _extended_. As it was, he was rapped on the skull for the second time.

Bolt saw stars as his vision swam. He blinked several times, and found himself sitting on his ass in the middle of the training grounds. He scowled. "That was an interesting trick," he commented, with just a dash of vitriol added.

Tetsu nodded. "Your strategy, too, was impressive. Though a true samurai would never allow his blade to come to harm," the samurai said.

Bolt just nodded. Tetsu was oddly protective of his sword. He ritually sharpened, cleaned, and otherwise maintained it daily with an almost zealous fervor.

"How did you make the sword grow, there at the end?" Bolt asked, as he hauled himself to his feet.

Tetsu peered at him quizzically. "It is an adaption of the Saber Technique we use," he said. "Normally, it is applied to prevent the sword from breaking and give it an unnatural edge. With enough practice, one can manipulate the shape and size."

"Shape manipulation," Bolt muttered under his breath. Interesting. He was good with that. "Can you teach me?"

Tetsu seemed to ponder it for a moment. "An exchange, then. I will teach you the Way of the Sword, and you shall teach me to read your scrolls," he said.

"Sure," Bolt quipped. A fair trade, if a little in his favor. Bolt furrowed his brows. "I've been meaning to ask. Why can't you read?"

Tetsu's face seemed to darken. "I was but an orphan and a pauper until I was ten. I lived on the streets of the Land of Iron. One day, my master rode by upon his horse. He saw me fighting against two young samurai in training, and besting them. He took me in, and asked me what I wanted to be," he said, pausing. "I told him I wished to be strong. He made me so. That was the extent of my training."

Bolt schooled his features to avoid appearing anything other than neutral. That Tetsu had survived as an orphan living on the streets of the Land of Iron—a place where the average temperature was below freezing and snowed near year round—was surprising.

Bolt nodded, and weaved a few hand seals. Lightning sparked to life in the palm of his hand. Tetsu quirked an eyebrow at the technique. "My friend used to say that when her father taught her this technique, the maker said it came from trying to apply nature transformation to the Rasengan. I want to try the opposite: applying shape manipulation to the Chidori," he explained.

Tetsu nodded, and began to show him the basis for the samurai's Saber Technique.

Much later, an exhausted Bolt sat at a low table and began to teach the mountain of a man how to read.

* * *

Bolt peered over the top of his cards and eyed Hikari. It really wasn't fair. She wore a mask. How was he supposed to know if she was bluffing or not? The only thing that gave away her thoughts were her eyes and body language. Bolt was an expert in reading neither.

Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak a peek at her cards. The veins in his temples writhed and bulged ever so slightly. "Do it, and you find out how it feels to have a throwing needle in your eyes," Hikari whispered threateningly, almost intimately.

Bolt wisely chose to hold back his dōjutsu. "Fold," he said, with a sigh. He set his cards face up on the table; a seven and an eight. Hikari brandished her cards; the ace of hearts, and the ace of spades. Combined with the aces of clubs, diamonds, and hearts that made... five of a kind? "Hey!" Bolt shouted indignantly. "You said no cheating!"

Hikari shrugged. "I said no such thing. I said no good ninja plays cards without cheating," she quipped.

Bolt grumbled under his breath and wondered where, exactly, she had filched an extra ace from. He wasn't about to argue the rules of poker with her. If she said she got five of a kind, she got five of a kind. Hikari didn't take well to being lectured on the rules. It was just one of those things he picked up during their friendship.

Hikari dealt them another hand. A sharp rapping at the door interrupted their game. A blushing maid reluctantly entered. "Young master, Lord Sugawara has requested your presence," she said.

Bolt sighed. "I'll be back later," he muttered under his breath. They had only been at the castle for five days. And, apparently, Michizane had been good on his word when he had promised to take him under his wing when it came to political matters. Bolt hated it. Despised it. But he couldn't say no. For one, it would be rude. For two, Hikari had talked him in circles until she got him to agree that yes, it _was_ good experience. Even as the black sheep of the family, he still was the son of the Hokage, and not just any Hokage, _the_ Hokage. Hero of the war and savior of the world.

If, by some miracle, his crimes were forgiven, he would probably be thrown into some sort of position of political or martial power. Might as well get used to it, eh?

Michizane invited him every night he held court. It was a room filled with old men and women who had more bark than bite and were content to gossip and fawn. Bolt had discovered, quite by accident, why Eiji enjoyed drinking so much. It made dealing with idiots so much easier and more enjoyable. It was a good thing the booze they served were the high quality kind. The rich and powerful wouldn't deign to drink anything less, he supposed.

The room was the same as he expected it. Low set table of beautiful red wood. Overly large and too comfortable cushions for seats. An impressive spread of gourmet food. Plenty of alcohol. A pleasant scent wafting from the incense that burned in the corner of the room. Old men and women talking in not-so-hushed voices. And there his seat was, at the head of the table, to Michizane's left. He sighed, and made his way to his assigned seat.

A few of the politicians "loyal"—Bolt used that term extremely lightly—to the Sugawara cause waved or nodded greetings to him as he passed them. Bolt returned their greetings with a nod and a false smile. He didn't even remember a single one of their names.

The room waxed poetic while Bolt drank just enough sake to not feel like he was being smothered to death by thinly veiled pleasantries. Not too much, though. He didn't want to end up face down in his drinking cup like Eiji. It happened on more than one occasion.

An hour and a half of torture later, the politicians filed out, and the advisors and soldiers filed in. The food was cleared—but the booze remained—and the who's who of the Sugawara faction planned raids and battle tactics to repel the "Orimura whoresons" at their doorstep.

This, Bolt thought, was interesting. And more importantly, just worth having to sit through exchanging pleasantries with the politicians. "We've had reports of men arriving from the southeast," one of the higher ranking soldiers informed Michizane. "We think they're mustering forces for another siege."

"Let them come," Michizane said, sure of his position in the castle. Doubly so now that he had a trio of extremely capable jōnin ranked soldiers on payroll. From the worried looks the soldiers gave him, they weren't in the know. Fortunately for them, they believed in their lord enough to keep their mouths shut.

A good thing, too. Bolt had seen what happened to men who voiced their grievances when under threat of a battle of attrition. One time, on a mission that included ten Crimson Tide mercenaries—nine plus himself—Bolt and his allies had been trapped in a cave. The only way out was through enemy lines. Very hostile enemy lines. A new recruit suggested surrendering and undoing the earth jutsu that kept them sealed and safe. Everyone vehemently disagreed. When the recruit tried to leave himself, an older member of the group throttled him to death right then and there.

And it saved their lives. There was a reason your superiors were called "superior."

Another footsoldier stepped up, metaphorically speaking, with a nervous cough. "My men have infiltrated the labor camps to the north, along the border of the Land of Earth," he said.

Another mark against the Mononobe. They liked to imprison, or more accurately, enslave, those that they defeated. That, or those civilians unfortunate enough to find themselves in on the wrong end of a conversation with a Mononobe supporter. In the Land of Rain, it was practically a death sentence. No prisoners survived more than a month of the harsh labor, exposed to the elements.

"It is unfortunate," Michizane said, a frown marring his features. "But until the siege is broken, we cannot send any men to help liberate the labor camps."

Bolt frowned. Yeah, they couldn't mobilize what troops Michizane had stationed at the castle, but they could probably smuggle out a small, elite force to help.

"And, unfortunately, nothing short of a full scale invasion would secure the camps without giving the guards enough time to kill their charges," Michizane added.

Oh, that was why.

Another soldier stepped forward, his helm's plumage cascading to his shoulders. "My lord, we have also—"

The sound of a horn blasting in the distance echoed through the castle. One blast—all hands at attention.

A second echoed. Two blasts—allies approaching.

A third echoed. Three blasts—enemies approaching.

Bolt waited. And waited. _And waited._

Then the room blurred into action as higher ranking soldiers scrambled to flee the room and return to the men they commanded.

Bolt, having been briefed on the procedures for such a situation and the responsibilities his team would have, sprinted after them. His quarters were on the upper level of the castle; he, Hikari, and Tetsu had been given their own rooms in their own wing of the castle. It was quite nice, if a bit extravagant.

The armories were one part chaos, one part order as men slipped their armor on, donned their helms, and grabbed their weapons. Bolt slipped into the dervish of men and metal and was accosted by a quartermaster who fitted him into his own armor with a lieutenant's horned helmet. Michizane had been adamant that they properly arm themselves, despite being jōnin in their own right.

Bolt tested his agility and range of movement and found them wanting. The armor would impede his speed; his greatest strength. He grumbled under his breath, slapping away the proffered sword the quartermaster shoved into his hands. If the armor didn't save his life, he was going to make the old man eat every scrap of metal it was made of.

Bolt's ears twitched as he heard the steady march of boots on stone. He, along with all the other men that had been in the armory, were herded into rank and file behind the thick wooden gate that separated them from the enemy outside. Bolt felt his pulse jump in anticipation and allowed a flicker of chakra to course through his eyes. With his Byakugan, he could see a sea of blue fire just beyond the walls; countless bodies of chakra.

Bolt swallowed and allowed his eyes to fade to blue. A hand grasped his wrist, bringing his arm up. Bolt started, surprised when Hikari placed a large soldier pill in the palm of his hand. Her eyes met his, and she swallowed her own pill. Bolt did the same. He didn't know how long the fighting would last, and the pill would curb his hunger and ensure he wasn't tired for at least twenty-four hours. Hikari handed a pill to a fist as large as his skull, and Bolt knew that Tetsu was looming over the both of them.

He spared a quick peek at the mountain of a man and nearly flinched. Tetsu's armor was as impressive as it was terrifying. Whatever magic Michizane had worked to get the smiths to outfit him was completely worth it. The samurai was garbed from head-to-toe in thick plates of metal that had been dyed blue. It was a combination between the modern samurai armor and the plated monstrosity used in the old wars. Atop his head sat a helmet with vicious, curved horns. His face was protected by a mask that attached to his helm. The mask depicted a snarling, furious demon whose maw was parted to bare its fangs.

Bolt knew more than one of their enemies were going to soil themselves when Tetsu charged them, sword brandished. He looked like a demon that had crawled its way from the pits of hell.

The drums of war began to beat. The gate was raised, and the soldiers filtered outside. First were the barrel chested men with arms as thick as tree branches. They hefted heavy square shields in front of them, armed with shortswords strapped to their waists. Behind them, tall pikeman armed with spears that had vicious, serrated spearheads. And behind them, common infantrymen. Among which, Bolt found himself.

Bolt couldn't see over the men in front of him, but he could hear. He could hear the pounding of boots on dirt and stone, the slowly rising roar of battle cries, the sharp chime of swords being drawn from their scabbards, the stretching sound of bows being drawn back. Then, like the clap of thunder, the battle began.

Twang. Arrows released overhead. Men screamed.

Clang. The invaders broke upon the shield wall in front of them.

Squelch. Spearman thrust their weapons forward, over their comrades' shoulders and heads.

Bolt felt his feet grow damp. Blood was pooling underneath his feet, fleeing from the slaughter before him. Bolt snapped his head upwards as he heard the cries of the dead and dying. Somewhere, a man barked orders. "Push!"

The shieldwall advanced. They climbed over the corpses of their enemies, slashing their necks or piercing their hearts as they did so. Arrows hissed through the sky overhead. Their army advanced, slowly but surely. Occasionally, a shieldbearer would fall—a stray arrow, or a well thrown spear taking him to the Pure Lands. His brothers-in-arms closed the gap before their enemy could break their formation.

Then the arrows stopped. They were too far out. Their archers couldn't fire without fear of hitting them. Bolt felt his mouth grow dry. He had sat in the war room as the soldiers discussed battle strategy. He knew they shouldn't be so far out. Where was their commander? He should have called for them to halt.

Bolt flinched as a spearhead stopped a foot from his face. The spearman in front of him had been impaled through the skull. Looking around his shoulders, he could see that the shieldbearer in front of him had suffered the same fate. They fell as one, and the formation broke. From somewhere behind him, Bolt heard a commander—not their commander—bark orders. "Break formation!"

That was what they had been waiting for. Tetsu barreled forward, like a hibernation bear charging from its cave after a long winter. Bolt saw the eyes of their enemy widen in fear from beneath the shade of their helmets. He drew his sword, and in a single cleave, cut down three men. He could see the sparkle of metal glinting in sunlight as Hikari hurled throwing needles from somewhere behind him.

Bolt swallowed, and leapt forward. The first man, armed with a rusted sword and a battered shield, was surprised by his speed. Bolt slipped inside his guard and sent a lance of chakra through his chest. He must have hit something important, because he fell to the ground and clawed at his armor. A soldier came from behind him and finished the man off, slitting his throat.

The next three were a team, Bolt could tell. They were back-to-back, covering each other with their shields and blocking with their swords. And yet, it was so easy to slip between one of their guards and strike them down with the Gentle Fist. Their comrade slain, the other two were swept up with the tide of war and joined their friends in the Pure Lands.

Bolt was idly aware that Tetsu was wading into the enemy's ranks, swinging his sword wildly with snarls of anger. This was his revenge for his master, Bolt could tell. Hikari was somewhere, peppering the foes he missed with needles and well placed chakra enhanced punches.

He didn't know how long he fought for. Time had no bearing on the battlefield. Ranks and formations broke into a chaotic struggle of life and death as men garbed in blue armor slew those garbed in red. Bolt glanced backwards every few moments, making sure his allies were still at his back. As the battle progressed, their number thinned and thinner.

And yet the number of men with red armor continued to swarm them. Bolt couldn't hear the telltale bark of commanders giving orders. He didn't spy any helm with ornate plumage bobbing in the sea of their allies. Only the strong still hefted their swords above their waists. Bolt knew that something, somewhere, had gone terribly, terribly wrong. From the first moment, their commander had been slain. Before they even left the safety of the archers on the ramparts.

Now, they were trapped. The men manning the castle would never open the gates with their enemy's army swarming their walls. Those who had left the castle to defend it would either die doing so, or be strong enough to survive.

And Bolt was nothing if not a survivor. He struck down four opponents in a blur of open palms and pointed fingers. Given a momentary reprieve, he dug deep into his chakra. Lightning arced from his fists; chirping, glowing, snapping. He didn't have a name for his technique, but he favored it the Chidori Sword. The lightning stretched forward from the tips of his fingers, like a blade being drawn. Technically, Bolt didn't use them as swords. He wasn't skilled in kenjutsu. But the Chidori Sword acted as an extension of his arms; an extension of his Gentle Fist. Instead of fighting face-to-face, he fought at five paces from his enemies.

Bolt could see the blue electricity reflected in the dark eyes of the men in red armor. He could see their fear. Their desperation. Their acceptance. They knew they were outmatched. They knew they were about to die. But they wouldn't just roll over and let nature's natural order take hold of them. They would fight, and die, trying to live.

And try they did.

The first man broke from his stupor and roared a battle cry, his sword raised above his head. From the dark blue plumage of his helm, Bolt could tell he was an officer. Of what kind, he didn't know. But his actions seemed to rally his men, for they raised their own weapons and roared their own battle cries.

The officer rushed forward, and Bolt cut both his arms from their shoulders with his Chidori. He screamed—so loud—and fell to the ground. He was bleeding and writhing and _wouldn't shut up_. Bolt lashed out with his new technique and drew the tip of the blade across his throat. The lightning sword nearly took his head off, leaving it attached by a thin string of sinew and skin.

Then they rushed him, like a tide. Wave after wave they came. A hulking man with a club made from the trunk of a tree. It was worn, the "handle" having been worn down from the man's hands. It was devoid of bark and stained a pretty pink color; the color of blood staining the wood's white flesh. He died when Bolt cut his club in twain and pierced his chest with his Chidori.

A ninja, from where Bolt did not know. He was dark skinned and well tanned. His eyes and hair were a warm brown color, marred only by the fear Bolt saw reflected in his gaze. He wielded battle fans; two tiny things that were more fit to fan court ladies than slay men. He tried to counter his new technique with a gust of wind, but Bolt was too fast. He danced around the ninja's technique and slashed at his chest. He fell to the ground with a strangled gasp and a blood rapidly pooling beneath him. Then, he was trampled by his own allies as they surged forward.

There were countless men who couldn't wield chakra. Nameless warriors who fought for their lord. Drafted, maybe? Bolt could see it in their physique. There were farmers; burly and barrel-chested, but lithe, from years of tilling the land. Fishermen; thin waifs of men who could barely hold their swords and shields. There was even a lone butcher—Bolt cut him in twain as he charged at him. He held a cleaver in both hands, and wore a baldric that stretched over his armor and held a number of bloodied knives.

There were samurai, too. Tall men with broad shoulders that wore armor of their yukatas. It was all polished steel with goggles and a rebreather. They held one sword in their hand, a shorter one strapped to their waists. Their armor glowed with their chakra in an attempt to defend themselves against the sharp bite of his Chidori. It didn't. Lightning parted steel as easily as cloth as he struck them several times with an aggressive Gentle Fist form.

Bolt's breath grew ragged as a monk appeared before him. He was garbed in a flowing robe of white with the symbol for "Earth" emblazoned on it that had, against all odds, remained clean among the sea of the dead and the dying and _the blood_. He wore worn, old wooden sandals and carried a staff of gold metal in his right hand. He twirled the staff rapidly for a few moments before darting forward. Bolt cut the staff in half as the monk swung it at him. He lashed out with his Chidori, and the monk managed to dodge. The bald man stumbled backwards, holding the ruined remains of his weapon.

Bolt cut him down and moved on to the next foe, and the next, _and the next_.

There was a woman. She wore light armor of leather and chain, but wore a helmet with a mask that depicted a demon. It reminded Bolt of Tetsu—where was Tetsu, he couldn't see the mountain of a man. Did he die? No, that wasn't possible. Tetsu was strong. Doubt clawed at Bolt's chest. Strong, but not as strong as him. What about Hikari? Bolt was sure he could kill her, if he really tried. Would his own number among their enemy find her and do the same?

The woman charged forward, a fearful but ferocious battle cry tearing itself from her lips. She wielded a farmer's scythe in both hands, though she certainly was no farmer. She swung and danced and managed to avoid being cut down by Bolt's Chidori.

Bolt felt the sharp bite of pain blossom in his left forearm as one of the woman's scythes caught him. He stumbled backwards and tripped on something large and hot and slick. The woman advanced him, the demonic mask she wore whimpering something to him that he couldn't understand. She seemed to falter, and take a step backwards. Then, she raised her arm and hurled one of the scythes at him. It flew, end-over-end, and caught fast in the dirt above his shoulder. She missed. The demon whimpered something again.

Bolt was on his feet, his heart hammering in his chest. He was on his feet, darting forward, boots slipping on something—the damn worthless things. He was going to kill the quartermaster. The woman screamed and swung her scythe madly. Bolt slapped her arm away with his wounded arm and drove his fist through her chest.

She tried to say something, but it came up gurgled and strangled. Her back arched and Bolt could see blood running down her neck from underneath her mask. He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he took off her helmet.

"—Hima?" Bolt croaked. It was his sister; pale, porcelain skin and cerulean eyes. Her hair, the unmistakable Hyūga black-purple, was matted with dirt and blood. Two streaks of black _something_ stained her chakra scars on her cheeks, like war paint.

"Oh god," Bolt cried. Hot tears of anguish fell down his cheeks. "No, no. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he cried.

His sister looked up at him with her blue eyes, wet and full of unshed tears. He felt his heart _break_. "'S okay," she gurgled up at him, running the tips of her fingers across his cheeks. "'S okay," she said.

Then her hand fell to the ground, and she stilled.

"No," Bolt uttered. "No!"

Then he noticed something. Her hair was dark. Too dark. It didn't have the sheen of purple that the Hyūga clansmen did. Her eyes were different, too. Too dark; like ice, not sky. Her skin was pale, too pale. Pale not from beauty, but from fear. The marks on her cheeks weren't chakra scars, but scratches.

The woman wasn't his sister.

Bolt threw himself back on his haunches and scrambled away from the woman. The ground was so, so _slick_. For the first time, Bolt looked down. The ground, normally so earthy and brown, was now stained a dark crimson color. Small rivers of blood ran down the mountain, forming natural streams and washing away the dirt.

Bolt leaned to the side and vomited until his stomach was empty, and then he continued until he was dry heaving. From his position on the ground, he could see what he had tripped over in his battle with the woman: an arm.

He tried to stand, the metal of his boots sliding on the ground slick with gore. He managed to throw himself upwards, and his body sent chakra coursing through his feet to stabilize him. Bolt cast wild glances across the battlefield. He was alone. Corpses were piled high or strewn across the battlefield. A murder of crows had descended upon the carrion, eating their fill. Somewhere, a man lay dying and rasping his death rattle.

But there was a number of corpses that hadn't been touched; hadn't been moved. A veritable road of bodies—a trail—dismembered, charred, and hacked to pieces. Their faces were locked in terrified visages in their death. Each bore the wound of one or many Lightning Release attacks. His attacks. How many? Tens? No, more. Hundreds? How many?

This was not a fight. Not a battle.

This was _war._

Bolt stumbled back over to the woman who he thought had been his sister. Only her face was locked in an expression of calm and peace; a slight upturning of her lips the only proof. Bolt ran a shaky, calloused hand through his hair.

The hand came back wet.

Bolt stared at the palm of his hand, blood coating it like paint. Bolt wondered why, even, he could run his hand through his hair. Where was his helmet? When did he lose it? How had no one landed that one fatal blow to the skull that would have ended it all?

His eyes flickered between his bloody hand the woman's face. Back and forth. Back and forth.

This was _war._ This was _pain._

Bolt stilled. Words, not his own, echoed in his mind. Words written on old scrolls by a man who had died long ago. _"I want them to feel pain. To think about pain. To accept pain. To know pain."_

This was but a small pain compared to what Nagato had suffered. And yet, why did it hurt so much? He hadn't died, hadn't lost anyone. The woman at his feet was not his sister. But maybe she was someone's? Was she a sister? A daughter? A wife? What was their pain? Surely it couldn't be greater than the one he felt in his heart now?

That one horrifying moment seared itself into his brain. The feel of his fist piercing his sister's ribcage. The _sound_ as he tore his arm free. The terror as he removed his sister's helmet. The look of fear she held in her blue eyes, the way she—even in death—gave a small piece of her heart to comfort him.

And then Bolt realized something.

Nagato was right.

" _No matter how pathetic the reason, it's enough to start a war. War will never cease to exist. Human nature pursues strife."_

Konan was wrong.

Nagato entrusted his peace to Naruto—to his father, the Hokage.

And where was peace?

This was war. There was no peace. There never was. Peace was a _lie._ Naruto—his father—was a _liar._ There never was peace. Never had been peace. There was only war, and the brief interlude between one war and the next; be it months, years, or decades.

There was only war.

It was all just too funny.

Bolt laughed.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This chapter was hard to write, but I hope it came off as I intended it. Accurately describing a small part of the horrors was war was difficult. How did I do?

Reading recommendation: "Making Arrangements" by CrownsofLaurels. It's romance/comedy with a good plot. Features Kakashi/fem!Naruto (that isn't creepy). I normally am not into stories like that, but this one was so well written I couldn't put it down.

Thoughts on a Kaguya clansman (or clansmen) being alive? In canon, I'm pretty sure their entire clan was exterminated, leaving only Kimimaro. He died of a terminal illness, and I'm pretty sure he didn't have children to carry on the clan. But, like the Yuki clan, it seems pretty unlikely that every single member of their clan would be killed. There must be some, somewhere, that managed to hide.

Since the Land of Rain arc might get complicated, here is a list of clans, who they are, and who supports them.

Mononobe - Traitorous dogs. Murdered Tetsu's master.

Sugawara - The People's clan. Supported by Bolt and Hikari.

Orimura - Allies of the Mononobe clan; sieging the Sugawara castle.

Kusakabe - Minor noble clan.


	31. Chapter 31

Hikari shambled forward, favoring her right leg. It had been cut—deeply—when a samurai from the Land of Iron caught her unawares. She had long since used up the last of her throwing needles many hours ago. She had, in her desperation, picked up a fallen comrade's katana and done her best with what little training in kenjutsu she had.

She plunged the tip of the blade into her fallen opponent's chest, and he gasped a final breath before dying. Hikari raised her head, and peered round the battlefield. Down the mountain, she could see the broken and retreating army of the Orimura clan fleeing. What few handfuls of men that survived of the Sugawara clan were mulling around the battlefield in a daze.

Among them, far in the distance, was Bolt. He sat on his haunches, an expression of pure fear marring his normally handsome features. Hikari grit her teeth and began to hobble forward. She needed to make sure he hadn't killed himself.

Hikari could see the thoughts and emotions play on his face as clearly as she could read a book or scroll. He stood, and ran a shaky hand through his hair. It made her stomach tie itself in knots. His hair, once blonde and golden, was now stained and dyed as red as the crimson hair of his clan. But it was no transformation jutsu; it was blood.

She had seen the man with the club knock his helm from his head early in the battle, and her heart had nearly leapt from her throat. A moment later, he proved her worry was for naught when he cut the man down.

Hikari could see his eyes working furiously, flickering between his bloodied hand and the body of the woman he had defeated. She saw something ugly and twisted and cold and heartbreaking coil itself within him, drawing his already frayed emotions taut. Then, he _snapped_.

Bolt collapsed to his knees, laughing. His barks of laughter echoed over the battlefield. He was crying and laughing and just so broken. Hikari shambled forward faster, cursing her bum leg and her lack of chakra to heal it. She couldn't tell if his tears were from laughter, happiness, relief, pain, or sadness.

Maybe it was all of them?

Hikari could hear the sound of heavy steel boots crunching gravel and dirt beneath their heels. She knew without looking that it was Tetsu. The two of them had banded together to survive the tides of war as man after man had broken against them. She had struggled, at first, to reach Bolt. He needed her protection more than Tetsu. The samurai could take care of himself.

But then _it_ happened.

Bolt seemed to snap. It wasn't like the other battles, other missions, they had. It was different. But then again, _this_ was different. This wasn't a skirmish between mercenaries and ANBU. This wasn't a mission to secure a bounty in some far flung tea house in the countryside. This was _war_.

Like the god of lightning and thunder himself, Raijin came down from the heavens and possessed Bolt. He was unstoppable. A machine of death and blood. Lightning crackled all around him as he charged through the enemy ranks, killing hundreds of men and women. Each swing of his jutsu and another fell dead or dying. And they _bled._ The Gentle Fist was always so clean, so clinical. But the new Chidori adaption, it was anything but. Those who fell to the Chidori bled and screamed and writhed in pain.

And Hikari could see the fear in their eyes. The despair. And it was mirrored in Bolt's own.

Hikari kneeled, and scooped Bolt into a comforting embrace. His body shook with tremors as he continued to laugh and rave and cry. "Bolt," she whispered. "Bolt, you have to calm down."

Her hands glowed green as she tried to soothe aches and pains and what wounds he had accumulated. She could feel Tetsu standing guard over the two of them, giving them some small measure of privacy.

"It hurts," Bolt whimpered. "Why does it hurt?"

She stilled. "Where?" Hikari asked. Had she missed some wound? She was so very low on chakra. Empty with exhaustion. Had she not been so determined to get to Bolt, she probably would have fell unconscious on the battlefield.

Bolt thumped a clenched fist to his chest, just above his heart. Hikari moved her glowing hands to the indicated spot, but found nothing. "Why?" Bolt croaked.

Realization dawned. "Bolt, I—" Hikari uttered. "—I'm not that kind of doctor. I can't—I don't know how to heal that kind of wound."

She was at a loss. Nothing in her training had prepared her for dealing with the aftermath of war. The hunters of the Mist were always so cold and hardened and emotionless and so very not like Bolt. She healed bodies; not hearts, not minds. Hikari didn't know what to do.

Her heart was in her throat, hammering loudly. She wanted so badly to fix what was broken, but she didn't know how. She did the only thing she could, and placed him into a medically induced sleep. It would spare him from the pain, if only a short while.

Hikari tried to stand, chakra coursing through her muscles and giving her body the strength she didn't have. Her vision swam black, and then she knew nothing.

* * *

Tetsu caught the frail woman she she collapsed with the little lordling in her arms. She had forced her body to move by will alone; a respectable tenacity. She had long since exhausted her chakra, and even still found more to help Bolt. He could not imagine such an exhaustion as that; he himself was tired, but his chakra kept his body strong and his mind keen.

He sheathed his sword and threw his two fellow rōnins over his shoulder like sacks of rice. He owed them a debt of blood, and he would repay it. Certainly some of the court healers had survived the battle. He would have them heal his comrades, or they would face his blade.

Tetsu marched through the battlefield, his back rigid. He was no stranger to death. His master had broken him of that within his first year of training. The moment he was taken in, his master bestowed him a pet: a young dog, barely a pup. He loved that dog, and the dog loved him in return. Then, on that fateful day a year later, a sword was shoved into his hands and the dog presented to him. _"Kill it,"_ his master commanded.

And he did.

Tetsu could still feel the way his sword rattled as he hacked the dog to ribbons.

His boots were slipping on stone that was slick with blood, but a small expulsion of chakra kept his legs steady. What little of their allies survived wandered the battlefield in a daze. Tetsu ignored them, and strode to the gate of the castle. He waited only a moment before the gears whined and the gate was raised.

Tetsu's boots echoed through the courtyard. The archers on the ramparts—the cowards—looked at them with fear and awe.

No. On closer inspection, it wasn't _them_ that they feared. It was _him_. Bolt. The little lordling had frightened grown men more than twice his age. Terrified them. They had seen but a child, one that their Lord had taken under his wing to teach the dance of the court. They didn't expect the beast that lurks beneath the flesh. The beast that Tetsu had seen but a small glimpse of that day in the rain. _He_ terrified _them._

That too was an honor, a respect. He had slain many enemies this day. More than the masked woman, nearly as many as he himself. Tetsu felt the respect he held for the lordling grow even more. When he had first laid eyes on the blonde in that cave, he thought him simply another mercenary looking for a quick death in a foreign land. He had quickly been proved wrong. His strength. His skill. His talent. His tenacity. His benevolence. His _charisma_ —the ability to draw people to his side, even if they were foes.

Yes, Tetsu decided. He was a young Lord in training. A worthy man to follow. A worthy man to serve. In time, perhaps he would.

Tetsu strode into the castle proper, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the stone arch of the entrance. A willowy waif of a man in a kimono approached him. "Healers," Tetsu commanded.

"Y—yes, at once," the man stuttered, before running into the bowels of the castle to fetch the healers.

Tetsu strode over to a table that had been set up in the training grounds. It was covered with maps and scrolls and charts. He slid one great palm over the table's contents and knocked them to the floor. With great care, he laid Bolt and Hikari down.

He frowned as a small pool of blood formed under the woman's leg. Her dress was stained crimson, the armor plating that had protected her thigh had been cut in twain. He tore a small length of fabric and bound the wound tightly. Why had she not healed herself before attending to Bolt? Tetsu didn't know. But he could respect her decision. It was a great honor to care for one's lord before oneself.

Tetsu went through the motions of removing his comrades' armor. The armor, given to them new and painted a pleasant blue color, like the rain, had been marred by slashes and dyed red with blood. Both of them had bathed in the battlefield, and had come out tempered like steel. Now, the only question was if their blades would be brittle, or if they would hold.

Hikari was made of stone. Tetsu knew this. He had seen in her what lay within himself. She would emerge strong. But Bolt. He had seen the anguish. The breaking. Perhaps he was more lordling than warrior. That little difference made him brittle. Made him break under the weight of the men he cut down. Tetsu had seen it before. In the men who thought themselves samurai, but whose arms shook with fear when they drew their sword.

But, perhaps not. Men were not swords. Even brittle men could be forged into solid steel if their will was strong. Tetsu prayed that Bolt would prove himself strong.

There was a patter of boots pounding on stone as three men emerged from the stairs. One, dressed in a black yukata. Two wore white aprons over their clothing. They were stained with blood. They looked more like butchers than healers, in Tetsu's mind. He drew his sword and levelled it at them. "If you damage them, I will gut you like a pig," he said. It was not a threat. Simply a fact. If they maimed either of them, he would take great pleasure in allowing them to experience a small pain of a warrior whose body was stolen from him.

The healers nodded nervously, sweat beading on their foreheads. Their hands glowed with a soft green light as their palms roamed over the unconscious bodies. They quickly ghosted over Bolt; he was low on chakra, but not exhausted. If Bolt were to be believed, his and Tetsu's own impressive reserves of chakra was a trait of their shared heritage as members of the Uzumaki clan. He had a handful of other minors wounds; cuts, scrapes, bruises.

Hikari was more serious. She had slipped into chakra exhaustion and would no doubt be feeling the effects for several days. The wound on her leg had cut to the bone; only her own skill as a medic had prevented the severed artery from bleeding her dry. She too was covered with an expansive list of minor wounds, all of which the medics healed to the best of their abilities.

When they were done, the healers were shaking, sweating, and exhausted. Their own chakra reserves were dwarfed by Tetsu's. It put into perspective just how different their heritages were. "I shall take them to Bolt's quarters," Tetsu informed the men. Bolt's quarters were the largest and most lavish of the three. Tetsu would have been fine in the barracks, but the blonde had insisted he not. "Send for a servant to bring food and drink. I shall watch over them."

The three men nodded, bowed, and excused themselves. With great care, Tetsu picked the two of them up and ascended the stairs to their wing in the castle. Bolt's door parted with an application of force that broke the lock—Tetsu was thankful it had not been rigged with a sealing jutsu trap; it probably should, in the future—and laid them both on Bolt's larger than necessary bed.

Their chests rose and fell with even, steady breaths. Tetsu watched them for a moment, ensuring that the two were indeed going to survive the battle. By all indications, they would. There was a quiet rapping at the door. Tetsu opened it, and a servant scurried in like a frightened mouse. He placed several plates of food and pitchers of water on the table before fleeing.

Tetsu ate his share, then slumped against the door to ensure none would trespass before closing his eyes and allowing his mind to wander. In moments, he was asleep.

* * *

Hikari blinked slowly as the first wisps of conscious thoughts fluttered through her addled mind. Her head ached something fierce, and her mouth was painfully dry. What she wouldn't give for some water. She had murdered men for less.

She tried to sit up, but failed. Her body protested movement violently. Her abs rippled with a pain that curled her toes. Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes to open and her body to remain still. The room she was in was lit by a soft candlelight, courtesy of a lone flickering flame on the table. There were plates of food and pitchers of water and _she had to get up._

Hikari noticed Tetsu slumbering near the door, his katana clutched to his chest like a child sleeping with their favorite doll. It was cute, in a way. She tried, with very slow and deliberate movements, to force her legs to heed her commands. Her leg which had been cut was sore and felt weak. Everytime she tried to move it, pain lanced up her thigh.

Hikari sighed. The healers, inept as they were, probably "fixed" her. Incorrectly, too. She would have words for them later. Perhaps a drop of poison in their evening wine. Not enough to kill, but enough to put them on their asses in their beds for weeks.

Her good leg twitched and she felt a soft warmth bump her thigh. Turning her head was an effort that made her scowl at her own weakness. The warmth was another body: Bolt. He slumbered peacefully, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even.

Which was odd. He was an Uzumaki. He should be up and chattering and flitting around the room. With a sigh and a half growl, Hikari flung her limp arm over his chest. Her palm glowed a soft green, sending little jolts of pain through her pathways. Right. Chakra exhaustion. She pushed on, doing a simple diagnosis jutsu.

He was just tired. Hikari sighed in relief and managed to worm her arm off his chest. Thankfully, he didn't wake. She didn't know if her dignity could handle such a blow if he woke and accused her of groping him. He'd probably do it, too, just to get a rise out of her.

Hikari swallowed, wincing as she felt the dry skin of her tongue crack. She inhaled a great breath of air, grit her teeth, and forced her body to swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Pain danced up and down her wounded leg, causing her to curse under her breath. She hated her weakness. Hikari always fancied herself among the strong. But she had seen those that were truly strong ever since Bolt joined the Crimson Tide. She cursed her small, by comparison, chakra reserves.

With great effort, Hikari managed to push herself off the bed and force her unsteady legs to carry her weight forward. She stumbled, but caught herself on the edge of the table. With shaky hands, she reached up and pressed a finger to her mask and released the jutsu that held it to her face. Discarding the object, she quickly latched onto the pitcher of water on the table and brought it to her lips. The water instantly made her feel better the moment it passed her tongue.

Hikari cast a few quick glances to the room's two other occupants. Tetsu remained fast asleep, and Bolt tossed and turned fretfully atop the sheets. She managed to pull one of the gilded plates over to her. An assortment of dried fruits, cured meats, and aged cheeses were left for them to eat. She nibbled on a piece of jerky, determined to get something in her stomach and begin regaining her strength.

There was a knock at the door. Hikari snatched her mask and pressed it back into its proper place, activating the jutsu once more. Tetsu tensed, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword he clutched.

Bolt leapt from his bed with a scream.

Hikari turned, fists clenched, expecting an assassin to have snuck in when she was unawares. The room was empty—just the three of them. Bolt was wide-eyed and trembling, and in his terror his Byakugan manifested. The rapid, slight movements of his lavender eyes told her that he was taking in _everything_ around them.

Hikari knew that put unnecessary strain on his mind. "Bolt," she said, gently but firmly. His head snapped to her. "Calm down. It was just a dream. We're safe."

He nodded once, twice, then paused. Then, after a few moments, nodded a third time. His eyes faded back to their normal blue. The knocking at the door became more insistent. "Young masters," a servant called out hesitantly.

Tetsu stood by the door, one giant boot holding it fast. He watched the two of them, waiting for a sign that he should allow the servant entry. Once she was sure Bolt had regained his senses, she waved. Tetsu moved his foot and opened the door.

The servant was a young woman, perhaps in her late teens. "Young masters," she said with a low bow. "Lord Sugawara requests your presence, if you are well enough to join him."

"We'll be there shortly," Hikari assured her. The servant nodded and scurried off with nary a word. "To the baths. Both of you. I'll not have us meeting Michizane smelling like sweat and blood," she commanded.

Tetsu obeyed without a word, and Bolt trudged after him. Their room—Bolt's room—smelled like death; old sweat, dried blood, and sickness. Hikari wondered how long, exactly, the three of them had been unconscious in that room. She quickly found her own room, fetched a change of clothes, and headed to the women's baths. Hopefully Michizane could explain things.

* * *

Bolt sat nervously at the low long table that Michizane held court at. His dreams still haunted him, playing in the back of his mind. He distracted himself by trying to listen to the inane babble of the politicians and soldiers. It wasn't working. At least there was food. The servants took special care to make sure those that fought always had food or drink within reach. That was nice of them, he thought.

Bolt noticed that there were fewer old men in the room that he remembered. Given how their seats had been occupied by others, he guessed they weren't coming back. That meant they were dead, then. The battle had been more widespread than he realized.

Michizane sat at the head of the table, reassuring his remaining allies they were safe and that their faction was strong and that they would emerge victorious. Bolt didn't really hear the words he said, but he got the message. After thirty minutes, they seemed appeased, for they left the soldiers in the room to speak.

Bolt straightened as he focussed on getting his ears to listen to their words. Hikari spoke first. "What happened during the battle? How long were we out?"

Michizane turned his attention to her. "The battle ended nearly three days ago. Forgive me for sending a servant to fetch you, I grew worried when neither of you emerged from the room," he said. "As for the battle itself, no doubt you have your own suspicions. We had traitors amongst our midst. They sabotaged the battle by killing our commanders and destroying communication lines. After that, they turned their sights on the castle and those inside. Some of my allies did not live to see this meeting."

So the missing politicians were indeed dead. Hikari nodded sharply. "What's the situation with the Orimura clan?"

A soldier whose name Bolt didn't remember cleared his throat nervously. "They were routed, thanks to your efforts. The siege was broken, and we are free to move once more. The only problem is..."

"Our army suffered heavy casualties in the battle, yes," Hikari said, waving him off. "What do you plan to do about it?"

Michizane hummed in thought for a moment, stroking his beard. "Perhaps you have a suggestion?" Michizane asked.

Hikari nodded. "Reach out to one of the parties claiming to be Amekage. Broker a deal with them. Their ninja will reinforce our ranks, and when you become Rain Lord, the two of you will work together to bring the country back to its former glory," she said.

Michizane smiled, ever so slightly, beneath his beard. Bolt only caught it because he had idly watched the man over the course of his "lessons." He thought that Michizane had already decided upon that exact course of action. A test to see if they were as sharp as they claimed? Maybe.

"Who would you suggest? There are three factions claiming to be the true Amekage," Michizane countered. "We would ally with one, and make enemies of the other two."

Hikari didn't waste time. She already had her answer. "Haruko the Salamander," she said with confidence.

Bolt idly agreed with her. Haruko was the illegitimate daughter of Hanzō the Salamander, the former leader of the Hidden Rain before Nagato murdered him. Her claim to leadership was valid, and as far as he knew, she was strong.

Michizane seemed to agree too. "I'd like to send your team to negotiate with her, when you're ready to travel again," he said.

"We'll leave within the week and track her down," Hikari accepted.

Bolt tuned out the rest of the meeting as soldiers gave their reports and presented new information. An elderly man with a bent back and gnarled cane presented a long list of financial losses the clan had suffered from the siege. His voice was even and baritone. It was comforting, in a way, and Bolt felt his eyelids close.

He was jerked awake by Hikari elbowing him in the ribs. She flashed him a reprimanding, if understanding, glare. _Stay awake,_ it said. _Sleep later._

Bolt did. The meeting wrapped up as soldiers scurried off to attend to their duties and Bolt returned to his room in the castle. The servants had changed the sheets and aired out the room. A vase of flowers sat on the table, along with a pitcher of water and several cups. At least it no longer smelt like a field hospital.

Bolt promptly collapsed back into his bed and shut his eyes. He was too tired to deal with the Sugawara clan. He just wanted to rest. His body still ached from wounds and sores he didn't remember receiving. Bolt felt his mind wander and dull.

He was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the soldiers of the Sugawara clan.

Bolt looked around, dazed and confused. A soldier to his left slapped him in the back. "Pay attention, soldier!"

Bolt nodded fervently and remained alert. He could hear the sound of boots marching atop stone. Right. The battle. Why had he been daydreaming? Soon, it began. Arrows were flying overhead. Spearman thrust their weapons forward. Shieldbearers slammed their shoulders into their shields and pushed the attacking army back. Somewhere, a commanding voice boomed behind him. "Break formation!"

The shieldbearers threw their shields to the ground and drew their swords. The spearmen behind them picked at the vulnerabilities in their enemy's formation. Bolt shot forward and began to strike the armored men down. One, two, three, twelve, thirty-five. Then he was surrounded. Four of them rushed him at once. A surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins as he dispatched them, giving him the much needed room to perform his new jutsu.

Lightning arced from his fingertips, forming a blade. It extended the reach of his Gentle Fist greatly. Bolt looked up, and locked eyes with the first soldier he saw. He could see the soft blue glow of the lightning reflected in the man's eyes. He could see the fear there.

Bolt's brows furrowed as he saw the man's face beneath the shade of his helmet. He knew the man...

"Konohamaru?" Bolt asked, as dread began to pool in his belly.

"By orders of the Hokage, you are to be put to death!" Konohamaru growled, drawing a sword. The blue plumage of his helmet bounced as he snarled.

"Wait! I don't want to fight you!" Bolt cried, taking a few steps backwards. He wouldn't fight his teacher. He couldn't.

With a battle cry, Konohamaru leapt at him, flanked by a handful of other soldiers. Bolt whimpered, and lashed out. He cut his teacher's arms from their sockets, and he howled and screamed in agony. As he lay on the ground, dying, he writhed in pain. All the while, he glared at Bolt with hateful eyes. "Die!" Konohamaru screamed, blood running from the corners of his lips as he lay dying. "I hate you! I should never have agreed to be your teacher!"

Bolt felt his heart wrench painfully at the words, but felt his arms rise all the same. Before he could stop himself, he slashed his teacher's throat. Bolt shuddered, staring at the man who had taught him so much as the light left his eyes forever.

Still, he moved on. The battlefield was not a place to dwell on emotions. He waded further into the fields of war, swatting away common soldiers. A ninja leapt at him. She was lithe and beautiful, with pale skin and black hair. She held two fans, one in each hand, branded with the symbol of a warfan; the top colored red, the bottom white. "Sarada?" Bolt asked, not believing his eyes.

Sarada turned her gaze upon him, her eyes as red as blood as her Sharingan bored into him. "You were my friend, Bolt. My teammate. And I trusted you," she spat. "How could you betray us? Betray _me_? I loved you."

"I—" Bolt tried to explain. She swung her fans at him, sending a powerful gust of wind at him. Bolt danced around it, earning a few cuts for his troubles. Before he could move again, she spat a ball of fire at him that hissed as it roared towards him.

Bolt cut it down the middle and leapt through the fire. Sarada was surprised, her Sharingan spinning madly. He brought his arm across her chest, cutting it open. Bolt felt bile rise as she lay on the ground, rapidly bleeding out. Her eyes faded from red to black as she departed for the Pure Lands. Armored men crushed her body underfoot as they pushed forward.

"No!" Bolt screamed, lashing out at them. He butchered them, like animals. He cut them to ribbons, until there was nothing left. He tossed bulky, armored bodies aside as he searched for Sarada. She had to be there, somewhere. She couldn't be dead.

His frayed instincts were the only thing that saved him. A sword cut through the air where his neck would have been. Bolt leapt backwards, slipping into a defensive stance. He stood face-to-face with a monk garbed in white and black robes. He wore a snake for a sash, and had messy sky blue colored hair.

Bolt's heart thundered in his chest. "Mitsuki, please," he begged.

"You were supposed to be my sun, Bolt," Mitsuki told him, brandishing his sword. "My light."

"Please, don't," Bolt begged, feeling tears run down his cheeks.

Mitsuki leapt at him, swinging Kusanagi at his neck. Bolt lashed out with his Chidori, cutting the steel of the sword as easily as cloth. Mitsuki looked shocked, and Bolt felt his arm thrust forward against his will. Mitsuki collapsed on the ground, a hole burned in his chest that smouldered and smoked.

Bolt cried as he marched forward. He didn't know how his body could function. Did it not feel the pain he felt in his heart? How could it be that strong, while he was that weak? He cut down man after man, not caring. His body did the fighting. His mind had long since been unable to continue with the slaughter.

"Brother."

That single word reverberated across the battlefield.

Himawari stood before him, beautiful as ever. She held a scythe in both hands, and wore light leather armor that allowed her ease of movement. Her hair, so like their mother's, cascaded down her back.

Bolt knew the meaning of true fear. "No, please, anything but this," he whispered, begged.

"You left me all alone," Himawari said coldly. "Again."

Then she leapt forward with all the speed and grace of their clan's fighting style. She swung her scythes at him with efficiency and a deadly precision. Bolt slapped the blades away as they came at him, determined not to kill the one person he loved above all others.

And yet the battle progressed. His Chidori began to eat away and dull her scythes. Bolt could see the fear in his sister's blue eyes. He could see her strength begin to wane and fade, and he knew their fight would come to an end. He reined in his body, determined to force it to obey his will. He would not kill his sister. He couldn't bear it.

Himawari started to back away, whimpering in fear. "I hate you!" Himawari spat, dragging a dulled scythe across his forearm. Bolt grimaced in pain, but lashed out at her nonetheless. She staggered backwards, cowering and whimpering in fear. "Please, brother, don't do this," she begged, as she hurled her last scythe at him futilely.

Bolt felt his muscles rebel against his control as his body continued forward. "No," Bolt begged. His right arm rose, his fist angled at her chest.

He shuddered as lightning parted flesh and bone and _sister_ —Bolt's vision blurred as tears flooded his eyes. His arm trembled, causing fragments of bone to grind against each other. The sound reverberated in his ears like thunder, drowning out everything else. And his fucking arm just kept moving, and the sound got worse.

Himawari let out strangled, gurgling gasps of pain as tears ran down her cheeks. Her arm raised, painfully slow, and she gripped him firmly by the neck. "I hate you," she rasped, her grip tightening. "I hate you," she swore, and then her grip went limp and her arm fell.

Bolt couldn't move as he watched her eyes grow dull and lifeless.

He screamed.

"Bolt!"

Bolt lashed out, fist meeting soft flesh. He struggled to free his limbs from cloth and fell to the floor in his haste to simply not be _there_. He collapsed to his knees and vomited, emptying the contents of his stomach. He vomited until he had nothing left, and then continued to do it some more. His tears blurred his eyes so badly he couldn't see, though he was aware someone else was in the room with him. A hand on his back rubbed soothing circles and a voice whispered softly in his ear.

Bolt rubbed at his eyes furiously as he reined in his emotions. He felt as if he was dying. His breaths came shallow and rapid. His heart hammered in his throat and wouldn't slow. His skin was damp with a cold sweat. His limbs trembled.

He didn't know how long he sat there, knelt on the floor, but eventually he recovered. His heartbeat slowed. His breathing evened out. The tremors subsided.

"Feeling better?" Hikari asked.

Bolt flinched as he realized it was her. Her hands still rubbed circles into his back, but they also glowed a soft green that illuminated the darkness of his quarters. Through the thin window, he could see the moon was high in the night's sky.

"Are you okay?" Hikari asked, a hint of worry creeping into her tone.

"Yeah," Bolt croaked, trying to reassure her he was fine. Even though he wasn't. Not at all. He could still _feel_ his arm inside his sister's chest. The way her blood felt on his skin. The way her bones sounded as they ground against each other. The smell as her flesh cooked under his Chidori. The way he could feel her heartbeat slow with every weakening pulse. Bolt felt bile rise in his throat.

Hikari brought her free hand to his chest and held it there. It too was encased with a softly glowing green light. She hummed a little answer, as if to say _I don't believe you._ But she remained blissfully silent, and for that, Bolt was thankful.

The Mystic Palm soothed his insides and battled his rising disgust with himself. Eventually, he felt well enough to stand. Hikari gripped him by the forearm and pulled him to his feet, guiding him over to the bed. Bolt sat and stared into his knees, desperately trying to forget his dream. It was so much worse because he knew it was a dream, but it just seemed so real. And it was always the same. He could never stop himself from killing them.

"Want to talk about it?" Hikari asked softly.

Bolt shook his head, looking around for anything to shift the subject to. "Why'd you wake me up?" Bolt asked.

Hikari sighed. "I could hear you from my room," she answered. "I couldn't let you suffer. Sorry about the door."

Bolt glanced at his door. It had been kicked off its hinges and laid haphazardly across the doorframe. He chuckled under his breath. The servants would be pissed.

The two of them sat there in silence for awhile. Hikari kept one hand on his back, the glow of the Mystic Palm providing them some light. Bolt could feel her chakra, cool and soothing, keeping his emotions from poisoning his body. He shivered as the chill of the night pervaded the room.

He didn't know how long they sat there, but eventually he spoke. "I see their faces," Bolt whispered.

"The men who you killed?" Hikari whispered back.

Bolt shook his head. "It's... the same people I killed in the battle, but their faces are different. They're my friends, my family. They say things..." Bolt said, ever so softly.

Hikari sighed softly; a long, ragged exhale. Her hand stopped rubbing circles in his back, and Bolt felt her reach up to her face. She pressed a single finger to her mask, and the edges glowed a soft blue in the darkness of the night. There was a barely noticeable wisp of air that was expelled as the mask came loose.

Bolt hastily looked away. "You shouldn't," he said. He heard Hikari's breath catch in her chest. "I—I don't want to see your face in my dreams, too," he explained lamely, his shoulders sagging.

"Look," Hikari ordered softly.

Bolt knew that tone, and knew that he would obey. But every instinct told him he shouldn't. That the next time he closed his eyes, it wouldn't be his sister at the end. It would be her. Ever so carefully, he turned his head so that he could look at her.

Hikari was as pretty as he thought she would be, when he first met her in the storage room of that tavern. She was pale, like most from her homeland; alabaster with a tinge of pink. Inky black hair framed her cheeks and blended into the night. Her eyes were that same sea green color that the water resembled if you sailed south. Her lips were fully and rosy, with a sharp chin, high cheekbones, and a perfectly straight nose. The only thing marring her face was a faded, angry pink scar that ran from her left temple to the top of her cheekbones.

Bolt smiled faintly. "You ruined the game," he said. He was supposed to catch her by surprise with the mask off.

Hikari smiled back. "I guess I did," she said, sighing with a small pout.

They were silent, again. Bolt returned to staring at his knees, but he kept sneaking little glances at her face. It was probably the only time he'd ever see it. "I had dreams too, you know," Hikari said quietly. "After I abandoned the Mist. I had dreams every night as my former comrades hunted me down. I relived every murder I ever performed for the hunter corps. But, instead of their faces, it was my mother's and father's."

Bolt listened with rapt attention. "They told me they were ashamed of me, of what I had become. They hated me for becoming the very thing that took their lives. It killed me inside, little by little," Hikari said. "Eventually I forgoed sleep entirely. I abused soldier pills, relying on them to keep me going as I fled the hunters chasing me. I was lucky I came across Eiji when I did, or they would've killed me. For the first few weeks I was with the Crimson Tide, I had the worst dreams of my life. My former friends would tell me they hated me for betraying them, and my family told me they hated me for joining the ranks of their murderers."

"What made them go away?" Bolt asked eagerly.

"It was something Eiji told me," Hikari answered. "He said that their words were my own. That they would never say those things to me. My family would love me no matter what, and would be proud I left the hunter corps behind. My friends in the Mist would know that I would never abandon the village unless the Mist had done something truly heinous. They would trust me over anything the Mizukage accused me of."

"When I realized that... I realized I had nothing to be afraid of," Hikari finished softly.

Bolt's tongue felt like it was made of lead as he swallowed. Was what his sister said true, or was it just what his guilt was making him think? A new way to torture him; to throw the horrors of war back in his face, and twist the knife by making him think his family hate him.

"You don't have anything to worry about," Hikari said with a small giggle. "I saw your teammates. The girl in the red, and the boy with blue hair. They care about you. More than you know. Whatever they said in your dreams, it's not real."

Bolt closed his eyes and tried to imagine Sarada or Mitsuki saying that they hated him. Not on the battlefield, but at home, in the Leaf. He imagined the three of them mulling around the training grounds with Konohamaru looming over them. No, he decided. They wouldn't. Their words were his own. He was torturing himself.

The weight on the bed shifted, and Bolt opened his eyes. Hikari stood before him, her right hand glowing a warm green. "Sleep," Hikari said softly. "You won't have nightmares. I promise." She reached out and gently prodded him in the forehead with a single finger.

Bolt's eyes widened as he was dragged beneath the waves of his weariness and fatigue. He fought it only for a moment, before closing his eyes and letting the tides carry him. The last thing he remembered was the color of Hikari's eyes as they reflected the glow of the Mystic Palm.

And she was right. He didn't have any nightmares that night.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Question of the day: What is your favorite jutsu?

I think there is... three more chapters of the Land of Rain arc. Then we're on to bigger and better things.

First chapter with a Tetsu POV! It might be kind of early, but I feel like it was a good opportunity to showcase a little of his character and thoughts on recent events. Normally I like to wait until well after a character is established before having their point-of-view shown, but I think it worked out well. What do you guys think?

Regarding Gaara's "illness" (I use the term lightly), it will be expanded upon later in the story—probably after the timeskip. I'm surprised so many people were worried for him.

Since the Land of Rain arc might get complicated, here is a list of clans, who they are, and who supports them.

Mononobe - Traitorous dogs. Murdered Tetsu's master.

Sugawara - The People's clan. Supported by Bolt, Hikari, and Tetsu.

Orimura - Allies of the Mononobe clan; defeated by Bolt, Hikari, and Tetsu.

Kusakabe - Minor noble clan.


	32. Chapter 32

Mitsuki sighed as he blinked and his consciousness returned to him. His legs felt stiff and fuzzy from sitting on the ground for too long. It was a tranquil lethargy that always came to him as he tried to tap into the natural energy surrounding him. Countless hours of experimentation had lead to no leads in bridging the gap between Sage Transformation and Sage Mode.

Whilst his father's Sage Transformation lacked many of the weaknesses the latter possessed, Sage Mode was an order of magnitude more powerful. No doubt he would need nothing short of its full power to be able to defeat Bolt. Mitsuki didn't even think his friend had been trying the last time they had fought. He overwhelmed them with speed and power and skill before they could even understand the danger they were in.

Mitsuki sighed and stood, shaking his legs as he walked in an attempt to restore their lost circulation. They were still encamped in the mountains between the Land of Wind and Land of Rain, and had been there for nearly a full week. Time was running out. There was only a month left for them to recover Bolt.

Chōchō and Inojin were sitting beside the fire, staring into the hypnotic flames. Their expressions were the epitome of _bored_. Both of them—and Shikadai—had trained until their bodies collapsed. It was admirable, considering that they were not nearly as strong as Sarada, Himawari, or himself. Mitsuki was proud of their efforts to improve themselves.

Mirai and Shikadai were scouting for information, again, and wouldn't be back for several hours. Himawari was going through the motions of the Gentle Fist, fighting an invisible opponent. Sarada was reading from an aged scroll. Its parchment was stained yellow from age, and Mitsuki could see the faint symbol of the Uchiha clan painted on its back.

Mitsuki dropped down next to her to see what she was reading. The Uchiha clan always had such interesting little secrets. He supposed he inherited that fascination from his father, somehow. "What are you reading?" Mitsuki asked.

Sarada seemed to jump as if startled. Her Sharingan gleamed in the light of the fire. Mitsuki didn't think it was the first time she had read that scroll. She seemed to be memorizing it. "A technique scroll from the Uchiha archives," she answered, furling the scroll and sticking it in her pack.

"What kind of technique?" Himawari asked, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She had elected to take a break from practicing her taijutsu.

Sarada's eyes flicked over to Chōchō and Inojin. "Actually, I need to talk to you two about that," she said, standing and gesturing for them to follow her.

Sarada led them deeper into the mountains, on an old goat path that she normally ran in the mornings for strength and endurance training. When she deemed them far enough away from camp, she sat on a nearby boulder and sighed. "I've been working on developing techniques to use against Bolt," she started out with. "None of my ninjutsu will work, and I'm at an inherent disadvantage with taijutsu—as we all are. That left only genjutsu."

She wrung her hands nervously. "Himawari knows how futile it is to use genjutsu on a Hyūga, but I've been mastering the basics and scouring what techniques my clan knows. I've got a couple strategies: placing him under a genjutsu that does nothing, but allows me to _maybe_ fool him once; a minor illusion that makes it appear as if I'm faster than I actually am by subtly throwing off his depth perception; a combination technique that combines genjutsu and body flicker," she rattled off a number of named genjutsu that Mitsuki didn't know.

Himawari just nodded along, content to hear her explanation in full. Sarada seemed to grow more nervous. "Well, you know how the Uchiha were one of the founders of the Leaf?" Sarada asked. Mitsuki nodded. "Well, the Leaf uses a particular brand of genjutsu called Demonic Illusion. It's a derivative of what the Sharingan can do naturally, that we bestowed upon the Leaf as a gesture of goodwill. One of these techniques is Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing."

Mitsuki nodded. He knew the technique. It was a low-level D-rank genjutsu, known by most Leaf practitioners of genjutsu. "Well, I've been studying the _original_ technique, the one the Uchiha clan created. I figured, if I can't fool Bolt into believing the genjutsu is real, then I'll show him something so shocking he won't be able to react..." Sarada trailed off.

"What do you mean?" Himawari asked. She, apparently, did not know what the technique entailed. That would be an interesting conversation. Mitsuki looked forward to it.

Sarada swallowed. "Well, the technique shows those under its influence their heart's innermost fears. You know how some girls back in the academy were afraid of spiders? Well, under the technique, they'd be confronted by a horde of spiders or a giant spider or something like that. The Uchiha technique shows them the one thing they fear most, and makes them live it," she said.

Himawari frowned and Sarada chewed on her bottom lip. "Even if he knows it's a genjutsu, he shouldn't be able to do anything for a few seconds. That is enough time for us to capitalize and capture him, if it comes down to a fight," she said. "The problem is, I need practice."

Mitsuki stiffened. Historically, guinea pigs for Uchiha genjutsu techniques did not live long, good, or sane lives. He had learned that much from his father's relentless pursuit of the Sharingan. "Fine," Himawari agreed.

What?

Mitsuki was shocked. She had just agreed to have her mind scrambled like an egg so Sarada could get practice with a technique that _might_ slow their juggernaut of a teammate down. And Mitsuki held no disillusions to how enraged Bolt would be if Sarada used the technique on him and then they failed to capture him. He shuddered as he tried to envision his own worst fear, and then pondered what Bolt's was. Mitsuki sighed. "I guess," he said with a wave. "But I go first."

Bolt would kill him if he let Sarada turn his precious little sister into a vegetable. Better to take that risk himself, and hope his father could put him back together again. Sarada nodded, a look of grateful relief etched onto her face. Her eyes faded from black to red and her Sharingan spun hypnotically.

Mitsuki met her gaze.

He blinked as he stared into the harsh glare of the light. He tried to toss his head to the side, but found that he couldn't move. A soft cackling echoed through the room. "Finally awake, my son?" Orochimaru asked.

Mitsuki paled as his father reached up and batted away the light, allowing him to see the room he was in. It was one of their labs, one of the few from the Land of Sound that was still maintained.

Glass pillars filled with green liquid and growing fetuses bobbing in them lined the walls. Near the door, Mitsuki could see his "brother," Log, smoking a cigarette. Mitsuki flailed against his restraints involuntarily. He was strapped to a table, thick leather belts holding his arms, legs, and chest down. His head was strapped in a device that prevented him from moving. Orochimaru cackled again. "There's no use fighting it, Mitsuki," he said, moving so that he stood in front of the light. "But don't worry. I'll take all the fear and pain away..."

Mitsuki moaned pitifully against a gag as Orochimaru's mouth parted and a large, sinuous snake crawled forth. Its pallor was a sickly white, and its face was not that of a snake, but of a man. A mane of inky black hair trailed behind the creature's skull. Mitsuki felt his heart hammer in his throat as he realized what was coming next. The Transference Ritual.

Orochimaru coiled and loomed over him, releasing an echoing hiss. "My perfect vessel," he crooned. His maw parted, revealing a mouth of fangs as deadly as any sword. Then, his father swallowed him whole. Mitsuki screamed as pink flesh bubbled up and latched onto him, restraining him and leeching his chakra.

Then the flesh became faces. So many faces. Countless men and women, all moaning in pain and screaming in rage. He felt them lash out at him, hating him for sharing the same blood as the monster who had ended their lives. Hating him for not being strong enough to prevent Orochimaru from gaining the perfect vessel. Hating him for dying.

Mitsuki's world faded to black.

"Mitsuki!" Himawari screamed, pushing lances of chakra into his pressure points.

Mitsuki gasped as he was thrown back into the world of the waking. He blinked rapidly, not understanding what had just happened. Then, memories. Right. The genjutsu. He had been so sure he was being absorbed by his father that...

Sarada's eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I think that's enough practice forever," she croaked.

"No!" Himawari yelled. "We have to use everything we have."

Sarada shook her head. "I can't do to you what I did to Mitsuki. Bolt would never forgive me," she said.

"Do it," Himawari said, staring defiantly into Sarada's Sharingan.

Sarada chewed on her bottom lip and came to a decision.

She weaved the genjutsu again.

* * *

Bolt was confused.

He stared into his cup of tea, and let his mind wander. It had been nearly a week since that night he had the nightmare about killing his friends and Hikari had comforted him. And ever since he woke up the next morning, he had been pondering a question: when did Hikari go to Master Sasuke's School of Emotional Unavailability?

Did she know what the forehead poke meant? She had been there, in that forest in the Land of Rivers, when Sasuke performed the gesture. He was pretty sure she had some idea of what that particular gesture meant, even if she hadn't known exactly. If she did, what was he supposed to do? Did Hikari mean it? Was it a "you're family" kind of poke, or a "I like you" kind of poke? Sasuke used both on occasion. Which was it?

What was he supposed to do? How does one even approach such a subject with a woman whom military discipline was so ingrained into? She wore her mask all the time, there was no way for Bolt to read her thoughts or emotions on the subject even if he were to broach it. What would a relationship even entail? They were rogue ninja on the run from some of the most powerful men in the world. What life did they have? They had no career, no prospects, and no home. Just continue to live off cutting the throats of men and women for a handful of ryō?

That sounded just great.

What if the poke meant nothing? That conversation was just bound to be the single most awkward thing any human has ever spoken. _"Hey, Hikari? You know that night when you put me into a medically induced sleep to avoid my crippling nightmares? Yeah, you kind of used an obscure gesture of affection that my father's rival uses. What did you mean by that, exactly?"_

Bolt was certain he would die of embarrassment. His heart would literally stop beating.

What if she said yes?

What if she said no?

Hikari was probably his closest, and now only, friend. They had gone through a lot together. She had helped train him and had made his time with the Crimson Tide somewhat pleasurable. If she knew he thought of her that way, that would be the end of their friendship. Or, at least, put unnecessary strain on it.

Bolt sighed, and swirled the tea in his cup. It was more muddy water than tea, but judging from the dilapidated teahouse they were eating in, that was the best they could expect. Luckily he didn't have to come to a decision, at least not now.

Across the tea house, their targets stood up. They were a four man cell of Rain ninja whom Hikari was reasonably certain served Harukō the Salamander. They had been searching for the self-proclaimed Amekage for days now. Days of marching across muddy wasteland and drenched to the bone by the endless rain.

Bolt was tired of it.

He stood up, and followed Hikari as the two of them stalked their prey out of the tea house and into the torrential weather. Tetsu was nearby, hiding in an alleyway. The Hidden Rain was quite the city. Towers of rusted, twisted metal stretched skyward with wires and pipes forming a nest that blotted the sky. The natural twilight of the Land of Rain made it dark and eerie, as if haunted by a dark god.

Given its history, perhaps it was.

The city was split into thirds, each controlled by their own "Amekage." It was not a war in the traditional sense; merely turf wars fought by guerrilla soldiers. But that would all change today, Bolt knew. With the three of them joining Harukō's faction, they would crush the other two mercilessly before they could mount a counter-offensive.

The four Rain ninja didn't even notice them. It was a little sad, too, because they were three chūnin with a jōnin teacher. The standards of the Rain had really declined if their jōnin couldn't sense that something was amiss when they were being stalked by someone with as much chakra as Bolt himself.

The four ninja walked aimlessly through the streets for a time, before casually walking into an alleyway. Bolt smirked. Not so clueless after all. He and Hikari shared a single nod with each other. They had been caught. Time to spring the trap.

Bolt took the lead as they entered the alleyway to pursue their prey. He was best in close quarters. If they tried to ambush them, they'd quickly find out why the Hyūga were touted as the strongest clan in the Leaf.

They did just that. Bolt turned a corner of the alleyway and leaned back out of the range of the Rain ninja's fist. It was one of the chūnin, a depressed looking woman with curly hair. It was soaked by the rain, and looked like she had a wet cat on her head instead of hair. A few well placed strikes to the abdomen had her grovelling in the puddles at his feet.

Looking over, he saw Hikari had secured the other two chūnin. "We just want to talk," Bolt stated, loud enough for hidden jōnin to hear.

No one answered.

Hikari turned her focus to one of her prisoners. "Is your teacher hidden or not?" Hikari asked.

One of the chūnin spat at her. "Wrong answer," Bolt muttered under his breath. Hikari brought her boot down on his knee, crushing it with her chakra enhanced strength.

The man's howls of pain echoed through the towering metal buildings. "She'll keep doing this all day, you know," Bolt said. "Seriously, we just want to talk. Come out, and she won't hurt your students."

A chill crawled up Bolt's spine. He spun on instinct, and slapped away a kunai as it nearly cut his throat. The jōnin spun, bringing up his other hand and another kunai. Bolt dodged this one, and threw a Gentle Fist strike at his midsection. The man hissed in pain, but continued to fight. Bolt threw himself at his enemy, knocking away his feeble attacks and pinning him between the wall.

He brought up his fist to strike the blow that would render him unconscious for later questioning, but caught a glance of his face. It was a wisp of sky blue hair that made him hesitate. It was Mitsuki.

Bolt staggered backwards as he felt something cut deep into his stomach. He clutched at the jagged hole that had been cut in his belly, blood running down his legs.

There was a loud crash of metal cracking. Hikari had crushed the man, obliterating him and turning him into nothing but a bloody paste that smeared the Rain's walls. She was upon him before Bolt could blink. Hikari pinned him to the wall with one arm, and held a glowing green palm to his wound. "Don't hesitate again," she hissed angrily.

Bolt looked back at the jōnin.

It wasn't Mitsuki.

* * *

The three chūnin talked.

Most do, under Hikari's knife. In the end, they were let go. They mourned their teacher, and tried to scrape up whatever of his remains they could. Bolt hadn't seen Hikari use that much of her strength since the time they had to fight some escaped experiments from the Land of Sound. Now _that_ was a fight.

The three of them followed the chūnin's instructions, heading deeper into the ghettos of the Hidden Rain. There, they found an old series of underground pipes that were as wide as a man was tall. They descended into the bowels of the old city and smelt something fierce. It was the unique odor that corpses made when they ballooned up from the gas inside, then popped.

Bolt grit his teeth and followed Hikari into the sewer—at least, that was what he hoped it was. The other alternative was that there was someone butchering people down here, and letting them rot.

Tetsu had it the worst. The odor seemed to be strongest the further up it went. He had to crouch to avoid hitting his head, and he got the worst of the smell.

"We're going in circles," Tetsu stated after nearly half an hour of wandering. His voice echoed in the darkness of the tunnel.

"How can you tell?" Hikari asked.

Tetsu just pointed at the wall of a pipe. A small slash had been made in the metal, marking that they had been there. "Bolt," Hikari said.

Bolt nodded, and his eyes faded from blue to white. His eyes pierced the physical world, expanding in all directions. "It's a maze," Bolt said, looking down. "If you go down, you enter the true sewers. There's an entrance to the lake if you go far enough. There's only one other entrance, what I assume is the exit, not counting the way we came in."

"Lead on," Hikari said, stepping to the side so that Bolt could slosh through the water pooling at the bottom of the pipe.

Bolt lead them through the winding maze of sewers and towards the exit. He really hoped those chūnin weren't lying to Hikari, because he was pretty sure that she would track them down and murder them for wasting her time and making her traverse the Rain's sewers.

"We're almost there," Bolt said, as they turned the corner. Beyond, he could see nothing but an expanse of city that had long since been abandoned. "It leads to an abandoned part of the city. I can't see anyone, but that doesn't mean they aren't using some kind of masking technique."

"Right. Be on guard, just in case," Hikari instructed Bolt and Tetsu.

The two of them nodded, and followed Hikari into the abandoned city. The towers of steel were rusted and full of holes, unfit for habitation. The water ran through the streets a ruddy brown-red color. Bolt could feel the lake that the Hidden Rain was built upon gently rocking the foundation back and forth with the waves. It felt precarious, as if the city was ready to crumble and sink into the lake at any moment.

Bolt wiped the rainwater pooling in his eyelashes away and flicked his hair backwards. The Hidden Rain lived up to its reputation; built upon the lake where the heavens cried the most. There wasn't any path, or obvious signs of human presence. The buildings were empty, and below ground the city was flooded and uninhabited.

Bolt sighed as the three of them entered a large, long clearing. It could have been a street at one time, perhaps, or the foundation of an old building that had been torn down. Bolt's ears twitched as he heard the telltale patter of boots stepping through puddles. It was extremely disconcerting, because his eyes saw nothing—even when the boots stopped ten paces in front of him.

Bolt let his eyes fade back to their natural blue, and spotted a woman standing in the rain. She had long, sandy blonde hair and her eyes were a warm shade of brown that stood out in the twilight of the Land of Rain. She wore the traditional, if dated, style of clothing that most Rain ninja wore: a jōnin jacket with sleeves that formed a waterproof cloak, a rebreather, a pair of dark combat pants, and boots that were webbed between the toes. She couldn't have been older than her early forties.

Most alarming of all were the two kusarigama she held in both hands; two long, wickedly curved sickles with chains attached to their pommels. The chains wound up the woman's arms, disappearing into the folds of her cloak.

Bolt coughed under his breath, clearing his throat. "Excuse me, we're looking for Harukō the Salamander. Would you—"

Bolt was silenced as one of the woman's sickles lashed out. For such an unwieldy weapon, her kusarigama were fast. They cut the rain as the drops fell, hissing through the air. Bolt leapt backwards, out of the path of the weapon. "You've found her," the woman said, catching the sickle as she yanked its chain. "And now you die."

"Wait, wait!" Bolt cried. "We don't want to fight—"

She was gone. One moment, Harukō was standing before him. The next, she blended into the rain as if she was made of water herself. "Why does this always happen?" Bolt whined.

Two sickles lashed out from the wall of rain. They moved so fast they were little more than a blur of iron-gray among the falling water. Tetsu blocked one with the flat of his sword, while Bolt and Hikari leapt out of the way of the second. The moment they did, two blasts of water slammed into their chests. Both tumbled across the steel floor of the city, puddles of water soaking their clothes.

Tetsu unsheathed his sword, and sent a Flash into the wall of rain that obscured their opponent. The rain hissed as it was evaporated by the wave of raw chakra, but did not reveal the sickle-wielding woman.

Bolt picked himself up with a growl, shaking the water from his worn travelling clothes. He weaved a few hand seals and sent a bolt of lightning arcing through the rain into the darkness. At the same time, his Byakugan manifested.

He couldn't see her. "Shit!" Bolt swore. "She's using some kind of hiding technique. The rain is infused with her chakra."

"Then we'll just have to pull her out of hiding," Hikari said, palming a handful of needles. She threw two at her comrades. They struck true, immunizing them from what was to come. Then, Hikari inhaled a great breath of air and expelled a cloud of toxic gas that drifted through the rain like a mist.

The rain came down harder. It made it difficult to see more than a handful of feet in any direction. Bolt was forced to deactivate his dōjutsu. Each drop was infused with Harukō's chakra, allowing her to blend into the rainfall seamlessly.

The air hissed as the sickles came back for another pass at them. This time, Bolt slapped the weapon away and was on the look out for the woman's next attack. A lance of water tore through the rain. Bolt had just enough time to lean out of its path as it sailed by. The lack of visibility made it much harder to dodge. He couldn't see the incoming attacks until they were only a few feet from him. It required Bolt's utmost focus and pushing his reflexes to their limit.

"We don't wish to fight!" Hikari barked out, dodging another lance of water that gouged a scratch in her hunter's mask. The genjutsu that hid it from view had faded once the battle began. "We're here on a diplomatic—" Hikari threw a handful of needles into the rain, dodging one of the sickles. "—mission for Lord Sugawara. He wishes to propose an alliance!"

This time, both sickles came down upon Hikari. The wall of rain was parted by the air that the blades cut, making it appear as if the rain had suddenly stopped and then started again.

Harukō's answer echoed from somewhere within the rain. "A clever lie, assassin. You are not the first, and certainly not the last," she spoke.

Bolt weaved hand seals, and spat an arcing blade of water that hissed as it cut through the veil of rain. In the distance, he could hear the sound of metal being torn asunder by the technique. He spun on his heel, rapidly twirling and jerking his head so to hit their enemy in her hiding technique. Bolt growled as he heard no whimper of pain nor scream from Harukō. In the rain, she was a ghost. The fact that he couldn't use his Byakugan irritated him to no end.

Tetsu continued his stoic defense, batting away sickles and cutting down water jutsu. When he thought he had located their foe, he sent a Flash into the wall of rain. He had yet to land a blow.

"Bolt!" Hikari yelled. "Can you dispel her rain with your jutsu?"

"I can try!" Bolt replied, jumping between Hikari and Tetsu so that he could perform Nagato's technique without fear of being killed. He weaved the hand seals, and raised his hands skyward as he cast out his chakra. He immediately encountered resistance, as Harukō's chakra fought against his own for control of the very weather itself.

Bolt grit his teeth and forced his chakra to begin infusing itself with the rain in the air and the clouds in the sky. Harukō's chakra pushed back, refusing to be defeated. For every drop of rain he managed to corrupt, Harukō succeeded in defending five. And, once the drops fell, she simply made more. And his opponent guarded the clouds—the source—jealously. Bolt was quickly overwhelmed whenever he tried to wrest control of them away from her.

Eventually, he gave up. Just in time, too, as a shuriken made of water sailed past him and gave him a parting kiss on the cheek. "I can't do it!" Bolt yelled, over the din of the rain and the battle. "She's too powerful. Her control is too strong."

"I'm impressed, brat," Harukō's voice echoed, dark and lilting, from the rain. "How did you learn that technique? It was lost when our God fell."

Bolt remained silent as he weaved hand seals and spat a few bullets of water towards the voice. He wasn't about to tell her about Nagato's treasure trove. "No matter," she said. "My technique is stronger and more refined."

Bolt growled a little at her casual dismissal of his skills. He weaved more hand seals. Lightning crackled to life, dancing across his fingers and up his wrists. He was glad Sarada had used the technique, and had since made it his own. "Chidori Current!" Bolt barked, sending a wave of chirping electricity roaring into the rain. It arced from raindrop to raindrop, illuminating the poor visibility and hissing as it struck metal.

Bolt waited and listened, his ears twitching. There was no groan of pain nor scream of agony as lightning scorched flesh. He groaned in frustration. "Either listen to what we have to say or fight us! Stop hiding in the rain!" Bolt screamed, his voice echoing off the metal towers.

"Fool," Harukō whispered. Bolt could feel her breath dance across his neck as she whispered in his ear. "I am the rain."

Bolt leapt away, his instincts screaming at him. A sickle came up, and bit deep. It gouged him across the chest, catching on the mail armor he wore under his shirt. Bolt felt a sticky warmth spread down his chest and legs. It wasn't the pleasant kind. He staggered back as Harukō disappeared back into the rain.

There was a roared battle cry as Tetsu broke formation, drawing his sword and swinging at the woman as she disappeared. He waded into the wall of rain surrounding them, heedless of the danger of being attacked from all sides.

Bolt held one hand to his chest in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, his other hand brandished and ready to defend himself. Hikari appeared next to him. She shoved a hand into his mouth and forced him to swallow a large soldier pill, then placed her hands on the wound. Her hands glowed green with the glow of the Mystic Palm as she applied first aid. Mercifully, the self-proclaimed Amekage did not attack them in their moment of weakness.

"That's all I can do, for now," Hikari whispered, as she withdrew her hands. "Treatment will have to wait until after the battle. Try not to reopen the wound."

Bolt nodded, and slipped into a defensive Gentle Fist stance. "Tetsu! Where are you!" Bolt yelled. The samurai had disappeared into the rain and hadn't returned.

There was no answer.

The rain began to fall in thick, heavy drops. There was more water than air in the sky. Bolt and Hikari leaned together, back-to-back, with their eyes trained on the walls of rain that closed in on all sides. "Tetsu!" Bolt tried again.

A shadow in the rain drew their attention. Harukō appeared, carrying Tetsu slung over her shoulder. The woman was smaller than Bolt was, but carried Tetsu like he was no more than a sack of rice despite being as large as a boulder. She threw the samurai to the ground, where he did not rise.

Bolt reached deep within himself, pulling his chakra to the surface. His skin glowed a faint blue as he expelled chakra from his chakra points, and then transformed it to lightning. The rain slowed to a trickle, allowing him to track each drop with ease.

Harukō opened her mouth to speak, but Bolt had no intention of listening. He darted forward, fast as lightning, and struck her square in the chest with a Gentle Fist strike. Her body erupted into a shower of raindrops that arced with electricity as they fell.

There was a strangled gasp behind him. Bolt turned, and found Hikari held captive by the self-proclaimed Amekage. She held a sickle to Hikari's neck, a thin line of blood running down her neck and disappearing down her shirt. "Let her go!" Bolt barked, his Lightning Armor sending arcs of angry, hissing lightning into the nearby cloud of rain.

"You brats aren't ready to face someone of my level," Harukō intoned, drawing the sickle closer. Hikari was trying to move to a position where she could free herself or counter-attack, but everytime she moved, the sickle cut deeper and deeper.

Bolt tensed, ready to spring into action. If she so much as twitched, Bolt would kill her in the blink of an eye. "Let her go," he growled.

Harukō shook her head. "I'm disappointed," she said, as the rain fell heavier. "That Michizane would send men of this caliber to carry his message."

The self-proclaimed Amekage raised her free hand. Bolt surged forward. "I am the Amekage, brat," she spoke. Bolt watched, in horrified slow motion, as the falling raindrops paused briefly midair, formed knives and swords, and resumed their path downward.

Lightning chakra coursed through Bolt's nervous system, carrying visual feedback from the eyes to the brain. His neurons fired in rapid succession as they processed the sheer volume of bladed weapons that were no doubt about to skewer him alive in a mere second. Pain receptors in his neck and upper back began to fire, alerting the brain that there had been damage dealt. The jutsu had already struck.

Bolt ducked down, in a futile attempt to avoid the falling blades. More neurons fired. Probability of evasion of lethal or incapacitating wounds: zero percent. Probability of rescuing Hikari: zero percent. Probability of mission success: zero percent.

Course of action: mutual annihilation.

Bolt thundered forward, arm outstretched to deliver the fatal blow. He felt daggers of water part his armor—whose defense he had yet to perfect—and cut flesh. One cut deep into his leg as he sprinted forward, forcing him to fall to his knees. A few more dug into his thighs and shoulders, causing Bolt to whimper in pain.

Mercifully, the rain stopped.

Bolt managed to drag his head up to gaze at his killer. Harukō looked down at him, an eyebrow quirked. The last thing he saw was the self-proclaimed Amekage releasing Hikari, and her hands glowing green as she rushed over to him.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Anyone got reading recommendations? I'm out of stories to read, except for abandoned ones. I'm not looking forward to going through that list.

Question of the chapter: what do you guys think the origins of the Ōtsutsuki clan are? Space aliens from another planet? Dimension travellers? The origins of Kaguya have me wondering... Also, bonus question, would you guys want the Ōtsutsuki clan involved in the story later on? As I said at the beginning, I may or may not have them appear. I just chose to spark the AU based on their choice not to attack the exams.

Sigh. Reviews are down, again, as of the time of writing. They will reappear in a couple of days, but until then, I can't respond to any of them. This site, sometimes...

I've been looking forward to this chapter for some time, because this is the first time the trio gets to fight a Kage level opponent. In particular, Bolt gets his first taste of defeat. Something that he hasn't yet experienced. In particular, I like Harukō because I liked Hanzō's character, and her "Unlimited Blade Works" water jutsu is really cool (in my opinion).

As always, thank you to my readers and wonderful reviewers. You guys rock!


	33. Chapter 33

Bolt dashed forward, lightning arcing from his fingers as he threw his fist towards the Amekage's exposed ribs. She brought one of her sickles up, blocking his strike with the flat of the blade. She took advantage of the momentary lull, swinging her other sickle at him. Bolt slapped it away.

The two of them traded more blows. Bolt sent a bolt of lightning hissing towards Harukō. The self-proclaimed Amekage dodged, and threw a hail of shuriken formed from water him. With his Lightning Armor sending lightning chakra coursing through his body, Bolt had ample time to artfully dodge each one. He appeared before her in a flash of blue and struck her in the chest with a powerful Gentle Fist strike.

Harukō exploded into a fine mist of dew that rapidly dissipated. Bolt heard a strangled gasp behind him, and turned to find Hikari captured by his enemy, her sickle's blade resting against the pale skin of her neck. A thin rivulet of blood disappeared into Hikari's shirt, washed away by the rainfall.

"Let her go!" Bolt barked, his chakra rising with his anger. More chakra. More speed. More strength. More lightning. More power.

Harukō the Salamander grinned ferally and pushed Hikari's head forward, forcing the blade to dig deeper. "You're going to die here, brat," she spoke haughtily, arrogantly. Bolt growled. Harukō raised her hand. "I am the rain," she intoned.

Bolt thundered forward as the torrential rainfall paused for the most briefest of instants. The drops formed wicked, curved blades; daggers, swords, kunai, and shuriken. All poised to maim and kill.

Bolt bellowed a battle cry and lashed out, determined to kill Harukō for killing Tetsu. For killing him. Especially for killing Hikari. He felt shuriken made of water tear into his back, and kunai sink deep into his thighs. A katana flayed the flesh from his ribs as he made his last, desperate dash to kill his foe.

His index finger struck Harukō in the chest, punching a hole as wide as his skull through her chest. She went limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. She fell, releasing Hikari. The rainfall returned to normal.

Bolt loomed over the dying Amekage. Her blood pooled at his feet as she gasped for a breath that would never come. "You may be the rain," Bolt spat, a pleased grin on his lips. "But I am the storm."

Harukō laughed. The rain continued to fall, and the dying Amekage's flesh began to wash from her body.

Acid rain.

Bolt stilled, but the pain never came. He expected a painful, agonizing death. A suicide technique, designed to take her enemies with her.

It wasn't.

The flesh continued to fall from Harukō's face, like a mask of makeup. Her skin, a pleasant tanned bronze, faded to pale white. Her eyes, once a warm brown, seemed to shimmer as they became sea-green. What was left of her sandy blonde hair floated away in a river of water down the streets of the Hidden Rain, revealing inky black tresses.

Bolt saw the pain in her eyes. The betrayal.

"Hikari?" Bolt uttered, not believing his eyes. He gathered his chakra, trying to dispel the genjutsu.

It wasn't a genjutsu.

"No!" Bolt cried, sliding to a stop next to her. He kneeled, running trembling fingers over her face as the mask of Harukō the Salamander was washed away.

He was too late. He watched as the shimmer of light left her eyes.

Somewhere, a feminine voice cackled.

Bolt turned, rage clouding his every thought.

Hikari's body rose up, a hand grasping her mask. Bolt watched, in horror, despite knowing what was to come. Harukō removed the mask, and revealed her face. She wore a sick, twisted grin on her lips and her eyes shone with pleasure at his anguish.

Bolt screamed in rage as he lunged at her.

"Calm yourself, little lordling," a deep voice rumbled.

Bolt blinked, his chest heaving. Tetsu loomed over him, a reassuring—if massive—hand placed on his shoulder.

A dream. That's all it had been. A dream.

Bolt sagged in relief, wiping his face. His shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat. "I thought I told you not to call me that," Bolt croaked.

Tetsu peered down at him inquisitively. "It is what you are, by both name and deed," he responded.

"Yes, but it's archaic," Bolt countered. "What happened?"

Tetsu grumbled in displeasure. "A test," he said quietly. "The Amekage knew of our arrival and wished to see if we were strong enough to fulfill the promises of Lord Sugawara."

Bolt nodded, casting his eyes about the room he was in. It was a dark room, only the flash of lightning illuminating it. The sun had long since set, plunging the Land of Rain into darkness. A draft blew through the rusted holes in the walls. From the smell of antiseptic, Bolt could tell he was in some sort of field hospital. The lightning flashed, and he could see Hikari slumbering nearby, curled up in a ball in a crude chair only a handful of feet from his bed.

"And?" Bolt prodded.

Tetsu released him as Bolt sunk back into the bed. "We passed," he intoned, a hint of displeasure coloring his voice.

Bolt could tell he was angered by his defeat. The Amekage was strongest in the rain, and Tetsu had gone to her willingly. It was no surprise that he had been defeated. But, Bolt knew that if it was an honest contest of strength, the samurai would have defeated her. "You fought well, Tetsu," Bolt said. "We were all just—caught off guard. The Amekage is powerful."

Tetsu nodded tensely. "You should rest," the samurai ordered.

Bolt sighed, knowing that he had likely been instructed by Hikari to keep him in bed if he awoke in the night. He reluctantly laid back down, staring at the rusted metal ceiling. Bolt knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.

His nightmares were back.

* * *

"Get up."

Bolt groaned and burrowed further into the sheets. "Up, up, up!" Hikari yelled, kicking him in the back with the heel of her boots.

He yelped as she kicked the bed frame and sent him careening over the edge of the bed. "Alright, alright!" Bolt yelled, muttering under his breath. He winced as he stood, still feeling sore from fighting the Amekage.

Hikari threw a change of clothes in his face. It was the "standard" issue combat gear for any Rain ninja. It was dated—at least two decades old—but it felt sturdy. "Change into these," she commanded. "Then get ready. We have training until noon, then a meeting with the Amekage, and then more training."

Bolt sighed as Hikari left the room to give him some privacy. He quickly slipped into the combat pants and jacket, and flung the raincoat over his shoulders. There was a rebreather among the pile, but Bolt discarded it. He could hold his breath long enough without it, and in the case that he did need air, there were jutsu for that. Bolt was not short on chakra like the common Rain ninja.

He threw the hood of the cloak over his hair, pausing to use a small transformation jutsu to change his hair's color to orange and hide the chakra scars on his cheeks, and strode into the rain. Hikari was hiding under an umbrella—standard issue in the Rain—and while it appeared harmless, Bolt knew from experience that the Rain ninja used them as deadly weapons. Given Hikari's skill with throwing needles, he didn't doubt that she appreciated the weapon. He could see the ever so faint outline of where the needles were stored in the umbrella's fabric.

"Alright, I'm here. What's the training for?" Bolt asked with a yawn.

Hikari stalked off, giving him a vague "follow me" gesture. He followed her through the rusted, towering structures of metal that made up the outer cityscape. Eventually, the two of them came to a small garden of what could have been a former noble's estate. Bolt used the term "garden" loosely; it was little more than a handful of dead, drowned willow trees and gnarly sweet roots that the people of the Land of Rain used to make their tea.

"You'll be completing your training Eiji began," Hikari explained. "He didn't have the time to teach you the defensive aspect of the Lightning Armor before he died. Whilst I may not be able to use the technique, I'm more than well versed in its application. I'm going to train you until you fully master the technique, or you die. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Bolt replied.

Hikari nodded, and withdrew a single needle. She hurled it at a nearby tree. Bolt watched as it sunk into the tree's trunk. Nothing happened for a moment, but then bark and wood _melted._ Bolt snapped his attention back to Hikari, who had palmed several more needles. "I expect nothing less than the best, Bolt. I refuse to patch you back together everytime we face an enemy that is even moderately decent. You were lucky that the Amekage purposefully avoided mortally wounding you," she said.

Bolt swallowed audibly as his Lightning Armor crackled to life. The defensive aspect of the armor wasn't hard—it was the same concept as a Lightning Clone; simply generate lightning, reinforce it with your chakra, and condense the electrons. For an added layer of defense, one could even use the electricity to vibrate the particles in the air.

The problem: the level of chakra control to both control the lightning chakra coursing through your nervous system and erect defenses was near inhuman.

One one hand, having an armor that provides no defense isn't really "armor."

On the other, losing control of lightning chakra inside your body was a sure way to end up brain dead or paralyzed for life.

Bolt and Eiji were of the same mind: better to focus on the control rather than the defense. The Lightning Armor's greatest strength—its speed—even covered for the weakness of not having a true defense. If you didn't get hit, why bother with defense at all?

Bolt tensed as Hikari raised her arm ever so slowly and hurled a needle at him. He crushed the natural instinct to dodge, and remained standing where he was. Instead, he focussed on the lightning arcing of his skin and began to bend it to his will.

The needle sailed past his skull with an audible hiss, piercing his shroud of lightning. Mercifully, it didn't actually touch him. Bolt knew that Hikari hadn't missed—she purposefully planned not to hit him. She just wanted to test him. By the way her eyes darkened beneath her mask, Bolt knew he had failed.

He chuckled nervously, and redoubled his efforts.

Hikari threw another needle. This time, Bolt managed to solidify his armor in time to block it. Fortunate, too, since that needle had been aimed at his chest. Hikari tilted her head in a slight nod of approval before quickly throwing two more needles in rapid succession. The first, Bolt blocked. The second sailed through the small gap between his ribs and his arm.

Blocking in two places at once was difficult. Bolt couldn't fathom how the Third and Fourth Raikage could maintain the level of concentration needed to use the Lightning Armor for both offense and defense. He was a Hyūga—or close enough—and even he had trouble managing it. And the Hyūga's bodies were as specialized in chakra control as they came.

Bolt grit his teeth, and pushed every thought from his mind save for defending himself and mastering the technique. He nodded, signalling that he was ready to continue.

Hikari withdrew more needles, and began an endless barrage of attacks that lasted for nearly four hours.

Noon came. The sun was high in the sky, but with the pregnant storm clouds the people of the Land of Rain were oblivious.

Bolt was burning with pain, and empty with exhaustion.

He was dangerously low on chakra, and his mind felt frayed at the ends from the sheer intensity of concentration it took to both maintain and control the Lightning Armor for so many hours. His body was in shambles; his muscles quaked, his breath came fast and deep, and his heart hammered in his chest so loudly he was sure Hikari could hear it.

Bolt stared aimlessly at Hikari, not truly seeing her. She readied a needle, and hurled it at him. Hours of intense practice yielded its fruit as his armor easily blocked the offending projectile. His armor crackled and grounded itself with a hiss. Bolt collapsed in a tangle of limbs, sighing blissfully as the rain cooled his aching body.

Hikari kneeled in front of him. "Here, eat this," she said, handing him a soldier pill that was as large as one of his knuckles.

Bolt popped the pill in his mouth and tried to swallow it, but couldn't manage the task. He coughed and sputtered, but was saved as Hikari held a hand of glowing green chakra to his throat. He sagged with relief as the pill bolstered his reserves slightly and eased the pain he was feeling.

"You did well," Hikari commented. "A few more days of this training and you should have it mastered."

Bolt nodded absentmindedly. He had narrowly avoided death more than a handful of times during the previous four hours. He didn't think he could survive another "few days" of Hikari's training.

Hikari applied a few basic medical jutsu that made it not as difficult to function as a human being before sitting down next to him under the willow tree he had collapsed under. Bolt cast a quick, fleeting glance at her.

The game had changed.

He'd seen her face, now he just had to get her to show it to him again. Easier said than done. "So—" Bolt said, his voice cracking from exhaustion. He cleared his throat with a sharp cough. "—Lunch?"

Bolt held his breath as Hikari turned her head to peer at him. The gambit was thus: people ate food; Hikari is a person; Hikari never eats with others because she doesn't show her face; he had seen her face already. Therefore, Bolt reasoned, he could invite Hikari to a private lunch where she wouldn't have to wear her mask because he'd already seen her face. Then, Sage of Six Paths willing, he could _maybe_ broach the subject of what happened that night he had his nightmare.

There was a slight hesitation, a pregnant pause, between question and answer. And for that one moment Bolt thought his master plan would succeed.

"We have a meeting, remember?" Hikari pointed out. "The Amekage would not take well to our absence."

Bolt was simply too tired to pout over the indirect rejection. But he was nothing if not determined. The Amekage couldn't schedule a meeting every afternoon. With a sigh, Bolt stood. "Lead the way, oh glorious leader," he huffed.

It was amazing how difficult walking was when you were about to fall into a coma from chakra exhaustion. In war, the single largest killer of ninja was not other ninja—it was chakra exhaustion. Bolt remembered plenty of tales old veterans told. A ninja would duel to the death with his foe, emerge victorious, only to fall dead afterwards due to exhaustion. Or, worse, be captured by enemy forces and subjugated to torture.

Hikari led him faithfully through the pouring rain. Their path led them through a neighborhood in the old city that was marginally habitable. There were only three buildings standing: a field hospital, a weapons depot, and a crude barracks. Their destination was a small opening gouged through the street. It opened into an expansive network of underground tunnels that had been shorn through steel by powerful jets of water jutsu. Where they could, they used the old sewers.

The Amekage ran a fortress; what few buildings they had were the ones they were forced to have. Otherwise, she would have kept her entire operation underground. No one would ever find them.

Their meeting location was nothing more than an old abandoned waste station. It was practically archaic in both design and function; a remnant from when the city had first been built over one hundred years ago. Before Nagato, and before even Hanzō. Rain ninja shifted between their feet uneasily as they waited for their leader to begin speaking.

Now that he wasn't trying to kill her, or survive being killed by her, Bolt could admit that Harukō had an aura about her. An indescribable quality that other men lacked. When she moved, you watched. When she spoke, you listened. When she was silent, you waited with bated breath. Her very presence commanded respect. She was lithe and strong, standing tall and proud before those assembled. Her shoulders were held back, her chin held up, and her back straight.

She was a Kage. Bolt could respect her. Something he hadn't experienced with a village leader before. Sometimes, he forgot his own father was a Kage. He was powerful, sure, but he acted like a fool. He was so bubbly, so energetic, so friendly. He dressed in bright colors, always smiled, and ate cheap ramen like he was a starved farm animal.

His father seemed... untouched by the burdens of the office. The darkness hadn't tainted him. Through all that he had been through, he hadn't broken. Not like himself.

Bolt scoffed. But who really knew. He didn't see his father for any great length of time. Once a week, if he was lucky. He knew more about him from the history books than what he had learned by being the man's son. Maybe he was just better at hiding it. Maybe he was the most cunning man in all the continent, and his act was just that—an act.

Harukō silenced the milling crowd with a single tap of her boots. All of them ceased their nervous pacing and hushed whispers in an instant. The Amekage's voice was shrill and cold, like the rain itself. "You all know why we are here," she said. "For too long has the Rain been without true leadership. Our village has been the laughing stock of the entire world for too long."

The Amekage paused briefly, her gaze travelling over them all. "But no longer. In five day's time, with the aid of the Sugawara clan, we will begin operations in the Hidden Rain with the ultimate goal of purging our enemies. Once they are defeated, we move abroad: the nobility has been warring for too long. The common people suffer under their reign of terror. We will put them down like the rabid dogs they are, and install the lord of the Sugawara clan as our new Rain Lord," Harukō declared.

"Together," she said, pausing. "We can rebuild our homeland. Prepare for war."

"Yes, sir," the assembly echoed with stiff salutes.

Bolt swallowed nervously.

He didn't think he was prepared for _another_ war.

* * *

The days passed quickly.

Like the great calm before the storm, the Hidden Rain grew quiet and solemn. The whole city could feel the drums of war beating. The very steel the city was built upon vibrated with each mighty beat.

Bolt spent his last days of "peace" training until his body physically couldn't. Hikari was ruthless in her tutelage. She was determined to get him to fully master his Lightning Armor. Bolt improved by leaps and bounds under the threat of her needles—and, more importantly, her approval. He took pride in managing to meet her strict standards. And, in the back of his mind, Bolt prayed it endeared him to her just a little more.

He could feel his control over his armor growing with each passing training session. He could control the armor better, using it for both offense and defense. He could feel his stamina growing; the duration he could wield the technique grew with each session. He could hold the first form for hours on end. Bolt was fifteen—nearly sixteen—and his chakra reserves would continue to grow for, at most, another four to five years. In that time, he planned to train himself into the league of an S-class ninja. Even if it nearly killed him.

Mastering the Lightning Armor was the first step of many to come.

"Are you ready, Bolt?" Tetsu asked.

Bolt nodded, lowering his center of gravity by bending his knees. He shifted his focus from the scarred training grounds to his armor and went through the familiar steps. Hikari had driven them into his mind—he could repeat them in his sleep. In fact, Bolt thought he probably did.

Tetsu's grip on his katana tightened. A thin sheen of chakra coated the blade, honing it to an edge that no steel could ever hope to match. Bolt watched as the mountain of a man raised his arms above his head, holding his sword high. With lightning chakra coursing through his nervous system, he could see the way Tetsu's fingers curled around the hilt. The way the man's muscles in his arms flexed as he began to bring the sword down. The air hissed a long, shrill note.

Bolt grit his teeth as the sword disappeared from even his preternatural vision. The next thing he knew, Tetsu's katana was resting between the crook of his neck and shoulder. The metal beneath his feet groaned under the strain. Lightning arced from his boots along the floor.

But the armor held.

Hikari clapped from where she sat, observing them with a strange intensity. "You're ready," she said, rising to her feet. "Get some rest. Tomorrow is the day we help bring peace to the Rain."

Bolt couldn't help the grin that he wore. He tried to fight it, he really did, but his cheeks felt like they were being torn off from the strain. So he just grinned like the happy fool he was. He had earned the Hikari stamp of approval. Not many could claim that.

If there was one good thing to come from Bolt's intense training, other than his rapid improvement in his most powerful technique, it was that he was too tired to dream. He wasn't plagued by nightmares.

Tonight was no exception.

The following morning, the entire camp was awake and alert before the sun had even rose. Men and women were armed and armored and wore grave and sullen expressions. The air was stagnant and the city was as quiet as the grave. The only noise were the sounds of the crows squawking above, waiting for the carrion.

Bolt felt anxiety claw at his stomach. He quickly made his way to the rendezvous point his team had been assigned—an old diner, long since abandoned, near one of the roads that led to the heart of the city. There, he found Tetsu kneeling before his sword as he polished and sharpened it. The sound of whetstone grinding against steel set Bolt's nerves on edge. Hikari was going through the pouches she carried, ensuring she had easy and quick access to her needles.

A handful of veteran Rain ninja were there, too. Some were assigned to his team. Some were given other tasks. A few of them gave him nods of respect. A few ignored him entirely. Bolt smirked. The older soldiers didn't respect him. The younger ones were fascinated by him.

Bolt gave Hikari and Tetsu a whispered greeting before taking a seat next to them. He rested his arms on his knees, methodically cracking each knuckle as his thoughts turned inward and toward the battle to come. Bolt knew that this battle would be recorded in history regardless of the outcome. The Land of Rain would be united today.

A nervous cough drew his attention.

A team of three younger Rain ninja stood before him. A girl, perhaps no older than he was, flashed him a nervous smile. She was flanked by two boys. One was thin and lean, who wore large, round glasses. The other was muscled and carried two umbrellas on his back that were nearly as tall as he was. "Hello," the girl whispered, so quiet Bolt almost couldn't hear her.

He was thankful she had the decency to remain quiet. Their enemies would hear them if they spoke too loudly. "Hello," Bolt responded.

"I'm Emiko," she greeted him, bowing slightly. "This is Hajime," she gestured to the tall boy with the umbrellas. "And Hideki," she gestured to the bespectacled boy.

"Nagato," Bolt introduced himself. He had, so far, managed to keep his identity hidden. He planned on keeping it that way. "Tetsu," Bolt said, gesturing to the kneeling, stoic samurai. "And Hikari."

The girl nodded and smiled happily. "I know," she said. "The Amekage instructed us to assist you in the battle. We're some of the best of the new generation. Hajime is skilled with his umbrellas, Hideki is a talented medic, and I'm a sensor."

Bolt didn't think that he, or Hikari and Tetsu, needed any help. In fact, the team in front of him would probably just get in the way. Or get themselves killed.

"It's an honor to meet you," Emiko said, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.

"Why...?" Bolt asked. He was confused. He hadn't done anything worthy of admiration since joining Harukō's faction.

"There's been rumors," the girl explained. "The others say that you're the one who broke the siege of Fort Sugawara. Everyone thinks you'll be the weapon that tips the scales in our favor."

Bolt glanced at the others in the small diner. They stood together, talking in hushed whispers, but Bolt caught a fleeting glance here and there. They were watching him. Him and Hikari and Tetsu. "It wasn't just me," Bolt said, quietly. "Hikari and Tetsu were there too. We wouldn't have won without them."

"Of course," Emiko said, not even glancing at either of his friends.

Hikari cleared her throat. "Quiet," she commanded coldly.

Bolt obeyed, watching as she gave Emiko and her team a withering glare that sent them scurrying to their own seats to await the signal. He was tempted to laugh as Hikari kept them there with a frigid stare.

They waited.

Bolt had come to realize that there was a lot of waiting in war. "Hurry up and wait," as the veterans liked to joke. Always in a rush to complete tasks so that you could stew in fear and anxiety, waiting for the bloodshed to begin.

Bolt glanced out his window.

A flare rocketed into the sky, and burst into a cloud of red light.

Somewhere, an explosion rang through the city.

The war had begun.

* * *

Sarada threw a fist forward, smirking as her arm moved faster than most humans could follow. She brought her leg down in an axe kick that sundered stone. She weaved hand seals, and spat a blast of fire that seared and scorched rock.

She turned, already throwing a mighty punch at whoever had just snuck up on her and disturbed her training.

It was Shikadai.

"We found him," he gasped, out of breath.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Question of the Chapter — What do you think the Fire + Lightning and Wind + Lightning bloodlines are? I was thinking Fire + Lightning would be Plasma, but Storm is kind of the same thing.

Reviews are back up, yay! Thank you to everyone to left reviews, I appreciated them even if I could read only a small fraction of the message. A special thanks to those that left long reviews, you know who you are~.

This chapter was originally intended to be longer, but I decided to move the battle to the next chapter. Speaking of which, next chapter _might_ be the last of the Rain arc? We'll see. If that means it will be extra long (8-10k words), so be it. I'm pretty excited to move onto the next arc, as I've been dropping hints for the past ten or so chapters. So, we can look forward to Bolt suffering in the Land of Wind next. I know there is quite a few fans of the Sand reading this story, so you guys should enjoy that.


	34. Chapter 34

_Day 1 — Morning_

The night sky was illuminated by a brief flash of fire in the distance. A moment later, a shockwave shook the small diner Bolt was only just now creeping from. The battle had begun with a literal bang. Bolt could see the metal towers falling in the distance, near the center of the city. No one knew where their squads were to meet except their members, but Bolt would bet that the Amekage was at the epicenter of that explosion.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He stayed low and sprinted down the street, crossing the border between Harukō's territory and one of the other two factions opposing her. Hikari and Tetsu were right behind him, silent as he was, but Bolt could hear the breathy, nervous pants of Emiko and her team trailing behind them.

Bolt saw their first target in the distance: a small weapons depot. It was little more than an old, dilapidated food stand. It reminded him of Ichiraku's. Bolt could see candles being snuffed out and shadows running back and forth. His ears twitched, hearing the telltale echo of hissed, fearful whispers.

"Tetsu," Bolt whispered, under his breath.

The samurai strode past them, drew his sword, and sent a Flash blasting through the front door of the restaurant. Bolt dashed inside, Hikari on his heels. Unlike the battle at Fort Sugawara, these were ninja. Trained killers who were stronger and faster than mere men could ever hope to be.

The first Rain ninja roared a battle cry and lashed out at him with a sword. Bolt slapped it away with his Gentle Fist and threw a fist forward. The man caught it on the flat of his blade. Bolt saw Hikari leap over them, hurling needles into the darkness. There were cries and moans of pain as men dropped, clutching at their chests, arms, and faces as her poison did its ghastly work.

Bolt traded blows with his opponent. The man was obviously a jōnin, highly skilled, and in all likeliness the commander of the small force stationed at the weapons cache. If he fell, the others would soon follow.

Bolt swept the man's legs out from under his feet with a bit of Uzumaki taijutsu footwork. On his way down, he sent a lance of chakra through his wrist that caused him to drop his sword and hiss in pain. Bolt brought his other foot up and savagely rammed the heel of his boot into the ninja's chin. His neck snapped with an audible crack.

There was silence.

Tetsu was wiping his katana clean of gore as three bodies lay at his feet. Hikari had methodically stacked four bodies that were riddled with oozing, bloody holes. Emiko, Hajime, and Hideki were standing over a single body that had been cut and stabbed many times. Blood rapidly pooled under the woman's body, even as she lay twitching and dying.

"Good job," Bolt said, swallowing his nerves. One objective down. Only twenty-six to go.

A muted whimpering echoed from the back of the restaurant. Bolt zeroed in on it immediately. Faster than he could act, Hikari threw a fist out and hurled a body into the room between all six of them.

It was a boy. No more than ten or eleven. He wore an old, rusted headband with the symbol of the Rain etched into it. He wore a dark blue chūnin's jacket that was five years too big for him. Bolt felt his heart flutter painfully in his chest. His eyes flickered between the others. He knew what had to be done, but he didn't want to be the first to say it aloud.

He didn't have to. Hikari knelt by the boy, cooing and rubbing circles in his back with his free hand. "It's okay," she whispered, only loud enough for Bolt to hear. "... It won't hurt."

She held her hand—glowing a faint blue with the Chakra Scalpel—to his neck.

The boy's head lolled, and Bolt knew he was dead. Dead before he even knew what had happened.

Hikari had severed his spinal cord.

She lowered him to the ground gently. Bolt nodded and cleared his throat as he withdrew an explosive tag and a length of wire. "Everyone out," he commanded.

Dutifully, everyone obeyed. Bolt was the last to leave. He cast a look at the dead, muttered a silent prayer, and kneeled by the door. He strung the wire expertly across the threshold, attaching one end to the frame and the other to the explosive tag. With great care, he shut the door. The first person who opened it would be in for quite the surprise.

They moved on to the next objective.

* * *

 _Day 1 — Afternoon_

Kenichi held his mangled left arm to his chest in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding and the pain. He limped with the remnants of his team from the center of the city, where the fighting was heaviest. He and his friends had been ambushed by a team of ninja from that bitch Harukō's faction.

But they had won.

The false Amekage would not rise to rule the Hidden Rain as long as breath remained in his body.

"Captain," his second-in-command croaked. "The weapons depot is just ahead. Isei and his team are on guard duty," the man said. "They have a medic," he added, hope coloring his voice.

Kenichi nodded. "Come on, men," he commanded, gesturing for them to continue their forced march.

The weapons depot was not as they had expected it. One wall had been completely obliterated by a jutsu. The windows had shattered from the force, or cracked with age. What few remained were stained dark with dust. Kenichi strode up to the door, his one good hand resting against the knob.

He turned to address his men. "Boys, we made it," he said.

He opened the door.

There was a metallic snap.

Kenichi felt flames lick at his flesh as an unbearable heat cooked him from the inside out.

Then he knew nothing at all.

* * *

 _Day 1 — Afternoon_

Bolt dived behind a crumbling wall of mortar and stone as a massive ball of roaring fire soared overhead. The air hissed and crackled as it passed, and he could feel the heat through his Rain ninja uniform. Above, the rain evaporated midair with a shrill squeal. It would have been beautiful, if it hadn't been trying to kill him.

But, then again, deadly things could be beautiful.

Hikari spat a lance of water into the ranks of the swarm of Rain ninja that barred their passage. Bolt hid a grin. A few managed to dodge, but even more were crushed against the steel wall of a towering building.

There was a lull in the combat. Bolt leapt from his hiding place as he weaved hand seals. Lightning crackled along his arms, arcing from fingertip to fingertip. There was a panicked bark and screams of warning that went unheard and unheeded. Bolt saw his enemy before him, yelling and pointing at him. "Chidori Current," he all but whispered, as a wave of electricity surged forward.

The technique leapt from the puddles left by Hikari's jutsu. It jumped from raindrop to raindrop. There were screams as a wall of lightning as wide as the street they fought upon slammed into what remained of their scattered, broken formation.

In the end, men laid dead or dying. A few moaned their death rattles as their souls left for the Pure Lands.

Bolt and his team strode forward, unhindered.

He approached a downed man. His skin was charred and his uniform was tattered and burning. But he was alive. Lightning arced up and down his body, but did no harm. Rivulets of blood dribbled from his parted lips. He spasmed in the street. Bolt could tell that he was dying. Painfully dying.

Tetsu laid a giant hand on his shoulder. The two men shared a look.

With a casual swipe of his katana, Tetsu ended his suffering.

Bolt looked up at the tower of rusted metal that so many had given their lives to defend. It wasn't even important. Just strategically placed. Whoever occupied it controlled the tallest building for nearly half a mile. Easy to spot enemies.

"Let's go," Hikari barked, kicking down the front door.

Bolt followed her. There wasn't even a floor inside. The steel foundation of the city was laid bare, as if the floor had long since been stripped away. Bolt looked up. There was a hole punched through the ceiling, and the ceiling above it, and the ceiling above that. It was the same for floor after floor, all the way up. Muddy colored water fell in a small waterfall from somewhere above. At the very top, Bolt could see an orange-yellow light; fire.

"Clear the building," Bolt whispered, pointing upwards and gesturing at a set of rickety stairs.

Tetsu, being closest, began to ascend. The stairs groaned in protest, bending under his weight. "On second thought," Bolt said. "Tetsu, guard the door. Kill anyone that comes in."

Tetsu nodded, a slight frown making him appear angered. Bolt bit his lip to prevent a giggle from escaping. The samurai was simply too large to help them clear the upper levels. And they would be fighting in an enclosed space. It was no place for a swordsman.

Hikari crept up the stairs, Bolt right behind her. Emiko and Hajime followed him, with their medic, Hideki, bringing up the rear.

The entire building groaned in the wind and rain, like a tree swaying in the storm. It was an eerie sound. Bolt's ears twitched as the sound of metal clinking against metal echoed from somewhere above him. His blue eyes found Hikari's green ones. They both nodded, having heard the same oddity. Someone was above them.

Bolt crept past her, sinking into a Gentle Fist stance. Behind him, Bolt could only barely hear the sound of leather moving as she withdrew a handful of needles. Whoever was planning to attack them would quickly learn the error of their ways. A few feet ahead, Bolt could see the stairs stop and a wooden door—missing its top half—creaked as it blew back and forth with the chilly draft.

He slunk forward, stepping with the balls of his feet and bringing his toes down ever so carefully. He was as silent as the grave. With great caution, he peeked around the door and cast a fleeting glance down the hallway. It was empty.

Bolt gently nudged the door and slipped inside. Hikari was right behind him, arm raised and prepared to hurl her needles. The three Rain ninja assigned to him followed Bolt dutifully. To their credit, they were as silent as they could be and didn't get in his way. That made their presence bearable, in Bolt's mind.

Together, their group made their way through the hallway.

Clink.

Bolt turned, just in time to raise both arms to block a heavy, downward slash. A Rain ninja had leapt from somewhere above them and attempted to stab him with a dagger. It cut deep into Bolt's arm; steel grinding against bone.

Bolt growled, and with his free hand, pressed an index finger to the man's sternum. A hole as large as Bolt's fist was punched through his chest by the sheer force of his Gentle Fist.

He whirled around to find his team fighting their own assailants. A man and a woman lay at Hikari's feet, riddled with needles, while she punched a third with enough strength to shatter bone. Hajime was whirling his umbrellas around rapidly, deflecting blows. His two teammates attacked with shuriken and kunai, putting down two more men.

Bolt spotted a woman rapidly fleeing down the stairs. He didn't even bother to run after her. A few seconds later, he heard a feminine scream that was quickly silenced. Tetsu had done his duty.

Bolt sighed in relief when no more enemies appeared from the shadows. Gingerly, he held his left forearm to his eyes. In the dim light, he could see that it oozed blood. A lot of blood.

Hikari approached him and gently took his arm by the wrist. Her free hand glowed green with the light of the Mystic Palm as she stemmed his bleeding and performed first aid.

Twang.

Bolt grabbed Hikari and threw the both of them backwards against the wall. A crossbow bolt soared past them and imbedded itself in the wall, piercing even metal. Bolt's brows narrowed as he raised his good arm, his index and middle fingers pointed down the hallway towards the archer hiding in the shadows. Lightning arced between his two digits, and with a burst of chakra, extended.

A spear of crackling electricity leapt the length of the hallway in a single bound and pierced the ninja's chest before he could flee or ready another shot. The man didn't even scream. He just crumpled to the floor, dead.

"Thank you," Hikari whispered under her breath, resuming her treatment.

In a few more moments, Bolt couldn't even feel a dull ache in his arm. All that remained was a thin, angry pink scar. Just one of many he had collected over his short life.

"Keep moving," Hikari commanded, gesturing for the stairs at the far end of the hallway opposite where they had entered.

And so they ascended, clearing floor after floor.

* * *

 _Day 1 — Evening_

Bolt groaned in relief as he finally sat down for the first time that day. They had been fighting since before dawn, and he hadn't slept well the previous night. Were he not an Uzumaki, he probably would have been dead on his feet. But, he was, so he grit his teeth and focussed on the task at hand: surviving.

His squadron sat on the ground floor of the tower they had spent most of the day clearing of enemies. It had taken hours. Hours of stressful, tiring work. The fighting wouldn't intensify in the night, as soldiers on both sides retreated to eat, sleep, and recover from their wounds.

Bolt and his team were no exception. They sat around a fire, gazing into the hypnotic, dancing flames. Tetsu loomed over the fire, a cast iron skillet that was comically small in his hands held just above the flames.

The sizzle of fat crackled in the stillness of the night, and Bolt felt his mouth water at the scent of cooking meat. Around him, he could see several other ninja loyal to Harukō do the same.

They were fewer in number than when they began that day, but that was war. Bolt had sealed their bodies in a scroll and tied it with a black-gray ribbon; the universal sign that a body was stored within. He would return them to the Amekage when they emerged victorious.

Tetsu handed Bolt a hunk of meat on a stick. They didn't have plates, and hadn't scavenged them from the supplies they found in the floors above. And no one wanted to go back up there. Out of the corner of his eye, Bolt could spot a small waterfall of rainwater falling from the floors above. It wasn't dyed muddy by rust any longer, but crimson by blood.

Bolt blew a cooling breath over the meat before sinking his teeth into it. He sagged in visible ecstasy. "Holy shit, Tetsu!" Bolt exclaimed, choking down the food. "This is good! I didn't know you could cook."

Bolt couldn't cook. He was too young when he left the Leaf to have developed that skill, and his mother had done their family's cooking. Afterwards, after joining the Crimson Tide, the old cook had done the cooking for the entire mercenary company. And Hikari, good god, she was content to eat field rations. Sure, you could _survive_ off them, but they tasted like dirt and a man could only eat them for so long before going insane.

Tetsu just hummed a small noise of acknowledgement. Bolt giggled as he saw the other Rain ninja frothing at the bit as they devoured their share of the food.

Bolt felt the weight of the world on his shoulders ease just ever so slightly. What they were doing was almost... normal. Normal, if they hadn't earned their ravenous hunger by slaughtering more than one hundred men between their group.

His eyes flicked over to rest on Hikari, as was becoming increasingly more common these days. She sat near the fire, stoically still and alert.

And not eating.

Bolt frowned. He had forgotten about her circumstances. Well, that just wouldn't do. An idea sparked to life in his mind, and Bolt was never more thankful for winning the genetic lottery than he was at that particular moment.

He stiffened, his back going straight and his eyes wide and alert. The feasting Rain ninja didn't notice, but Hikari and Tetsu did. Bolt's eyes locked with Hikari's and he flicked them to the door that led outside. He then gestured for Tetsu to continue cooking.

Bolt stood, casually stretching so as to not draw alarm or attention, and then made for the door. Hikari had slipped into the shadows and followed after him.

The two of them slunk out into the night. Even though it wasn't that late, it was near pitch dark. Only a sliver of silver light pierced the clouds as the moon illuminated the Land of Rain. Bolt kept low, wary of attracting a _real_ enemy's attention. He led Hikari to an abandoned home no more than ten feet from their camp. He slipped inside, his eyes fading from blue to white as he ensured it was safe. There were no people around except for them for nearly five hundred feet in every direction. The nearest was a small camp of enemy Rain ninja in another sector.

Bolt grinned and slowly stood, before turning to face Hikari. It was too dark to see, but he imagined her eyes were sparkling with confusion. He held out a kunai with a hunk of meat that he had stolen from Tetsu with slight of hand.

His grin widened as Hikari huffed in disbelief. He could practically see her rolling her eyes behind her mask.

"What?" Bolt quipped. "Like I was going to let you watch the dogs slobber over their food?"

"This is a serious safety hazard and breach of proper military conduct," Hikari responded.

Bolt laughed and waved the morsel back and forth in front of her. "I wasn't kidding, back there," he said. "Tetsu is a really good cook! You'd never believe it looking at the guy. I mean, I guess when you're that big you have to be good at procuring and preparing your food, but still. It was so tender and savory, with just a hint of gaminess..."

He grinned as Hikari snagged the kunai and slid her mask over the side of her face, just enough so that she could eat.

Bolt counted that as his victory in their game.

* * *

 _Day 1 — Night_

"Wake up," a feminine voice hissed urgently.

Bolt threw himself from his sleeping bag and sunk into a defensive Gentle Fist stance. His heart was thundering like a war drum in his chest. He blinked away the last vestiges of the nightmare that had been plaguing his slumber.

"What?" Bolt asked, his voice a whisper.

"We're under attack," Hikari told him. "I need your eyes."

Bolt nodded, casting his gaze to the already awake and alert members of their group. He turned away from them and slipped into the shadows. Convinced no one would see his eyes, the veins in his temples bulged as his Byakugan manifested.

Instantly, he saw what Hikari had been worried about.

"How many?" Hikari asked.

"Shit," Bolt swore, his pale lavender eyes flickering back and forth as he beheld a sea of blue flames creeping upon them in the night. "Seventy-five, maybe one hundred, from the north," he told her. "Easily another hundred, if not more, from the east."

Hikari swore colorfully under her breath, loud enough for only him to hear.

"What do we do?" Bolt asked, eying the milling crowd of Rain ninja who were packing and preparing for battle.

Hikari was silent, her jaw working up and down as she wracked her brain for a solution.

When she remained silent, Bolt spoke. "I have an idea," he said. "You two!" Bolt pointed at Hajime and Hideki. Both men stiffened, their attention on him. "Go upstairs. Find the first body you come across and bring it to me."

They both nodded and quickly scrambled up the stairs. Bolt rushed over to the smoking embers of their extinguished campfire. He snagged a large cast iron pot and hurled the last vestiges of the soup onto the coals. A quick, high pressured water jutsu cleaned it of impurities.

Hajime and Hideki returned shortly after, both green in the face and carrying the corpse of a Rain ninja between the two of them. With great haste, they dropped the corpse at Bolt's feet. "Tetsu, hold him up by the feet," Bolt said.

The mountain of a man did as he was asked. Bolt withdrew a kunai and slit the man's throat from ear-to-ear as he set the pot beneath to collect the man's ichor. Out of the corner of his eye, Bolt saw some of the Rain ninja go pale.

Bolt summoned a brush from the seal on his forearm. With the kunai, he pricked his thumb and allowed a single drop of blood to fall into the pot. Sealing jutsu ink was special, in that it had to be created from a source rich in chakra. Some places used plant matter or oil. The Hidden Whirlpool, having access to the ocean, kept and raised a school of squid that were fed chakra.

He simply didn't have enough ink for the seal he wanted to craft. Therefore, Bolt made his own.

Satisfied with the amount of "ink" he had to work with, he snagged the pot and quickly dipped his brush before running to the east wall.

He began to paint. A few precise, perfectly controlled strokes formed a single archaic character framed by a methodically perfect array of swirls. Bolt moved to a structural support next, and reproduced another elegant painting; a perfect mirror of the first. He continued on, covering the entire rusted wall in seals and connecting arrays.

"Alright," Bolt said, as he put the finishing touches on the seal. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to detonate this seal and bring the tower down on the group approaching from the east. Using that as a distraction, we attack the smaller group coming from the north. We hit them hard and fast, before they realize they're under attack."

The group of Rain ninja straightened as he spoke. "Yes, sir," they echoed, slinging their packs over their shoulders and drawing their weapons.

Bolt threw the bloody pot into the smouldering coals of their campfire and quickly gathered his things. He, Hikari, and Tetsu slipped out the front of the tower. Their eyes danced up and down the street, ensuring that no scouts had spied them. Bolt let his eyes fade from blue to white again. The two groups were advancing quickly, though they slowed with caution the closer they got.

Together, Hikari and Tetsu endeavored to block direct line of sight with Bolt so that none of their comrades could see his eyes.

"This way," Bolt whispered, creeping low down the street towards an ideal spot for an ambush. It was little more than a section of the street that was surrounded on both sides by two-story buildings; a shop and a dilapidated home.

Hikari signaled with her hands for the group to split into two and take to the roofs. The men, to their credit, were as silent as spirits as they leapt to the tiled rooftops. Bolt lay on his belly, hands in front of him, as his eyes followed the eastern group as they inched ever so closer to the tower. Hikari kneeled over him protectively, whilst Tetsu remained hidden in the alleyway behind the house. Emiko, Hajime, and Hideki were crouched next to Bolt, awaiting command.

Finally, the eastern group was within range. His eyes flicked over to the advancing northern group, who know prowled through the street below him.

Bolt formed the Ram seal. "Seal: Release," he intoned under his breath.

He closed his eyes on instinct as a wall of air struck him in the face with such force that only Hikari holding him by the scruff of his neck kept him from flying from the rooftop. A massive ball of fire roared into the sky, illuminating the night for miles around, as the eerie sound of metal cracking and breaking resounded through the city. There were screams of pure, unadulterated terror. Then, as suddenly as the screams came, they were all silenced.

Bolt hadn't intended the seal to be quite that powerful.

There were muted, roared battle cries as Bolt's squad leapt from the rooftops. Hikari released him and rained down so many needles that, for a moment, there was more steel than water in the air. Tetsu had emerged from his hiding place, standing before the besieged group. He drew his katana and sent a Flash roaring down the street that cut men down in droves.

Bolt shook his head, his ears ringing, and leapt into the fray.

An enemy Rain ninja lashed out at him with wide, fearful eyes. His slash was lazy and wide, and Bolt easily leaned out of its arc. He threw a fist forward, his index and middle finger meeting the man's chest. Chakra lanced through him, scrambling his internal organs. He dropped, tearing at his shirt and dying.

Before Bolt could turn to face the next enemy, he was tackled to the ground by a woman who was a full head taller than he was. She pinned him with her superior strength and raised a clenched fist above him. Bolt flailed and threw both his knees into the woman's gut, staggering her. Then, using the leverage his position provided him, he kicked and threw her off him.

The woman soared through the air with a strangled scream. Right towards Hikari.

Hikari hit her with a vicious punch, backed by her chakra enhanced strength. The sound of bones turning to dust echoed through the street as his would-be assailant was bodily crushed.

Then there was silence; the only sound was the patter of rain striking steel and muted, heavy breathing.

Bolt looked around. He was surprised by how well the group of ragtag ninja had performed. They had worked together, using the element of surprise and sheer determination to overcome near unbeatable odds. In mere minutes, more than two hundred enemy Rain ninja had died; more than half of which had been crushed under steel and incinerated by fire.

Bolt swallowed, his tongue feeling dry, as they all looked to him.

"Well done," he said with a nod.

* * *

 _Day 2 — Morning_

Hisako crawled through the burning wreckage of objective forty-one. It _was_ the tallest building in sector five.

Now, it was little more than a crater; a great pockmark on their city.

The tower had literally been blown to pieces. Stray shards of metal, as large as a man was tall, had been hurled throughout the city. One piece had gone as far as sector eight, where it impaled a captain. He died instantly, but his body was, as of yet, unable to be recovered due to being pinned under the debris.

Hisako looked down. A pool of metal had built upon the street. The explosion had been so hot that it had melted steel. She didn't know what had happened, only that whoever—or whatever—had destroyed the tower had been immensely powerful.

With a sigh, Hisako stood. So much loss of life. An entire squadron wiped out in an instant. She cast her gaze around, looking for any survivors. It was a hopeless dream. None could have survived such a blast. She walked down the street, marveling in the destruction.

Hisako flinched as something wet struck her neck. Not that such a thing was unusual; it rained every day. That was life in the Land of Rain. No, she flinched because the liquid was _warm._

She looked up. A man had been impaled on a jagged length of steel; what could have once been a structural support. The great I-beam had been launched like an arrow from the explosion and pierced him through the chest. The beam must have carried the man with it until it struck the house. Blood dripped down the protruding end of the steel beam; the source of her discomfort.

Hisako leapt up, chakra coalescing in her feet as she stuck to the wall of the house. With cautious steps, she ascended the building until she could see eye-to-eye with her deceased comrade.

He had died instantly. At least, Hisako hoped so. She hadn't seen a worse death since the war had began. She couldn't imagine—didn't _want_ to imagine—dying slowly, painfully, as she bled to death with the great steel beam piercing her chest.

Her eyes caught something on the beam. The steel was charred and blackened, and stained a dark red-black from the blood that had been cooked on it. But, beneath all that, she could see something.

It looked like... writing. Yes, it was some kind of text. Not in any language she knew of, but she could see the characters clearly if she wiped a bit of the blood away. Whoever had written them had an elegant scrawl; each character was drawn with a steady hand. There wasn't a line out of place. And, more impressive still, each character was the same. _Exactly_ the same. It was as if a computer of printing press had grown arms and done the deed themselves.

It was an unnatural perfection.

Hisako drew her sword and scratched at the blood and soot, removing the grime little by little. She unearthed more characters, all as perfect as the last, and all connected by a lattice of swirling lines that came to a head at a strange symbol.

It was... a spiral? No, a whirlpool? Yes, a whirlpool. Strange.

Hisako recoiled on instinct as she felt a chakra blossom into existence. Only her skills as an impressive sensor saved her life. A needle passed just in front of her nose, hissing as it flew. It sunk deep into the body of her lifeless comrade. She watched as his cold flesh bubbled and rotted before her eyes.

With a gasp, she leapt to the safety of the rooftops.

Three figures, two men and one woman, followed her. One of the men was as large as a house, practically. Even if Hisako had a twin that stood on her shoulders, the two of them would only come to his shoulders. He wore a katana on his hip that was as long as she herself was tall. The other man was smaller, just a head taller than she was. His hair was a vibrant shade of orange, and his eyes were a piercing blue. The woman wore, of all things, a plain porcelain mask. It was as white as marble, and when the rain ran down it, it left a bewitching pattern.

Hisako chewed on her bottom lip at the sight of them, an old nervous quirk she had never been able to kick. They were Rain ninja, but not _her_ Rain ninja. They were enemies; either serving the Salamander or that old bastard Jurō.

And she could _feel_ their chakra. It rolled off all three of them in waves, threatening to drag her beneath the tide and drown her. The two men, in particular, had the most powerful chakra she had ever felt aside from her Amekage.

The swordsman's chakra was as cold as ice and as hard as steel. The orange haired man's chakra was chaotic. Every time she thought she got a good feel for it, it suddenly shifted. It was hot, but its touch made her hair stand on end and her skin to break out in goosebumps. It was cold, but she felt like her flesh was burning. It was almost... electric.

And the woman's chakra, though lesser in quantity, wanted for nothing with _quality._ Hisako felt a as if her skin was caressed by a gentle breeze, but beneath its comforting touch was a storm. Raging, churning water with pregnant stormclouds overhead that threatened the wrath of the heavens.

Hisako knew she was going to die.

She was a sensor; a scout. She wasn't particularly skilled at combat. The sword she held in her trembling hands was a heirloom of her mother, a samurai from the Land of Iron. She didn't pretend that she was gifted with the sword, but the katana had served her well in her short life as a Rain ninja.

Hisako swallowed her fear. If she was going to die, she was going to die like a true daughter of the Rain. She would take one of them with her to the Pure Lands. "Cowards," she spat. "Fight me in a fair and honest duel!"

She wanted to cry as the orange haired man grinned in clear mirth. The samurai remained stoic, and it was impossible to decipher the masked woman's reaction to her declaration. Perhaps that was why she wore the mask.

Just when Hisako thought they would pounce and slay her, the giant of a men stepped forward. "This one shall cross swords with you," he spoke, drawing his katana and brandishing it. He settled into a comfortable stance, capable of shifting to defense or offense equally.

Hisako swore under her breath. Of all the opponents, she wanted to fight the samurai the least. His size was intimidating, and his chakra even more so. She held her mother's sword with both hands, her arms shaking. Her fear surged as the man's chakra spiked.

With a fearful, roared battle cry, Hisako sprinted forward. The man blocked her katana with the flat of his blade, casually slapping her attack to the side. He lashed out with his fist and struck her in the chest. Hisako felt ribs break as the air in her lungs was forcibly expelled.

She groaned and rolled away as the tip of a sword pierced the tiled rooftop. Staggering to her feet, Hisako reached for a leather pouch she kept tied to her left leg. She fetched a handful of shuriken, and hurled them at her opponent. The swordsman batted each away with ease, but one flew wide.

Hisako watched as the orange haired man dodged the shuriken with such speed that, for a moment, it appeared as if he had two bodies attached to one set of legs. The shuriken sailed into the rain harmlessly.

Then the mountain of a man was upon her, his sword parting rain as he brought it down. Hisako threw her own sword up, bracing the tip with the palm of her hand as she gripped the hilt tightly.

The man's sword wasn't even slowed down by the flat of her katana as it cut through steel. It kept going, cutting through flesh and bone.

Hisako screamed as she felt the sword cut through her shoulder and continue down into her chest. Warm, sticky blood flowed down her chest and legs, pooling at her feet. She staggered backwards, and slipped on her own blood.

Her vision grew dark and her breathing labored as the samurai loomed above her, like the Shinigami himself. "You fought well, little one. Rest easy in the Pure Lands," he intoned, raising his sword above her.

Hisako closed her eyes, and never opened them again.

* * *

 _Day 2 — Afternoon_

"Priority objective one is this," Hikari said, placing a finger over the map. The location was circled with red ink. "It is one of two headquarters that our enemy uses for staging their attacks in sectors one, three, and five. Of all our missions so far, this one is the most important."

"Why?" Emiko asked.

Hikari resisted the urge to kill the little girl. As it was, she was a competent sensor and they needed every man if they were to emerge from this conflict victorious and still breathing.

"Because," Bolt said, drawing _everyone's_ attention. "That particular headquarters is, officially, commanded by Jurō's granddaughter, Mayuko. Intel says the man himself checks in on her regularly. It is highly guarded, and there is a fifty-fifty chance the big man himself will be there."

Murmurs of fear ran through the crowd of assembled Rain ninja. They had picked up several rogue teams whose commanders were slain as they pressed forward through the city. And every single one of them knew the name Jurō of the Rain; one of the three people who contested the title of Amekage.

That wasn't even surprising. The most surprising thing, to Hikari, was the sudden acceptance of Bolt and the respect he commanded among the Rain ninja. Technically, she was the commander of their group. Yet no one objected when Bolt made his thoughts known, especially after he had demonstrated his prowess in sealing jutsu by utterly destroying an entire sector of the city when he brought down the tower they had taken.

His reputation, sparked to life by rumor of his strength in the Battle of Fort Sugawara, had spread far and wide amongst the rank and file of the Hidden Rain. More than once, Hikari had seen an enemy's eyes widen in clear recognition and fear at seeing Bolt.

"Ah, I see," Emiko said, clapping her hands together. She favored Bolt with a look that was torn between awe and devotion.

Hikari felt her eye twitch beneath her mask as the girl continued to attempt to attract Bolt's affection. Thankfully, he ignored her. "As I was saying," Hikari said, glaring at Emiko. "If we fail to capture or destroy their headquarters, Jurō and those loyal to him will continue to have an easy staging point to launch attacks into our territory. We'll be rendezvousing with squadron four for a joint attack in two hour's time."

The masked woman looked between her assembled forces. "Ready for battle. Dismissed," Hikari commanded.

"Yes, sir," they echoed, before packing up their things and readying themselves for the coming battle.

Ten minutes later, they were stealthily advancing up the street; leaping from rooftop to rooftop, slipping into the shadows cast by the towers of steel, sneaking through alleyways. Hikari kept one wary eye on their forces, mindful of any sudden, suspicious disappearances. There were none. She kept the other trained on Bolt and Tetsu, ensuring they were safe at all times. Their greatest weakness was their own strength; their arrogance. Both were nigh unbeatable in fair combat, so they never kept their guards up for ambushes or sneak attacks.

Though Hikari had yet to meet a Rain ninja who was stealthy enough to sneak up on her. She would have preferred to not have a team with her. Then, Bolt could use his Byakugan freely and _no one_ would be able to ambush them.

Their group came to a stop. They stood atop a massive cathedral of twisted, rusted metal. Before them was a massive tower of pipes and wires. Near the top, four grotesque faces protruded. The largest of which sat at the very top of the tower; its maw was gaping, its tongue lolled, its fangs bared. Oddly, Hikari noted, it had _piercings_ and the whites of its eyes were strangely rippled.

Hikari heard Bolt gasp. Had he not been kneeling beside her, she wouldn't have heard it. "Nagato's tower," she heard him whisper under his breath.

She frowned as his old hero worship of the Akatsuki reared its head. She elbowed him in the ribs and sent him a stern look. _Pay attention, idiot,_ it said.

Bolt gave her a sheepish grin and turned his eyes back to priority objective one.

"How are we looking?" Hikari whispered, ever so silently.

She was so close she could feel him shiver. She saw the veins in his eyes writhe as his Byakugan manifested itself. "Shit," she heard Bolt mutter. "We have a problem. The big man himself is there, along with his granddaughter."

Hikari let a long, ragged sigh tear itself from her lips. Nothing was ever easy.

"What shall we do?" Tetsu asked, from his position behind them.

Hikari hadn't expected to have to fight both of them, though it was certainly a possibility. With the way the war had gone so far, she expected luck to continue going their way. Alas, that was rarely the case in war.

"I'll take Mayuko," Hikari decided. "Bolt, deal with Jurō. Intel says he used Water and Lightning Release. Beat him at his own game. Tetsu, assist the squad with the siege of the tower. When you've secured it, go help Bolt."

Both men nodded.

Then, they waited.

Hikari trained her gaze far to the east, where a similar operation to her own was about to be undertaken against the other candidate for Amekage. Harukō led that assault. The commanders of every squadron had been instructed to wait until the signal; all resistance to Harukō's position was to be purged in one fell swoop.

In the fading afternoon light, Hikari could see a trail of smoke rocket skyward. A moment later, a red flare bloomed.

 _Attack,_ the flare commanded.

They did.

Tetsu shot off towards the largest of the groups assaulting the tower. Already, the tides of enemy Rain ninja were pouring from the base of the tower. Hikari, and a smaller group of men, detached and headed underground. Among them, to Hikari's great displeasure, was Emiko and her team.

Hikari shot Bolt one last, long look as he dashed forward, as fast as always, and leapt from pipe to pipe as he ascended the tower in his hunt for Jurō.

As Hikari descended into the maze of underground sewers and watermains, she popped a soldier pill. The darkness receded, until her world was a monochrome of greens. The night-vision pill was a godsend for night or underground missions. Hikari was especially proud of her own variation; the weakness of such a pill was that, if exposed to light, you were blinded. Hikari had another pill on her person which could cancel the effects of the first, restoring her vision.

And deeper into the labyrinth they went. Hikari had memorized the layout of the entire building in the days leading up to the operation, even before the war had began. She lead their group further and further underground. A few Rain ninja who were talented in Fire Release had conjured small wisps of fire to light their way.

The pipes they crept through shook violently, dust and water raining down upon them as an explosion rocked the city above ground. Hikari prayed that it had been Bolt using more experimental sealing jutsu, though she knew in her heart that it wasn't.

Eventually, they came to a large underground cavern hewn out of the metal underbelly of the city. And there at the far end of the cavern, their enemy awaited them. Mayuko stood proudly at the forefront of her small army, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. She was an impressive woman, standing a full head taller than Hikari herself. She had long brown hair and warm brown eyes. She was pale, like most who called the Land of Rain home were.

Both sides shifted nervously on their feet. Hikari had hoped to encounter her foe above ground, in the basement of the great tower. Fighting underground was never a wise choice. If an enemy was determined enough, they could bring down the whole cavern in a suicide attack. Given, Hikari didn't think anyone except Bolt himself could actually bring down so much metal. There was no rock in the Hidden Rain.

There were no words shared. No commands given. Every man and woman in that cavern knew what was to come. By unspoken agreement, the battle began. Both sides roared battle cries as they drew their weapons and leapt into the fray.

Hikari quickly reached into one of the pouches she kept at her waist, withdrawing a scroll. It was a gift from Bolt; a deadly weapon in anyone's hands, but especially her own. She unclasped the length of ribbon that held the scroll fast. Then she hurled it. The metal core gave the scroll weight as it soared into the ranks of their charging enemies, the parchment trailing behind like a tail. Hikari formed the Ram seal, and with a small burst of chakra, unsealed the scroll.

There were screams as the scroll exploded, highly poisonous needles flying in every direction. Those closest to the scroll simply dropped dead from being peppered with steel. Those unfortunate enough to survive quickly succumbed to the poison. It was a fast acting, powerful paralytic. So powerful that it stopped the diaphragm and even the heart.

To Hikari's displeasure, Mayuko was not among the casualties. In fact, she was unharmed; not a scratch on her. Instead, she held her arm aloft and pointed a single finger at her. A scream tore its way from Hikari's throat as a beam of lightning speared her shoulder.

She threw herself behind a structural support pillar and held a glowing green hand to her shoulder. Blood rapidly stained her jacket crimson, but the wound closed.

Hikari felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The air felt charged, much the same way it was when Bolt was fighting with his Lightning Armor. She threw herself behind another pillar, just in time to see a massive beam utterly destroy the metal pillar. Hikari popped a soldier pill, this one designed to bolster chakra and accelerate healing.

She grit her teeth in frustration as she realized what she was facing.

Storm Release.

Hikari swore under her breath, palming a handful of needles as she ran to the next pillar. As she ran, she hurled her needles.

Mayuko grinned, held both palms together, and unleashed a wall of pure energy that vaporized the steel and continued onward.

Hikari huffed and leapt into the air, vaulting over the wall as it passed. She weaved hand seals, and spat a blade of water at her enemy. Mayuko weaved hand seals, and a bolt of lightning arced from her fingertips.

With a growl of frustration, Hikari canceled her jutsu before the lightning could travel upstream and electrocute her. She hurled more needles, and this time, Mayuko dodged with surprising agility.

It dawned on Hikari that this was the worst kind of opponent for her to face. Storm Release overpowered Water and Lightning, and Mayuko was undoubtedly a master of both. She couldn't win in a contest of jutsu. Hikari's only hope was to catch her with one of her needles, to get close enough to use her taijutsu. A deadly prospect, given the Storm Release. An attack from so close would surely kill her if it landed.

And, with sudden clarity, Hikari realized something. If Mayuko possessed the Storm Release, then so too did her grandfather. She had told Bolt to beat the old man at his own game. He wouldn't be able to. He would need to get a lucky quick strikes in with his Gentle Fist before Jurō unleashed his own bloodline, otherwise he would be in the same situation she herself was in.

Hikari could only hope that Tetsu would come to his aid.

That left her with another question: who was coming to her aid?

No one.

That was just fine. Hikari had been on her own nearly her entire life. She would rise and overcome this challenge just like every other.

Hikari weaved hand seals. A massive bolt of lightning leapt from her fingers. It was more for show than damage. A camouflage to mask her movements.

A beam of lightning tore through her jutsu, but Hikari was already gone. She hid herself behind a nearby pillar and began weaving a long series of hand seals. Her chakra control was precise, as all medics were. It wasn't unnaturally precise, like Bolt's own. Her body simply wasn't built that way. Eiji had tried to teach her the Lightning Armor. She was his first student; his first disciple. And whilst her chakra control was not great enough to achieve the first level of activation, and likely never would be, she had enough control for internalizing the process.

It was little more than an exercise in control, a precursor to the Lightning Armor itself. Eiji dubbed it the zeroth level of activation.

Internalizing chakra within the body and molding it into Lightning Release chakra; but never manifesting it outside the body, never allowing it to empower your muscles.

There was no great boost in speed nor strength, and her reflexes were not as sharp as a true practitioner of the technique. But the world slowed before Hikari's eyes. As if she had just a few more moments to ponder each action she and her enemies took.

That was all she needed.

Hikari leapt out from where she had hidden. Mayuko saw her, turned, and weaved hand seals. A beam of lightning shot forth from her fingertips. Hikari saw it coming. Unlike before, she had time. It took every ounce of her body's strength and speed to lean out of the way of the oncoming projectile.

But she did it.

Hikari drew her fist back, clenching so tight her knuckles popped. Chaka built up in her fist, ready to be unleashed. She closed in and Mayuko's eyes widened in surprise. Then, Hikari slammed her fist into the woman's skull.

Pain.

Lightning danced up Hikari's arm and across her chest. The Lightning Clone burnt her clothes and charred her skin. Hikari's muscles spasmed uncontrollably as she struggled to breathe. And, from behind a nearby pillar, the true Mayuko emerged.

"Clever, but not clever enough," the woman intoned. She held her hands before her, palms splayed. Blue-white energy coalesced before her in a sphere.

Hikari bit her tongue, using the pain to focus. She willfully subjugated her body, and forced her hands into one of the pouches that hung at her waist. From it, she withdrew a single needle.

She stabbed herself in the thigh.

In an instant, Hikari felt her heart begin to hammer. She felt the drug course through her veins; muscles bulged and tendons hardened. Her skin turned an angry shade of red as her blood heart pumped blood faster than it was meant to. With great haste, she restored the initial level of activation of the Lightning Armor.

Hikari contorted her body, got one foot on the ground, and kicked.

She was gone in a burst of speed that dented the steel floor. Not a second later, a beam of lightning tore through the floor and ravaged the underbelly of the city.

Hikari heard a cry of disbelief from her enemy and smirked. She reappeared behind Mayuko.

This time, there would be no escape.

The woman turned to face her, face pale and eyes wide. Hikari drew her arm back, and felt muscles begin to tear. Mayuko threw up her arms and slipped into a defensive stance. It wouldn't save her. Hikari threw her fist forward.

A deep thud resounded through the cavern, like stone breaking upon stone. Hikari whimpered as she felt every bone in her fist shatter. But she smiled beneath her mask as she was rewarded with Mayuko's entire upper torso turn to a fine, bloody paste.

With their leader's death, many of the Rain ninja surrendered. Unfortunately for them, this was war, and there were no prisoners taken. The Amekage did not have the resources, nor desire, to imprison them.

Hikari watched as her allies slaughtered them. She leaned backwards, resting her back upon one of the pillars of steel. She slid to the floor as she felt the heavy dosage of steroids begin to fade from her system. Hikari cradled her mangled right arm to her chest. She brought up her left, which glowed a faint green, and began to heal herself.

Silence.

A muffled cry.

Hikari turned her head. Emiko was wailing, kneeling over a body. It was one of her friends, the little one with the glasses. She thought he had been a healer, like herself. Unlike herself, he was not a warrior. He must have been slain during the fighting.

Despite not liking the girl, Hikari felt a pang of sadness in her heart for Emiko's loss.

* * *

 _Day 2 — Afternoon_

Bolt leapt from massive pipe to massive pipe as he ascended Pain's—Nagato's—Tower. It was like reading about history, and then actually living it. Here was where Nagato performed his "Paths," animating the bodies of the dead and forcing them to fight for him.

If he hadn't been in the middle of a war, Bolt would have loved to explore. As it was, he had a task to perform: the assassination of a man who was in contention for the title of Amekage. The memories of the last opponent who claimed the same flashed in his mind.

Bolt had learned his lesson. Kage level ninja were not to be underestimated. But, just maybe, Bolt could fool Jurō; play the brash, arrogant upstart. Get the older man to underestimate him. Then, before the false Amekage could recognize the error in his ways, Bolt would strike him down. Ruthlessly. Using all his strength and speed. He would not give Jurō the opportunity to fight back.

Once he was far enough away from the battle below, at the base of the tower, Bolt allowed his Byakugan to manifest itself. There, at the top of the tower, he could see a single flame of chakra burning brightly. A massive infernal ball of fire; a strong opponent.

Bolt steeled himself, and leapt up to the great tongue of one of the metal faces. The chakra signature was deeper inside, waiting for him. Bolt crept forward, footsteps as light as a feather and ears trained for any sound in the darkness of the tower.

Bolt's own chakra began to flare in preparation for activating his Lightning Armor. He didn't know why Jurō thought he had the strength needed to become Amekage, but he knew he didn't want to find out. At least, not firsthand.

The ball of fire shifted. Its flames rose upward, snaking outwards, as if travelling down a pair of arms. Which it was. It was a familiar sight for the Byakugan. Bolt knew what it meant. Hand seals.

There was a pinprick of blue-white light in the darkness.

Bolt recoiled as he felt _something_ strike him in the chest. It was blindingly fast and possessed a strange dichotomy; half soothingly cool, half unbearably hot. And then the sensations caught up to him as he was bodily thrown back out the tower from whence he came.

Bolt contorted his body midair and managed to grasp a length of wire running from the building. The line snapped, but it was enough to stop Bolt's momentum and allow him to swing to safety. He rubbed at his chest, now recognizing the sharp bite of a lightning jutsu.

If the false Amekage thought he could beat Bolt with his own element, he had another thing coming.

Bolt pushed chakra from his chakra points, expelling it in a cloud of blue fire. Then, lightning crackled forth. Then he weaved hand seals. A bolt of lightning filled the mouth of the tower's entrance and surged through the room. Bolt could see Jurō leap from his hiding place and disappear through a hidden passage. He reappeared on the roof, standing amongst antennas and wires and steaming exhaust vents.

Jurō was an older man, easily in his fiftieth year. His hairline was receding and was marred by gray overtaking charcoal black. His left eye was glossy and white, blinded. Judging by the scar running from his left temple to his right cheekbone, it was from battle—not a glaucoma. Of all the weapons he could have used, he wielded a long, metal cane with a curved handle.

Bolt's lavender eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Hoh?" Jurō commented. "Those eyes," he said, eying Bolt's face speculatively. "Not often a rogue Hyūga escapes from the Leaf. They're too protective of the bloodline. Only one person they let run free like that. You must be Bolt Uzumaki."

There was no point in deactivating his dōjutsu. The man was going to die, or he was. Either way, Bolt wouldn't have to worry about the ramifications. Still, he wasn't stupid enough to confirm nor deny Jurō's accusations.

Instead, he fetched a handful of shuriken and channeled lightning through them. Bolt hurled them with enough speed that they appeared a streaking blur of electric blue as they tore through metal pipes. Jurō himself dodged, leaping down to the lower level of the tower and standing atop one of the great metal faces.

Already, he was weaving hand seals in retaliation. The older man spat lances of water at Bolt, who dodged each, in turn, by leaping from wire to wire. Bolt pushed the thought that only a thin length of plastic and metal separated him from the cold, hard steel ground nearly two hundred feet below. And the wires were slippery, on account of the torrential rain.

It wasn't the best of places to have a duel to the death, but for someone of his speed, it didn't really matter. Bolt ran along the wires, electricity arcing from his feet as his boots struck and resonated with the electricity just below them. As he passed, transformers overloaded and exploded in a shower of sparks that hissed as the rain extinguished them.

Bolt made his way back towards the tower, and his opponent. Jurō, to his credit, continued to rain down jutsu after jutsu in an attempt to slow Bolt down. But he was just too fast. Bolt fired all the chakra points in his feet at once as he leapt from a wire to a pipe jutting from the wall of the tower. The heels of his boots slammed into them with a metallic clang, but he held fast.

Then, he was moving. Running up the side of the tower, perpendicular to the ground. Still, lances of water shot down. Bolt ducked and weaved and dodged as he made his way skyward. With his armor donned, the water jutsu were almost painfully slow. Child's play to dodge.

Bolt lunged forward, his momentum carrying him over the ridge of the tower wall and onto the rooftop. He grunted as he ran straight into the business end of the man's cane. It was heavy—far too heavy to be an actual cane. Most likely it held some hidden purpose as a weapon, or instrument for a technique. By the way Jurō moved, Bolt knew he wasn't a cripple. He didn't need the "cane."

Chakra glowed with a visible fire around his boots as Bolt kept himself anchored to the rooftop. He spun on his heels, lashing out with the Gentle Fist for the first time. The false Amekage had enough good sense to not stick around and experience the Leaf's vaunted most powerful taijutsu. He got his hit in, and backed off.

Bolt bounced on the balls of his feet, a grin baring his canines. More adrenaline than blood coursed through his veins, making his heart hammer heavily in his chest. He couldn't help it. He darted forward, right arm outstretched and ready to deal a fatal blow.

A ball of _something_ shot forward, faster than even Bolt could react. It slammed into his chest, again. In the light of day, Bolt could see it for what it was: lightning. But not just any lightning, _tangible_ lightning. As if it had solid form. It crackled and hissed angrily as it attempted, and failed, to pierce his armor.

Bolt had never been more grateful in that instant for Hikari's training. She had just saved his life, twice, without knowing. Hopefully, she'd never learn of it. He'd never hear the end of it. But, just in case, Bolt redoubled his efforts on reinforcing his armor's defenses.

"Impressive," Jurō said. Bolt sighed. He hated when people he was about to kill decided to "talk." It wouldn't save them, and it just made him more angry. "Your technique is good, though not as good as the Third Raikage's."

Bolt scoffed. Of course it wasn't. _Yet,_ Bolt amended. The Raikage were all, without exception, freaks of nature. He'd be there soon enough. "No, really," the older man said. "During the war, I—"

Bolt cut him off with a lateral chop, a little bit of Cloud-style taijutsu he picked up from Eiji and Takeo. He slammed the flat of his hand against where Jurō's skull should have been, only to be stopped by a thick metal rod. That same tangible lightning clung to it, reinforcing it and stopping the blow before it could connect.

When the man pointed his index finger in his face point blank, an orb of blue-white energy crackling angrily, Bolt knew what he was up against.

Storm Release.

A powerful bloodline, to be sure. Combining Lightning and Water Release into a single element, more deadly than either. The Water enhanced the Lightning's voltage and lethality. The Lightning altered the Water in such a way that it could be controlled by the user remotely. The Fifth Raikage was hailed as the greatest master of the bloodline to ever live.

The strengths of both elements, and the weaknesses of none.

Trouble.

Bolt leaned back out of the way as a beam tore through where his shoulder would have been. He spun, contorting his body in such a way that the heel of his boot could kick Jurō in the back of the head. The false Amekage dodged, of course, and lashed out with his Storm Release enhanced cane. With the bloodline augmenting it, it was more like a club or warhammer.

Bolt hopped away as the metal came down. Good thing, too, because it struck the rooftop with enough force to break steel. Bolt lunged forward, again, taking advantage of the man's momentary lapse in guard. He struck three chakra points along Jurō's dominant arm before the older man could leap away.

His age was showing. Bolt smirked. The elderly had no place in the battlefield.

Jurō weaved hand seals, and Bolt closed in on him with haste.

There was a sudden clarity as the lightning chakra coursing through Bolt's nervous system began to violently protest the presence of foreign chakra coalesce in the air. The falling drops of rain began to glow electric blue, shudder to a stop, and shoot forward.

All at him.

It was like fighting the Amekage all over again. Bullets of Storm Release chakra, no larger than a drop of water, shot forward like bolts from a crossbow. Bolt was peppered with them, like one of the poor fools who angered Hikari on the battlefield.

His defense was good, but not that good. A few he could handle, concentrated on one area of his body. But hundreds, aimed everywhere? Bolt wasn't _that_ good. Not yet.

The world slowed to a crawl as Bolt entered his own little world, a world where he was king. He had ample time to watch as the jutsu came at him. Yet he was powerless to stop or alter his course. And he knew that if he didn't act, he would, most likely, die.

In that moment of clarity, Bolt felt the cold, hard bite of logic. Consolidate defenses. Sacrifice non-essential systems. Can't stop; reference previous errors with subject "Amekage." Rerouting chakra through essential pathways. Conclusion: attack.

Jurō's jutsu was powerful, and let it never be said that _liquid lightning_ never hurt. It did. It fucking did. Bolt bit his tongue, drawing blood, as the supercharged drops of rain tore through his armor and bit deep into the flesh of his arms and legs. But, his Lightning Armor defended his chest and skull.

And for his pain, Bolt dealt it back twofold. He attacked with aggression, letting his pain fuel his anger and give him that slight, honed, and lethal edge. This time, he went for the chest and the organs beneath.

With a strength that belied his age, Jurō deflected the lethal blow with the flat of his forearm. Instead, the lance of the Gentle Fist pierced his belly, and Bolt could _hear_ the sound of flesh parting. He was rewarded with a brief flicker of pain and rage, then a familiar emotion.

Satisfaction.

Jurō's lips parted, and he vomited a beam of Storm Release chakra at him as thick as Bolt's own thigh. It didn't _pierce_ like lightning. It just exploded, with enough force that it rattled bones and made Bolt's ears ring and eyes cross.

In the end, the false Amekage held a nursing arm to his belly, and Bolt shook himself from his stupor as he stood. Then, he noticed that his armor had not held up as well as he had thought. His Rain ninja jacket had been reduced to ash, and the skin beneath was charred and flaking from burns.

But the pain didn't register. For that, Bolt was thankful. Every slight movement, and the blackened skin cracked. A ghastly combination of blood and pus oozed from the cracks, and Bolt felt a revulsion and horror claw at his stomach equally.

Even without the pain, Bolt knew he had been seriously wounded. He needed a medic. Soon, and badly.

But, more than that, he needed to end this farce of a battle.

But, really, what choice did he have? The man was older than him, more experienced, and powerful. His speed, whilst dwarfing Jurō's own, didn't overcome the sheer instinct the other man possessed. He was a former war veteran, who served under Hanzō the Salamander himself. His barb about the Third Raikage was more than just witty banter; he had probably seen the legend himself. And not just in passing, either. In the battlefield, taking lives.

Whilst Bolt had no doubt he could win in a taijutsu battle, he didn't have the time. And he couldn't win in a battle of ninjutsu, either. Storm Release was stronger than Lightning or Water individually. His genjutsu was nothing noteworthy, and wouldn't win him the battle besides. Bolt didn't have the time, nor the strength, to use a seal.

That left only one option.

He cupped both hands in front of him, and found that he didn't have the strength to raise his left arm. It had taken the worst of the Storm Release jutsu from earlier. Bolt shifted, taking a few steps backwards, and brandished his cupped right hand.

His Lightning Armor reacted violently, hissing angrily and arcing chaotically. The armor donned around his arm was enflamed. Lightning danced across his skin, as if possessed by a will not that of nature. It arced up his legs and across his chest, before it headed down his arm.

Then, the lightning itself began to coalesce in the palm of his hand.

* * *

Jurō winced as he felt stomach acid begin to eat at intestines and the soft flesh and muscle of his abdominal walls. That damned Gentle Fist. The Hyūga were arrogant, true, but their arrogance was one born of action. None ever said that the Gentle Fist wasn't powerful. And if they did, they were liars.

He had every confidence that his healers would be able to put him back together again, but first, he had to deal with the young upstart who was his would-be assassin. Really, the audacity of Harukō. Such a sly woman. Recruiting the son of the Hokage and pitting the brat against him.

Jurō couldn't murder the brat, or he would bring the wrath of the Leaf down upon their country. He'd have to incapacitate the kid, hopefully without damaging him too badly. He wasn't about to become Amekage after so long, only to be cast down by the Great Five, buried in a shallow grave, and erased from the annals of history.

So, he began pooling chakra for the largest Storm Release jutsu yet. His masterpiece; the technique that would solidify him, and the Hidden Rain, as the sixth of the great nations. He lowered the voltage; a difficult feat, considering the brat's armor. He didn't know _how_ he had managed to copy the Raikage's signature technique. And so well, at that. He wasn't the monster he had seen on the battlefield so many decades ago, but he was damn close. Probably would be, in a few years. The Leaf had a real monster in their midst.

Then, Jurō felt the icy claws of fear crawl up his spine. The brat had his right hand cupped and brandished at him, lightning coalescing in the palm of his hand. Into, almost—almost a _sphere._

No.

But it made sense. In a terrifying, horrible way, it made sense. He was the son of the Hokage. He had the means by which to learn the technique. And he had the talent, too, judging by his mastery of the Lightning Armor.

Still, that didn't abolish the fear Jurō felt. What he was staring at could only be one thing, and one thing only.

Lightning Release: Rasengan.

The brat's hair faded from vibrant orange to golden blonde. Even his eyes faded back to their normal color; a cold blue. His Lightning Armor fizzled out of existence with an angry hiss. Then, there was only the orb of chakra in his hand.

And it was _all_ of his chakra. The orb darkened. It went from the normal blue-white fire of chakra to a dark, angry gray. Every so often, a brief flash of white coursed through the gray. Almost like pregnant storm clouds, lightning arcing through them before a storm.

And it _rumbled_. Like thunder in the distance.

Jurō tensed, every fiber of his being screaming at him. He wished he could tell them to shut up. He was a veteran of many battles and wars, he knew danger when it stared him in the face. It was unfortunate, for the kid, the Leaf, and the Rain. Jurō couldn't afford to die now, not after he had come so far. He'd have to kill the kid. He held no disillusions that the Rasengan was more powerful than any jutsu he had at his disposal, especially an elemental version.

Jurō cupped both his hands. Storm Release chakra gathered and—

He leapt.

The brat had the audacity to _hurl_ the Rasengan at him.

His instincts screamed at him again. Jurō turned his gaze to the blonde, only to find him staring him down coldly. The kid clenched his fist. The false Amekage pushed off from the wire he had been perched on, well aware that the the Hokage's elemental Rasengan was capable of expansion. Such a telltale physical mnemonic would get the brat killed one day.

It was an _unholy_ clap of thunder. For the briefest of moments, Jurō saw the angry, demonic visage of Raijin himself. As if the god of lightning and thunder himself had descended to the mortal plane to grace humanity with a single, mighty beat of his war drum.

It was so loud that Jurō felt it chase him. From the rooftop, to the wire, to the sky.

All the way to the Pure Lands.

All across the city, men and women looked to the heavens as a nova of electric blue light exploded overhead. An instant later, the city shook with the force of thunder not seen in their country in an age.

* * *

Bolt fell.

He swore in his mind, cursing himself for his carelessness. His technique was strong, certainly, but he lacked control. There was a fine balance between the chakra needed to generate the thunder, and the chakra needed to contain it. Too much of the former and you blew yourself to smithereens. Too much of the latter and you had a fancy light show.

But it was truly difficult to get the right mix of power and control. Enough power to kill, and enough control to prevent the sound waves from killing himself.

Judging from his blackened vision in his left eye, Bolt knew his eyeball had ruptured from the force of the shockwave.

Just another scar to the add to the ever growing list.

He saw a blurry visage and a curtain of crimson hair.

Tetsu had caught him.

Good. That meant his battle had gone well. They had won.

It also meant he didn't have to find out how it felt to be rocketed off Nagato's tower and crash into the steel streets of the Hidden Rain.

Very good.

* * *

 _Day 2 — Night_

"What do we do, sir?"

Bolt looked over at the grim-faced Rain ninja. He idly held a hand to his left eye socket. Thankfully, Hikari had managed to patch him up. His chest was now covered in new, pink skin. It was sensitive to the touch, and the way his shirt rubbed against it made him break out in goosebumps.

But, Bolt would have rather been scarred and mangled for life if it meant his dōjutsu was preserved.

As it was, Lady Luck had been smiling upon him. The concussive nova his Lightning Release: Rasengan produced hadn't scrambled his organs or his eyeball. But there had been enough force cause the intraocular pressure in his eye to drop.

That had scared the shit out of Hikari and Tetsu, who had both feared the worst. Truthfully, Bolt had the same thoughts.

The war was all but over. Now, they had but to cleanse the last remnants of the resistance to Harukō's rule.

Bolt smirked. "Nothing," he commanded. He stood as his Lightning Armor snapped into place, lightning up the night like a torch.

As he strode towards the last enemy encampment, he heard their pitiful moans of terror and cries of fear. He heard the muttered oaths and curses of veterans who realized their end was at hand. Unlike before, when he cut them down, the fear he saw reflected in their eyes didn't frighten him.

It was like being back in the Leaf all over again.

Standing over his father's prone body victoriously. The clarity in the wake of the destruction. Basking in the looks of horror in fear the villagers radiated.

It was the _fear._

It was a dark, twisted sort of respect.

He liked it.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice whispered that what he was doing was wrong. Another colder, harder voice hissed back that it was war.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Question of the Chapter — Thoughts on the Kaguya filler arc and predictions for the next chapter of Boruto? Also, reading recommendations, I need them!

I guess I lied. I got about halfway through this chapter and realized there was no way I was going to be able to finish up the Rain arc in a single chapter. It would have been like 20-30k words long. In the end, I decided to end with the retaking of the Hidden Rain. And even that wasn't a small chapter; just under 13k words!

Also, reminder that chapters are released, technically, weekly. I've been spoiling you guys with updates every 2-3 days because I can. Don't get used to it.

So, one of the first questions I got asked was would we see a Lightning Release: Rasengan. The answer was: yes. Now we see it in action! I drew inspiration for the technique from an unlikely source: Star Wars: Attack of the Clones. For those that have seen the movie, remember the scene in which Obi-Wan chases Boba Fett through the asteroid belt. Boba deploys "seismic charges" which explode outward in a nova, destroying anything in their path. The Lightning Release: Rasengan is a parody of the seismic charges; same effect, and I even like to imagine them with the same sound effect (and damn, the sounds in Star Wars are _good_ ).


	35. Chapter 35

"We found him," Shikadai gasped, his chest heaving for air from his mad dash to climb the mountain to their camp.

"How?" Sarada asked, deadly serious. Her previous annoyance with him for interrupting her training was forgiven and forgotten.

Shikadai reached into his soaked chūnin jacket and withdrew a roll of paper from its folds. It was little more than a flier, made from discolored parchment. It couldn't even be called a proper newspaper, but the people of the Land of Rain made due with what they had. On it, there was a large picture followed by several paragraphs of text.

With her Sharingan, Sarada quickly skimmed it. It declared that the Hidden Rain was now at peace, and that an Amekage had been chosen. Harukō the Salamander, bastard daughter of Hanzō the Salamander, and one of the most powerful women in the country.

And there, in the gray monochrome photograph, stood a line of people. The Amekage, beautiful and deadly, standing tall and proud at the forefront. Next to her, on her left and right, were grizzled veterans who had seen their better days. But, behind them, was what truly caught Sarada's crimson gaze.

The hair was different, and the clothes were that of the standard Rain uniform, but the face was undeniably Bolt's. He wore a grim, if pleased, grin. It was a slight upturn of his lips that cued Sarada to his mood. It was the look of a man who had tested himself, and found himself not wanting.

Confidence.

That was what it was.

Sarada blanched as she realized the implications. Bolt had worked for—if not joined—the Hidden Rain. And, from reading between the lines of the propaganda, the fighting to conquer the Hidden Rain had been heavy. It had been the most brutal act of war between ninja since the Third War. Harukō had taken no prisoners and given no quarter. Every man and woman who did not swear their loyalty to her were slain like a rabid dog.

And Bolt had been her instrument.

The thought made Sarada sick.

"What do we do?" Shikadai asked. He was the official leader of their mission, but Sarada could tell he was lost. For once, the Nara didn't have a plan; didn't have an answer.

Sarada swallowed her nerves. "We stick to your plan," she told him. "We lay a trap, and they spring it. That's all there is to it. Even the most powerful ninja fall to ambush. We just have to be careful not to attract the attention of the Hidden Rain."

Shikadai was still for a moment, as if pondering over his plan once more. Reluctantly, he nodded.

The two of them walked back to camp in silence.

* * *

Bolt looked out across the cityscape from atop Nagato's tower. Or, at least, the mangled, warped wreckage of it. His Lightning Release: Rasengan had destroyed the entire upper five levels of the building when it exploded. Looking back, he was surprised that he himself had survived the explosion. His control over the technique was abysmal at best, suicidal at worst. Bolt vowed to not use it in combat again until he could better balance the level of destruction the technique could unleash. Sound was such a simple, common thing. And yet, when applied at such destructively high intensity, could easily destroy flesh, stone, and metal.

Below him, Bolt could see and hear the celebrating, surviving forces that now claimed the Hidden Rain as their own. Smoke rose from buildings as fires raged through the districts not yet reached by relief efforts. The smog blended with the rain to blot out the sun even more than usual, plunging the land into a near darkness. But the city was alight with neon and artificial lights, allowing what few people remained to celebrate their victory.

A sudden gust of wind buffeted the tower. A sheet of parchment flew skyward and slapped him in the face. With a grimace of annoyance, Bolt snagged the paper. He intended on crumbling it, but the photograph made him pause. It was the first of many propaganda fliers that the Amekage—Bolt could call her that now—had begun distributing throughout the country. Bolt was against the idea, especially since it had been sprung upon him so suddenly. He hadn't even been able to argue against it before the flash of the camera had blinded him. He didn't even get the chance to use a transformation jutsu to alter his appearance.

Bolt prayed to what gods may be that no one from the Leaf got hold of one the fliers. He didn't need to deal with that kind of stress. After all, the battle for the Hidden Rain had ended, but the war for the Land of Rain had just begun.

At least, that was how the saying went.

In reality, everyone knew that it was a matter of _when,_ not _if,_ the Land of Rain fell under control of the alliance between Harukō the Salamander and the Sugawara clan. Already, clans were denouncing their claims to the title of Rain Lord. The only remaining opponent standing before them was the Orimura clan.

The tower groaned as the wind blew a gust across the city. Bolt's ears twitched as he heard the distinctive sound of leather scuffing metal. By the way the floor shook with each step, it could only be one person. Bolt hadn't met anyone large enough, other than Tetsu.

The samurai appeared next to him, shaking his cloak like a dog to rid it of the water clinging to it. Not that it did any good, really. They were both exposed to the elements in the ruins of Nagato's tower. The two of them stood there, looking out over the Hidden Rain. In its own dark way, the city was quite beautiful.

As Bolt waited for Tetsu to speak his mind—he was sure the samurai wanted to talk to him, or ask him, about _something_ —he pondered whether or not there was anything worth salvaging from the tower. Surely Konan had emptied it of anything of value, in which case, he already possessed those items. Otherwise, the constant civil war would have allowed looters to sack the tower. Now _that_ was blasphemous. Nagato's legacy deserved better.

"This one would make a request of you," Tetsu eventually spoke. "When we battle the Orimura clan, there is a man amongst their forces I wish to duel."

Ah, revenge. Bolt wondered when this topic would surface, ever since Tetsu revealed his past. "I assume this man is the one who killed your master?" Bolt asked.

Tetsu nodded. "He is," he confirmed.

That was all the mountain of a man said. He was as stoic as ever. "Tell me about him," Bolt said.

Tetsu muttered darkly under his breath. "Upon the conclusion of my training, my teacher cast me out and instructed me to find a master worthy of my servitude," he began. "I found a master worth serving in the young Soga clan, and its lord, a boy of but ten: Umako Soga."

"My master was young, but he wished for a world of peace. He had many plans for expanding the Soga clan's influence and helping the common people. His goals, however noble they may be, were met with opposition by those who wished to ensure the Land of Rain remain a warring state," Tetsu said.

"Among my master's enemies, the most powerful were the Orimura clan," the samurai stated with barely restrained fury. "The Orimura are an old, powerful, and wealthy clan. They have long held the loyalty of a line of samurai descended from the Land of Iron. Among these swordsmen is one Gensai Kawakami."

"He is one of the most powerful swordsmen alive," Tetsu said. "Some say he was born in the wrong era, for he surely would have become a member of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist if he had lived in their time. It was he who slew my master, and the lion's share of his clan."

"And you want to fight him?" Bolt asked.

Tetsu nodded. "My honor demands it," he said. "Two will draw swords, only one shall sheath them. Whether I die, or he dies, my honor is restored."

Bolt didn't quite like the sound of that. He had grown quite fond of his stoic samurai cousin, as he had chosen to dub him. Bolt quirked an eyebrow. "What makes you think you need to ask me for permission? You're dueling for your honor, you don't need to ask me," he said.

Tetsu narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "A duel by its very nature is fought in single combat. I wish for you to command those who aid us in battle to allow me to fight Gensai to the death—no interruptions, regardless of outcome," the samurai said.

Bolt hesitated in his answer. "I'm not the one in command of the siege," he said. Hikari had that honor, which was fine by Bolt. She was much more suited to the military life. Order, discipline, and paperwork were her strengths. He much more enjoyed the role of a common soldier.

"No, you aren't," Tetsu conceded. "But you are not a fool. You know of your reputation and the respect it commands among the warriors of the Land of Rain. Even now, mothers tell their children tales of you to frighten them into eating their vegetables. If you ask, they will listen."

Bolt chuckled a little at Tetsu's dark humor. "Fine," he said, casually waving his hand. "I'll ask in the mission debriefing."

"Thank—" Tetsu said.

"—But," Bolt said, cutting him off. "You have to swear one thing to me."

Tetsu straightened and peered deep into Bolt's eyes. "Very well," the samurai spoke.

"Win," Bolt said with a small, wry grin.

* * *

Bolt gazed out over the plains, peering through the torrential rainfall. He hardly even saw or felt the rain anymore. It was simply a part of living in the Land of Rain. His brain filtered it out, allowing him to concentrate on more important things.

Like the coming battle.

The Orimura clan owned a vast estate stretching from the mountains bordering the Land of Waterfalls to the northeast. It stretched from the peaks of the mountains down to the plains that stretched toward the Hidden Rain and the massive lake that pooled in the center of the country.

And, sitting atop the mountain like an emperor on his throne, was a towering fortress of stone and metal. Inside, Bolt could see a series of ornate wooden buildings—much akin to those he had seen at the capital of the Land of Fire where the Fire Lord ruled. No doubt that was where lords and ladies of the Orimura clan held court.

With his Byakugan, Bolt could see men patrolling the ramparts with bows in their hands and quivers at their waists. Atop one of the watchtowers, a man held a pair of binoculars to his face. Bolt watched as the watchmen scoured their amassed forces, until his eyes rested upon him.

He smirked, and waved.

Bolt was rewarded with the man visibly recoiling and dropping his binoculars over the side of the castle. He laughed as the watchmen scurried off, no doubt to prattle about some impossibly far-seeing ninja—who no one would believe had the Byakugan, even if he had seen the famed all-seeing eyes of the Hyūga.

"What do you see?" Hikari asked. Tetsu loomed over the both of them, like a protective shadow.

"The intel we received is correct," Bolt stated, allowing his dōjutsu to fade. He blinked away the ache that always followed after using his eyes to gaze over such a vast distance.

"Good," Hikari said, turning on her heel and strolling back into the command tent. "We are ready," she informed Michizane and the Amekage. Both leaders of the Land of Rain loomed over a large, round table that was littered with maps and field reports.

"Excellent," the Amekage said, in a pleased tone.

Bolt could understand the woman's excitement. She was, quite literally, less than twenty-four hours away from being one of the most powerful people on the continent. The fall of the Orimura and the rise of the Sugawara would herald a new era for the Land of Rain. Their country would finally know "peace," and would enter the world stage again.

Michizane nodded to a nearby man—a runner, whose sole purpose in the battle was to ferry orders from commander to soldier. He was marked by a single dark blue strap around his forearm. Hard to see in the midst of battle, but easy to find if you knew where to look. Hopefully, it would prevent too many of them from dying. "Prepare for battle," the lord of the Sugawara clan commanded.

The runner nodded and sprinted off. Outside, Bolt could hear the sound of boots marching and mud churning and rain striking steel.

"To a glorious battle," the Amekage declared.

"Glorious, not lengthy," Michizane replied.

And wasn't that the truth. The Orimura clan numbered several thousand strong, but most of their force consisted of common men and women. They were untrained in the way of the sword, much less how to use chakra. They would die in droves. In much smaller numbers, there were ninja, samurai, and mercenaries. Even still, they amounted less than ten percent of the enemy's forces.

Against the combined might of the Sugawara clan, their allies, and the entire ninja corps of the Hidden Rain?

They stood no chance.

Bolt didn't even bother to include himself, Hikari, or Tetsu in his calculations for their odds of victory. It was simply a matter of when, not if, they emerged victorious.

Somewhere, a mighty warhorn sounded. Then the sound of boots striking earth echoed over the plains. Harukō strode out of the tent, sparing each of them a glance and a respectful nod.

Bolt followed Hikari from the tent, using chakra to stay afloat in the marsh that had formed from the mud and the marching. The battlefield had become deadly in more ways than one. Bolt couldn't imagine a worse death than being trampled underfoot and drowning in the mud and gore.

"You remember the plan, right?" Hikari asked him, her green eyes boring into his own.

"Yeah, I got it," Bolt said, weaving hand seals. "You lead the attack on the walls, I take care of the archers on the ramparts, and Tetsu looks for Gensai. Got it. Summoning Jutsu!"

A large hawk with sandy brown plumage emerged from an explosion of smoke. "Bolt," the hawk squawked. "Lord Suzaku requests your presence, whenever convenient. He wishes for more seals to be placed around the mountain."

Bolt sighed. "Alright," he said, waving the hawk off. Sometimes, he questioned whether or not it was worth it to have promised so much to the hawk clan. As he climbed aboard the beast, however, he soon remembered why.

Flying.

It was breathtaking. The hawk ascended to the heavens with a single, mighty beat of its wings. Bolt felt adrenaline course through his veins. He would never get tired of flying. It was so liberating, so exhilarating. Nothing beat the feeling of the wind in your face, the heavens overhead, and the earth and its worries far beneath your feet.

Bolt smirked as cries of alarm rang through the ramparts. An arrow hissed through the air, an ambitious and skilled archer loosing the projectile.

Bolt caught it, twirled it once with his fingers, and hurled it back in the direction it came. It missed the archer, but sunk deep into the foot of the man standing next to him.

He laughed as man started dancing in an attempt to dislodge the arrow.

* * *

Tetsu heard the cries of alarm, even from several hundred feet from the enemy's walls. There were barked orders and frenzied shouts as archers took aim and tried to shoot Bolt from the sky.

The arrows all missed. The hawk either dodged them, blew them astray, or otherwise avoided the projectiles. All the while, Hikari and him led the combined forces of the Sugawara clan and the Hidden Rain forward.

There was a mighty screech as the hawk dove. Behind it trailed a long length of parchment. Tetsu could see Bolt holding onto the end. His hands glowed with a soft, barely visible blue light as he channeled chakra into the paper. From the distance, he could barely see the streaks of gray metal rain down on the ramparts.

But he could see, and hear, the explosions that followed. Kunai with explosive tags fell like the rain.

A few elemental jutsu went up, blanketing the sky. The hawk rolled and dived, deftly evading any attempt at bringing it down. Bolt brought his summon around for another run. Tetsu could see a wisp of smoke as he conjured another scroll. He rained down more explosive tags upon the walls, clearing the archers and damaging the castle.

Then, a massive crescent of chakra soared through the sky with a rumble. It was so fast, and so powerful, that Tetsu thought the little lordling would die. But he didn't. The hawk rolled out of the way at the last possible moment, causing Bolt to drop the scroll.

Tetsu could imagine the blonde swearing profusely. He had often complained, at great length, about the cost of sealing paper. From what he understood, it was quite expensive and even more laborious to craft.

Then, his mind turned towards the source of the attack. The crescent of chakra could only be one thing: a Flash. A powerful one, at that. More powerful than even his own. There was only one man he knew of in the Land of Rain who could perform such a technique. Gensai.

Tetsu gripped the hilt of his katana so tightly his knuckles turned white and the steel groaned under his strength.

Ahead, the first wave of common warriors clashed. They charged with battle cries on their lips, their shields crashing upon each other like waves on rocks. The defenders were torn, between the enemy before them and the demon above them.

Tetsu shook his head and whispered a silent prayer to those that were about to die. They were like lambs being led to slaughter. Perhaps, on some instinctual level, they realized their doom was upon them. But they would find an honorable death on the battlefield. It was the greatest honor a warrior could receive, and Tetsu would honor many men during the next few hours.

He drew his sword and marched forward. Next to him were many men and women he had fought with during the battle for the Hidden Rain. They were grim faced and determined, but they were not afraid. They looked ahead and could see Hikari leading the charge, and above they could see the enigmatic figure of Bolt upon his summon.

Overhead, Tetsu watched as Bolt made another pass over the battlefield. This time, he spat a blade of water that dug deep into the muddy earth and cleaved steel as easily as flesh and bone. Orimura clansmen cried out, and the few who kept their heads hurled shuriken at the hawk as it passed them. The bird of prey, as nimble as ever, avoided every gleaming piece of foreign steel.

Then, Tetsu's rank was upon the battlefront. He drew his katana, a metallic ring echoing over the clang of steel crashing upon steel. A few men stopped to gaze upon him in wonder and fear. Beside him, the ninja from the Hidden Rain weaved hand seals. "Ninja Art," they called as one, they voices drowning out the dull roar of the battlefield. "Water Release: Water Formation Wall!"

A great wall of water that stood twice as tall as Tetsu himself cascaded forward. It swept forward, as unyielding as stone, and crashed into the first wave of defenders. Tetsu heard the crunch of bone turning to dust under the weight and force of the technique. It continued forward, barely slowed down by the wall of bodies before it, and bit into the ranks of their enemy.

When the water receded, nearly fifteen whole ranks of the enemy lines had been decimated. The remaining men stared with wide-eyed fear and awe at the oncoming force of ninja. Tetsu pitied them, in some small way. They had no chance. Not against the might of the entire Hidden Rain.

Tetsu drew his arm back, his grip tightening on the hilt of his katana. The blade glowed with a thin sheen of blue. He swung the sword forward, the air hissing as it was cut. A massive Flash flew forward, cutting a swathe of men down and paving a path forward. The Flash cut deep into the mud, forming a trench that muddy, bloody water pooled in. A few men fell in, their boots slipping on the gore. Their armored weighed them down, making it difficult to swim.

A few of the Rain ninja took mercy upon them, granting them swift, painless deaths. Better than drowning in the blood of your friends and allies. That would a horrible, dishonorable death. Tetsu could not abide that. As he stalked forward, he slew two men who struggled to stay afloat. Their faces were locked in a grim visage; half fearful, half relieved.

The ranks who had survived the combined water jutsu of the Hidden Rain were struggling to get to their feet and back into rank and file. A few men picked up shields, a few drew weapons and charged, a few turned and ran, and a few collapsed and weeped.

Their formation collapsed as the ninja ran forward. They offered the weakest of resistance to their charge. Tetsu cut down man after man, dying his katana crimson as he cleaved grown men in twain.

Tetsu could see Bolt atop his hawk as man and beast sent bolts of lighting into the courtyard beyond the castle walls. Every so often, another great Flash would arc into the sky. The hawk would squawk indignantly, narrowly avoiding the attack each time. Tetsu redoubled his efforts as he waded into the battlefield. He struck down man after man as he cut his way forward.

Eventually, his rank caught up to Hikari's. She was covered from head to toe in gore, and her porcelain hunter's mask was stained a pretty pink color. "What's taking him so long!" Hikari yelled, throwing a handful of needles at an enraged berserker who charged them in a last, desperate attempt to take them with him to the Pure Lands.

"Gensai!" Tetsu yelled back, bisecting three whole men at the waist with a single swing of his katana. "He's using Flash to keep Bolt from attacking!"

The treacherous dog was too much of a coward to face him on the field of battle. Instead, he hid behind his master's high walls and buzzed around them like a fly; annoying, but not harmful. Eventually, Bolt and his summon ascended skyward. Far out of reach of any jutsu, let alone arrow.

He held a single arm aloft as lightning arced up his chest and coalesced in the palm of his hand.

"Brace for impact!" Hikari shouted, her voice hoarse and commanding as it echoed across the battlefield.

Tetsu shivered as he felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. The lightning formed a whirling, rumbling sphere that was a dark gray color. Then, Bolt threw it. The jutsu soared through the air and struck the stone wall of the Orimura castle.

There was a great sound; a clap of thunder, followed by the crack of stone shattering to dust. A nova of electric blue energy exploded outward in a nova that destroyed everything in its path. Tetsu blinked away the spots in his eyes, blinded as he was by the Lightning Release: Rasengan. What remained of the wall was little more than dust and pebbles. A massive crater had destroyed near the entire southern wall and dug into the stone of the mountain for several tens of feet.

Tetsu whipped his katana forward, sending a Flash into the stupefied samurai and ninja who mulled about the courtyard. Scores died, but a few regained the bearings and leapt to safety—all but one.

One man stood his ground. He was tall, standing a full head over the tallest of his fellows. He was swarthy, and his hair was an unnatural shade of blonde. As if it was bleached to near white. He wore ornamental plate armor of an age long past, and wielded a katana in his hand and another on his hip. A scar travelled from his left brow into his hairline. It scarred his scalp and left it barren of hair. A parting gift from their last clash.

"Gensai!" Tetsu roared, brandishing his sword as he stormed the courtyard with the ninja of the Hidden Rain at his back.

Gensai just smirked as he Tetsu's Flash broke upon his blade. With a casual swipe, he dispelled the technique and sent his own back—twice as powerful. The ninja cried out in alarm, jumping to safety. But Tetsu wouldn't. He would not back down from the challenge. With a roared battle cry, he grasped the hilt of his katana with both hands and raised it above his head. He brought it down faster than the eye could follow, and cut the oncoming crescent of chakra in twain.

The Flash was severed in two, each halves parted around Tetsu harmlessly and flew out over the plains preceding the castle. The two samurai stared each other down. Gensai had a wry grin turning his dark lips upwards, as if he found his situation—and inevitable death—amusing.

Tetsu growled as memories came to him unbidden. Images of a small boy, garbed in fine silks, lying in a pool of his own blood on a floor of cold marble. He smiled brightly, if weakly, up at Tetsu. A single, lone tear left Tetsu's right eye as he kneeled over the dying form of his master. _"Tetsu,"_ the boy spoke. _"Don't mourn. You're a good person. It wasn't your fault."_

" _But it is,"_ Tetsu said, his voice hoarse. _"My sole duty in life was to protect you; to give my life, so that you may live yours."_

The boy shook his head, and Tetsu watched as his eyelids drooped and the light begin to fade. _"Then as your lord, I give you this final order: live. Live on, find a new meaning in life. Be happy. Happier than the man who knelt before me and swore his life in service to a boy he barely knew,"_ he said. _"I release you—"_

He died there, the fated last words Tetsu had agonized over died with him. Tetsu thought it odd how he could find solace and peace in serving a boy nearly eight years his junior. But children often had an innocence about them, a way of absolving those whom society could not.

Tetsu came before him a cold, heartless man whose sole skill in life was wielding a blade. He left with a thawed heart and a renewed purpose in life: kill Gensai Kawakami.

He swung his katana forth, sending another roaring Flash careening down the courtyard. Then, Tetsu sprinted forth, using the crescent of chakra as a shield. Gensai batted away the Flash with ease, and Tetsu brought his sword down upon the man with as much strength as he could muster.

Gensai was a tall man, but even his impressive stature paled before the mountain that was Tetsu. He was forced to hold the tip of his katana up with the flat of his hand to avoid being overpowered by Tetsu. Gensai shifted suddenly, causing Tetsu's katana to crash into the stonework. Gensai lashed out, striking Tetsu in the face with the pommel of his katana.

Tetsu reeled backwards, blood dribbling down his chin in rivulets where his nose had been broken. With a roar, he swung his fist at the man's exposed arm. His guard was down, but Gensai leaned out of the way. There was a great whoosh of air as a fist as large as a man's skull sailed past Gensai's chest.

Gensai spun on the heels of his boots, bringing around his katana. It hissed like an angry snake and appeared as a blur of silver as it slashed at his neck. Tetsu raised his own sword, blocking the slash with the flat of his blade. Then, Tetsu pushed forward. His superior weight and strength forced the, by comparison, smaller man backwards. Tetsu lashed out with a low kick, sweeping his opponent's legs.

Gensai simply leapt backwards, and in the same motion, sent a colossal Flash cascading towards Tetsu. It was so fast, and so close, that there wasn't enough time to dodge or block. Tetsu grit his teeth, biting his tongue, as the Flash broke upon his body. There was an explosion of light, heat, and chakra.

Tetsu could taste iron on his tongue as his chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. His armor had been mangled and torn, and his robe scorched, but he remained among the living. Training kicked in. Keep moving. Keep fighting. His teacher's grizzled visage peered down upon him; cold and harsh and as hard as steel.

With a roar, Tetsu dashed forward and lashed out. The blade of his katana was a blur as he traded slashes, stabs, parries, and blocks with Gensai. It was an impressive display of swordsmanship, the likes of which few ninja ever saw in the current day and age.

Both samurai locked swords. Sparks flew as steel grinded upon steel. "You've grown stronger, boy," Gensai spat, trying to overpower the larger man.

Tetsu didn't deign him with a response. He channeled chakra into his katana, using the Sabre Technique to change the shape of his sword. Instead of a thin katana, he now held a mighty two-handed broadsword.

Gensai mirrored his actions. His sword took the form of a long, pointed estoc. Despite its smaller size, it was stronger; more dense. It held Tetsu's larger chakra construct at bay. Gensai smirked, and withdrew his sword. "Flash!" Gensai roared, sending a wall of pure chakra slamming into Tetsu.

Tetsu enlarged the blade until it was more shield than sword, absorbing the brunt of the impact. Still, he was bodily thrown into the ranks of the fighting ninja. Then, Gensai was upon him again. A handful of ninja cried out, but were silenced by the cruel samurai's blade. Tetsu growled and began to trade strikes with him again.

A few unlucky souls strayed too close to the duel, and paid the price with their lives. Blood splashed across across both their faces, so dark as to appear ink instead of blood. Their footwork circled them back into the center of the courtyard, where Tetsu leapt backwards as his chest heaved from exertion.

Tetsu's lips twitched upwards as he saw that Gensai, too, was winded from their exchange. Both men knew they couldn't continue on for much longer. Already, the dull roar of battle around them was fading as the forces of the Hidden Rain emerged victorious.

Gensai looked around as if in a daze. Realizing he had lost, and that his life had come to an end one way or another, he spoke. "Let's end this, son of Iron," he said, sheathing his sword.

Tetsu growled and did the same. He bent his knees, and his grip on the hilt of his katana tightened. He stared into Gensai's eyes; as black as coal. As black as his heart, if the man had one at all. Today was the day he would have his vengeance, or die trying.

With unspoken agreement, both men drew their swords. "Iaidō: Flash!" Tetsu roared. A massive crescent wave of chakra thundered forward.

Beneath the roar of his technique, Tetsu heard his opponent's own voice. "Iaidō: Wind Release: Flash!"

Tetsu paled as a wave of white chakra bisected his blue own. It was as silent as Death himself as it blew forward on an unseen wind. A battle cry tore itself from Tetsu's throat as he brandished his katana. The Wind Release: Flash tore through steel as easily as paper. It cut deep into his chest before breaking upon him like the sea upon the rocks.

Tetsu fell to his knees, gasping and unthinking in a haze of pain. His sword arm trembled as he held the mangled remains of his last katana. Gensai loomed over him, his own katana brandished above his head.

Tetsu closed his eyes, and waited for his death to come.

It never did.

Tetsu gasped from the sheer effort of opening his eyes again. Gensai stood there, still looming over him, his eyes wide and bulging as he grit his teeth. As if he was unable to decide whether to deal the deathblow. As if he couldn't.

Tetsu saw an inky pattern claw its way up the man's neck from beneath his robe top. He grunted as he realized what—and more importantly, _who_ —had happened. The inky black blood wasn't blood at all.

It _was_ ink.

With great effort, Tetsu turned his head. Bolt stood there, at the edge of the clearing. His hands were contorted in the Ram seal. His face was grim, cold, and hard as he stared into Tetsu's very soul.

"You said you wouldn't interfere!" Tetsu accused. He meant for it to be a roar, but it came out as a croak.

Bolt had no such problem. "And you swore you would win!" Bolt boomed.

Tetsu felt a feeling of cold dread claw at his belly. He had not experienced the feeling in many years. The fear of failure. The fear that he had failed his master. And that was what the blonde man was, was it not? Little lordling was not a title of fondness.

Bolt darted forward in a blur of speed and slapped away Gensai's katana. He deftly caught it, and it disappeared in a wisp of smoke. He retreated and joined the tense form of Hikari, whose hands were glowing a soft green with the light of the Mystic Palm. "I won't interfere," Bolt said, as he passed. "You'll die if you don't win. You'll never have your vengeance. You'll never have your honor."

Tetsu growled and stood on shaky legs. Yes, he would win. His master had told him to live on, to find purpose. And purpose he had found. And, already, he had made another vow to that master. A vow he had so easily and readily broken.

"Seal: Release," Bolt spoke, with a smirk.

Gensai roared in fury and tackled Tetsu. The crimson-haired samurai grunted as he felt his wound sent lances of pain arcing through his body. Darkness crept upon his vision as Gensai rained fist after fist into his face.

But Tetsu was a true son of Iron. It was his name, and it was his will. And he would overcome this trial, too. Tetsu slammed his forehead into his enemy's jaw. He was rewarded with the sound of bone crunching and teeth breaking. Then, Tetsu clenched his fist and punched Gensai in the ribs with enough force to send the man flying a foot skyward. He came down hard, and Tetsu lashed out.

His arm slammed into the man's chest with a violent lariat. Tetsu wormed his way onto the darker man's back, and clenched. Gensai flailed like a fish as the choke hold constricted his neck. He sent wild elbows back into Tetsu's chest, each strike sending a splurt of blood gushing from the slash wound he had dealt Tetsu earlier. But still, Tetsu held the hold fast.

Then, Gensai slowly began to lose strength.

A dark, twisted pleasure blossomed in Tetsu's chest as he felt the man's life begin to fade. He could feel his heart slowing as its hammering stopped. And, in that moment, he felt absolved. His master had been avenged. His spirit could rest easy in the Pure Lands, and Tetsu could finally move on and join him—if he so chose. Tetsu broke into a manic grin as he felt the man's heart stop beating.

It was quite the feeling. Nothing could quite compare to physically feeling the moment a man's blood stilled in his veins as his soul departed for the Pure Lands. It was all the more sweet that it had been the blood of the man who had slew his master in cold blood.

Tetsu blinked as a worried face appeared in his vision. In the back of his mind, he recognized the porcelain hunter's mask as being Hikari's "face." Beneath her mask, he could see worried, stormy green eyes.

But hers was not the face Tetsu gazed upon. No, he gazed upon Bolt's. His blue eyes shone with something—something foreign. Pleasure? No—no, it was...

Pride.

Tetsu sighed as his world faded to black.

* * *

Bolt stood behind a great crowd of anxiously mulling men and women. They were the survivors of the war. Those who had fought for the Hidden Rain, and those who had fought to bring down the Orimura clan. At the head of the crowd stood Michizane Sugawara and Harukō the Salamander; the Rain Lord and Amekage.

Before them was an even greater crowd. Men, women, and children. Young and old. Weary and hopeful. It seemed that every person with a pair of legs had came to bear witness to this day.

And why shouldn't they? It wasn't very often one witnessed the rebirth of a nation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Michizane's voice echoed through the now repaired city of the Hidden Rain. "I come before you today as your Rain Lord. Long has our land wept, and long have we not known peace. My father did not know peace. He lived through two great wars. My grandfather did not know peace. He lived through a single great war and all the wars of the warring states before it."

"But," Harukō said, stepping forward. "Today, for the first time in a century, there is _peace_."

The crowd erupted into raucous applause and cheers. Men roared and women screamed and children giggled. Camera's flashed as reporters snapped pictures.

The Amekage rose a hand to silence the crowd. "But," she began. "Today, we know peace. The Land of Rain may weep, but its people shall no longer. You who stand before us today could be the first in your entire family line to bear witness to peace."

"And," Michizane said, stepping forward. "It is our intention that the children of tomorrow never know anything but peace. The Land of Rain moves forward. The blood that has been spilled in our land will be washed away by the rain and we will leave this dark chapter of our history behind."

"Today," both said as one. "The Land of Rain does not weep."

The crowd erupted into cheers. It was so loud that Bolt couldn't even hear himself think. He watched as people broke down and sobbed in tears of joy. Old men held ashamed hands to their eyes as they tried to stem the flow. The women were more open with their relief. The children were sullen and quiet, not understanding but knowing that something profound had happened all the same.

It was a good speech, Bolt thought. But the Land of Rain did weep. The rain continued to fall, as it did every day in the past and as it would every day until the end of time.

A small smile worked its way onto Bolt's lips. He looked to his right and saw Tetsu. He was bandaged and in pain, but he was present nonetheless. He looked to his left and saw Hikari, rain ran down her mask in small rivers.

Bolt pressed a finger to the seal on his forearm. In a wisp of smoke, he threw a length of black fabric on. It was long, the hems dragging on the ground. It was obviously made for a man larger than he was. But it would serve its purpose. Clouds as red as blood adorned the cloak every so often, giving it a grim appearance.

Beside him, Bolt heard Hikari gasp as she gripped his arm painfully tight. "What are you doing?" Hikari hissed.

"Throw me," Bolt said, his hair fading from golden blonde to vibrant orange.

"What!" Hikari demanded angrily.

"Throw me," Bolt reiterated, staring into her green eyes.

She growled angrily, like a rabid dog, but took a few steps backwards as she bent at the knees. Hikari cupped her hands, and Bolt placed one of his boots upon her palms. He could feel the chakra surge through her lithe frame as she rocketed him skyward.

So far up, Bolt could see for miles around. He could see the entirety of the dark city that was the Hidden Rain. He could see the milling crowds stretched out for miles in every direction. There were even people sitting in boats as they listened to the speech.

The entire city became as silent as the grave as they gazed skyward. Time seemed to stop for Bolt.

And, in that moment, something clicked in his mind. He had been so angry with his father, so lost on the road of life. He had no goals, no future, and no _dreams_. Bolt could imagine his father's face if he knew his son, of all people, had no dreams.

But now he had one.

Peace was a lie. A white lie, but a lie nonetheless. There was only war, and the great interlude between one war and the next. But, as he gazed down upon the tearful, hopeful masses, he realized something else. Peace was a lie, but it was a necessary one. A good one. Who was he to deny these people their brief peace? Life was so short, so dark, and so cruel. If a little lie called "peace" could lift their spirits, if even for a few short years, then that was something worth pursuing.

The Land of Rain was not the only nation who needed peace. There were others. Other nations, other people. People that he could help, just like he helped the Land of Rain.

Bolt smiled as, for the first time in nearly four years, he had purpose in life once more.

He weaved hand seals and held both arms above his head as he reached for the heavens themselves. The rain stopped, and the clouds parted, and for the first time in nearly two decades, the people of the Land of Rain laid eyes upon the light of the sun. The heavens rippled as Bolt banished the rain from the entire country.

Now, the speech was both metaphorical _and_ literal.

"Kami-sama," Bolt heard the entire city gasp as one.

Bolt smirked as darkness clouded his vision and the moment passed. He fell back into the waiting arms of Hikari. Bolt could see the conflicting emotions play out beneath her mask. He could almost see them flit across her features. Exasperation. Displeasure. Pride. And something warm he couldn't identify.

Bolt let out a small giggle as his closed his eyes.

He would lie to the entire world.

* * *

When Bolt next awoke, it was to the smell of antiseptics and the sickening _whiteness_ of hospital walls and sheets. Tetsu was there, slumbering at the foot of his bed with the hilt of his mangled sword clutched in his hand. Hikari, too, was there. But she didn't sleep. She sat in a nearby chair, watching him like a cat cornering a rat.

"What," Hikari began. "Possessed you to use _that_ technique on such a large scale? Do you understand the medical implications of chakra exhaustion? It's not just being _tired_ —it's a way for your body to tell you that you're dying. You were clinically dead for nearly a whole minute. I had to cut your ribs open and use my hands to beat your heart."

Bolt smiled sheepishly as he felt around a sore spot on his left side. "But it was worth it," he said. His voice cracked from disuse.

Hikari sighed and growled as she threw her hands up in the air. "I'm surrounded by suicidal idiots," she ranted, not so quietly. At the foot of the bed, Bolt saw Tetsu stiffen as he awoke. But, wisely, he pretended to sleep as to not draw the ire of their masked friend. "You two are going to drive me to an early grave with stress, I swear by the Sage of Six Paths."

"What do you want me to carve on your tombstone?" Bolt quipped with a boyish giggle and a wide smile.

He could see every motion as she rolled her eyes. Hikari walked over to a table at the far side of the room where she fetched a silver flask and poured it into a plastic cup. Bolt strained to see as she took out a small glass vial and emptied its contents into the cup.

Then, she presented it to him.

Bolt stiffened. "Uh, look," he began. "I'm really sorry. I promise not to do anything so reckless again. It was for the good of the people, you know? So, really, I'll do whatever it takes to get back into your good graces," he added, looking pointedly at the cup.

Hikari had the gall to laugh at him as she served him a cup of poison. "We both know that was a lie," she said, handing the cup to him. Bolt was forced to grab it, else she would have spilled it in his lap. "Just drink it."

Bolt had never known more fear than he did at that moment. He stared up at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Coward," Hikari scolded him. "It's not poison. You don't trust me, do you?"

That was all it took. Bolt leaned forward, wincing as his body protested the movement, and took a long sip. It was quite good. Sweet and fresh. It reminded him of the the sea. Heat pooled in his stomach. Bolt shook his head disbelievingly. "This has alcohol," he stated.

"It's a special wine we made back in the Land of Water," Hikari explained. "Made from fermented seaweed, actually. Oh, also, I lied. That was poison."

Bolt sputtered and coughed as he choked on the drink. He blanched bone white. But he relaxed as he saw the playful mirth dance in Hikari's green eyes. "Mithridatism," she explained. "Small, non-fatal doses to build up immunity to poisons. It's my gift to you."

"Gift?" Bolt questioned, taking another sip of the wine. It really was quite good, despite being made out of seaweed of all things.

"Happy birthday," Hikari said.

Bolt's eyes widened. He hadn't even realized the day of his birth had snuck up on him. It felt odd. Had the Hidden Cloud not attacked the Crimson Tide, he would now be leaving the mercenary company and heading back to the Leaf. Bolt had a hard time imagining what he would be doing with his life. Certainly he wouldn't have been in the far flung Land of Rain helping unite a nation that had been at war with itself for over a century.

In a way, fate had guided him on the correct path after all.

Bolt grinned like a fool.

Hikari sighed. "You're sixteen. Act like it," she scolded him, pouring him another cup of the wine. She added another dose of poison to it.

Bolt felt his cheeks flame up. The wine was deceptively sweet. He couldn't even taste the bitter bite of the alcohol. "When's your birthday?" Bolt asked.

Hikari tensed, and Bolt instantly regretted asking the question. "A few months," she said. "Why?"

Bolt shrugged and smile sadly. "Eiji and I," he said, pausing as thoughts of the late mercenary captain flitted through his addled mind. "We were planning on throwing you a party. But—but he died before he got a chance to tell me the date."

"Oh," Hikari whispered, ever so silently.

Bolt quickly realize his mistake in mentioning her dead adoptive father. So, he did what all seal masters did best: they rambled. "You'd like the gift I got you," he said proudly. "I was working on an altered storage seal for personal use that used parallel sealing arrays to store a greater number of objects per formula. Since it uses arrays to format the formula, instead of vectors, it can dynamically expand and contract based on available storage. It lessens the strain on the user and reserves as much or as little chakra as you like!"

Bolt cast a quick glance at Hikari out of the corner of her eye. By the annoyed, slightly glazed quality of her eyes, he had succeeded. Bolt grinned. "It's just a fancy way to say I made seals to store your needles in," he said. "That way you don't have to carry them around, and you can carry much more than what you can store in your pouches."

Hikari considered his words for a moment. "I'd like that," she said. "It sounds useful."

Bolt grinned as Tetsu overtly stretched and announced his presence to the two of them.

* * *

"Where is Tetsu?" Bolt asked, as he gripped the straps of his pack nervously.

"I don't know," Hikari said, rubbing the palms of her hands.

"Still hurting?" Bolt asked.

Hikari shrugged and showed him her angry, red palms. Two inky black seals were tattooed in the middle. They took on a crest of his own design; a stylized, modern whirlpool with nine arms coalescing in a single, small circle in the center. It was a combination of both his heritages: the whirlpool for his Uzumaki blood, and the central circle for his Hyūga blood—the representation of the pupil-less Byakugan.

The hands were one of the most sensitive regions of the body. Especially the palms. Bolt winced in sympathy every time he brought the needle down upon her skin. But, in the end, it was worth it. Now Hikari had an endless supply of her poisoned weapons had, quite literally, the tips of her fingers.

"Did he say anything to you?" Bolt questioned.

"Nothing," Hikari answered, as she peered out into the willowy trees upon the bank of the lake. In the distance, the Hidden Rain loomed. It was being rebuilt, but it was still a dark, foreboding city.

Bolt frowned. "I told him we were leaving today. I made it very clear he had to be here at noon," he gestured to the large willow tree behind them. It had been struck and scarred by lightning, and was a common landmark to the people of the Land of Rain. It was impossible to miss.

There was a rustling in the trees. Bolt and Hikari tensed, but relaxed as Tetsu appeared. The mountain of a main swatted away an offending branch.

Then Bolt caught sight of what the crimson-haired man was wearing. He was garbed in a ceremonial kimono with an ornate sash hung around his waist. A scabbard was held loosely by the sash, the hilt of Tetsu's mangled, ruined sword protruding. Peaking out from the folds of the robes was the ornate, golden hilt of the dagger that Bolt had prevented the man from plunging into his belly when they first met. His hair was held in a topknot, a small band of iron keeping the shoulder length crimson locks held aloft.

"Tetsu?" Bolt asked hesitantly.

Tetsu stood before them, silent and stoic. Then he kneeled, not caring as the muddy ground stained his obviously expensive robes. He bowed his head, his forehead touching the ground. "Tetsu! What are you—" Bolt shouted.

"In the name of the Sage of Six Paths, I, Tetsu Uzumaki, do hereby swear my undying loyalty to you, my lord, Bolt Uzumaki. I swear upon mine honor and blade that I shall be a faithful vassal to thee in all things in which a vassal is required to be faithful to his lord. I will defend thee, my lord, against all persons faithfully and without deceit. I give thee power over myself and my sword. I give thee my life, in service, from this breath, until my last," Tetsu spoke.

He remained there, kneeling in the mud and rain. His ceremonial robes ruined beyond repair. Bolt was too shocked to speak. He never really thought Tetsu would do something as—as whatever _this_ was.

"Get up!" Bolt barked. He wasn't a "lord" or a "master." He hated when Tetsu called him "little lordling." It left a bad taste in his mouth.

Tetsu remained kneeling in the mud. "Get up!" Bolt yelled, waving his arms in exasperation. Still, the samurai remained kneeling. "Look, I don't need a vassal. I never have. I never will. If you want to come with us—which, by the way, we already planned on—then get up and come with us as a friend. I'm not going to be your lord."

The samurai rose. "You decline, then?" Tetsu questioned.

Bolt sighed. "We are _friends_ , Tetsu," he said. "A master can't be your friend."

Tetsu looked confused. "I would very much like to think my previous master considered me his friend," the samurai said, with a soft, reminiscing look.

Bolt frowned as he considered his next words. "I didn't mean it like that, Tetsu," he said with a sigh.

"My previous master ordered me to live on; to find a new meaning in life, to find happiness. I am a samurai. It is in my blood to serve. And if I am to serve, it would bring me great happiness to serve a friend. A friend who is as powerful and as noble as you are. I do this not for honor, nor against my will. I swear myself to you because I wish to, and because I believe you will leave this world a better land than you were born into," Tetsu said, as he lowered his head to the mud again. He actually rested his forehead in the dirt as he prostrated himself before Bolt.

Bolt sighed heavily. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" Bolt questioned. Tetsu's silence was all the answer he needed. Bolt prayed he would not come to regret his decision. "Fine," he acquiesced.

Still, Tetsu remained kneeling. Bolt sighed. "I accept your oath," he tried.

Tetsu rose to his feet, and bestowed Bolt one of the few rare, genuine smiles he had ever seen the samurai wear. It was gone an instant later as Tetsu schooled his features. He straightened, not caring for his own state of dress. "Thank you, my lord," he said.

Bolt sighed. With a wave of his hand, a katana appeared in a wisp of smoke. "I can't have my _vassals_ ," Bolt said the word with distaste. "Going around unarmed. Consider it a spoil of war. And get dressed in something that isn't wet or muddy. Something light."

Tetsu took the katana hesitantly, and for a moment Bolt thought it had been the wrong thing to do. After all, it was the sword of the man who had slain his previous master. It could even be the very weapon that did the deed. But Tetsu took the blade and stowed it between his sash and waist. "Light?" Tetsu questioned.

"Light," Bolt confirmed. "After all, the Land of Wind is a _very_ warm place."

* * *

Sarada kneeled behind a large boulder as she peered down into the valley below. Her heart hammered in her chest, as it had been for the past two hours since news came back. It simply wouldn't stop hammering. Sarada rubbed at her chest, afraid that it would bruise if she couldn't get the rebellious organ under control.

She stilled.

Three figures strode through the valley below. A towering, hulking monster of a man with crimson hair. A lithe woman with a mask. And, leading them, a thin, blonde man.

Sarada's breath caught in her throat as she saw Bolt. He marched forward without a care in the world as he headed southwest towards the Land of Wind. Shikadai's intel had been good. Sarada cast a look at Inojin, who kneeled next to her. On her opposite side, Shikadai already had his hands contorted in the Rat seal. Himawari was behind them, the veins of her temple writhing and bulging as she used her dōjutsu to track their targets.

Across the valley, Sarada could spy the hiding place of Mirai, Mitsuki, and Chōchō. It would be impossible to spot without a Sharingan or Byakugan.

Sarada prayed Bolt didn't have the sudden urge to use his own dōjutsu.

Her heart beat faster and faster as Bolt and his group moved deeper into the valley. Eventually, he stepped into the shadow of a rocky crag.

Now.

"Shadow Possession complete," Shikadai grunted.

"Mind Transfer Jutsu!" Inojin barked as he stepped out from behind the boulder, his fingers contorted in the Yamanaka clan's hand seal.

"Hikari!" Sarada heard Bolt cry, as his foot fell upon the shadow that lashed out at him. She saw him stiffen as his body seized up and his mind fell under assault.

Himawari shot by him in a blur. "Eight Trigrams: Sixty-Four Palms!" Himawari shouted, the words ripped from her lips and scattered by the wind.

Sarada leapt after her, protecting her friend as she incapacitated her brother.

She barely had time to grab Himawari by the scruff of her neck as a needle pierced Bolt's neck. Then, a kunai sunk into the stone at Bolt's feet. A small ball of cloth dangling by the pommel. It exploded into a cloud of purple, noxious gas.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Last chapter was the longest one so far in the story, and sadly, it was the least popular since I started doing quicker releases. Was there anything about it that stood out negatively?

Question of the Chapter — What do you guys think the significance of the Uzumaki masks are? I've been thinking on the Uzumaki clan's history and what I'd like to do with it, but the masks have me at a loss. The only known uses are the Shinigami mask (which is another ordeal entirely...) and, possibly, the Nine Masked Beasts that Menma uses (though, they are more of a manifestation of the Dark Kurama's chakra than anything else).

By suggestion of reader RNAi-L, Lightning Release: Rasengan's dubbed name shall be Rasenshinsei (螺旋新星, "spiral nova"). I really like it. It rolls off the tongue nicely. It will be referred to as such from next chapter onward.

So, this marks the end of the Land of Rain arc! I know some people were probably wondering where I was heading with this, and this chapter really culminates in the _why_. It started with Bolt realizing the truth about war, and now he realizes the truth about peace. It also provides him with _purpose_. This also concludes Tetsu's backstory and his inclusion into the group. I know a lot of people like Hikari, and I hope that I managed to evoke some of that same fondness for Tetsu.

Enjoy the cliffhanger. I did hint Bolt would suffer in the Land of Wind.


	36. Chapter 36

"Mind Transfer Jutsu!" Inojin barked.

He felt his mind fly forward as his body went slack, like a puppet with its strings cut. In a few moments, he was standing atop a massive ocean. It was churning angrily, like a storm was brewing. The waters coalesced into a massive, raging whirlpool as the clouds darkened overhead and crackled with lightning. Thunder clapped, causing Inojin to start.

He looked around, marvelling at Bolt's mind. It was much, much different than the time he had invaded it back in the Leaf. Had he not known it was his friend's mind, he would have been hard pressed to tell that it was even the same person. Maybe his mother could, or his late grandfather, but not him.

Not only was it vastly different—it was unorthodox. Most people's minds were orderly and organized. Like the files in a computer. If you knew the correct directory to look under, you could find most information easily. Ninja were trained to order their minds differently from an early age, but even his extensive training in his clan's techniques did not prepare him for Bolt's mind.

A clap of thunder boomed overhead, and the entire ocean seemed to quake as if struck. Inojin yelped as a hand erupted from the water and gripped him by the ankle. He leapt away, but the fist held him fast. Another hand erupted, seizing the other ankle.

Then, they pulled.

Inojin had only a fleeting moment to suck in a great breath of air as he was pulled beneath the waves. Inojin gasped, bubbles of precious life-giving oxygen slipping from his lips. He blinked rapidly, his eyes smarting from the salt water. He looked around, and saw ghostly spectres of water grasping at his legs. They had no legs themselves, but they had long, scaled tails.

Inojin struggled, but no matter how much he kicked, no matter how much he flailed, he couldn't get loose. More hands grabbed at his legs and neck as more creatures materialized in the water and dragged him deeper into the depths. The light began to fade from blue, to dark blue, to blue-black.

Inojin elbowed a creature and got one arm free. He punched another in the face, and freed the other one. His lungs ached from lack of oxygen, but there was no other choice. "Water Release: Water Prison Jutsu!" Inojin barked, bubbles leaking from his lips.

All at once, the water around him surged into a protective sphere. With great effort, Inojin pushed outward and created a bubble of air beneath the ocean's crushing depths.

That was when he saw it.

A lone figure, floating in the darkness of the abyss below him. Blonde hair floated upwards like seaweed in the surf, and piercing white eyes bored into his own. Bolt had his hands contorted in the Ram seal, and the water around him pulsed with chakra.

It was a genjutsu, Inojin realized. He clasped his hands together a sent a surge of chakra coursing through his system. "Release!" Inojin intoned.

He blinked, and found himself deep within an ocean.

It didn't work.

Inojin grimaced as his lungs began to burn. He knew it wasn't real—he was in an illusion. He wasn't really drowning. He didn't even know if he could drown. He was, technically, a mental construct. He had no physical body in this place. But it felt so real.

Inojin watched as Bolt released his hand seal and reached out with splayed fingers. He formed a fist, and clenched. All around him, Inojin felt the depths of the abyss coil around him like a snake. He could just make out the form of a massive fist as it clenched.

He hastily released his jutsu before he could find out when kind of mental damage being crushed alive would inflict upon him. As his mind was catapulted upwards and out of Bolt's, he dug as much as he could. Looking for any scrap of information that could help them incapacitate their friend.

Inojin saw brief flashes of faces and whispered names. Among them, a woman called Hikari and a man called Tetsu—whom Inojin assumed were his companions. An older, crimson-haired woman and a middle-aged, swarthy man. He didn't know who either were, and he couldn't use them against Bolt. Last were two people he knew well: Sarada and Himawari.

But he already knew Bolt held a soft spot for both girls. He grunted as he felt hard, warm stone beneath him. Inojin blinked rapidly and sat up, scrambling for his scroll, brush, and ink. "Don't let him go!" Inojin yelled. "His chakra reserves are massive! Larger than anyone's I've ever seen!"

He had learned that much, at least.

Beside him, Shikadai grunted a reply. His face was drawn and tight and red. Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead and ran down the valleys of his brows.

* * *

Mirai fell upon their two targets from above. She slammed her fist into the man's jaw, and staggered backwards as she felt her knuckles bruise. It was like punching solid stone. And, for all her efforts, the mountain of a man stared down at her with a cold fury—his head quirked to the side ever so slightly.

Then events caught up with him. "My lord!" he exclaimed.

Mirai glanced over to see the retreating form of the masked woman rushing into a cloud of noxious, purple colored gas where Bolt had been standing. It was rapidly expanding, and Himawari and Sarada were forced to retreat lest they be caught in the attack.

The youngest member of the Sarutobi clan slipped into a defensive stance as her two comrades followed her lead and leapt from their hiding place above. Chōchō fell with a blubbering, feminine battle cry. Mirai was rewarded with the crimson-haired man looking skyward. She watched as his eyes widened in surprise.

Then Chōchō proved she was a true Akimichi. Her fists grew until they were larger than the swordsman was tall. Which was quite a feat, all things considering.

What Mirai wasn't expecting was for the man to raise a single arm and catch her fist. His hand curled around one finger of her hand, and then he hurled her. Chōchō yelped as she was sent rolling down the rocky stone face of the valley for several yards.

Mirai couldn't even blink before a blue blur shot by her. She saw a flash of silver and gold lash out at their target. The crimson-haired man responded with equal agility, quickly drawing one of the swords at his waist and blocking Mitsuki's legendary Sword of Kusanagi.

The two men traded rapid slashes and stabs with each other, but neither landed a strike on the other. Mirai weaved hand seals. She inhaled a great breath of air. "Fire Release: Burning Ash!" Mirai declared in a breathy tone as she exhaled.

A cloud of flammable ash and dust spewed from her lips and obscured their small battlefield. Mitsuki leapt to safety, and Mirai clicked her teeth and ignited the technique.

A massive crescent of chakra roared forth, cutting her technique in half and dissipating it harmlessly. The samurai strode forward, a wicked curved katana brandished in his right hand. He glanced at the cloud of gas and was seemingly satisfied when he saw neither Bolt nor their masked companion.

The mountain of a man peered down at Mirai and Mitsuki. His eyes travelled down to Kusanagi, where a cold gleam entered his red eyes. "This one shall be honored to cross blades with you," he spoke, bowing ever so slightly. "I am Tetsu Uzumaki."

Mirai was surprised to hear the man's surname. The Uzumaki were practically an endangered species. To find one, other than Bolt, so far from the Leaf and the Whirlpool was quite a rarity. Tetsu seemed to glare at them; waiting, watching.

Beside her, Mitsuki cleared his throat. "I am Mitsuki," he said, brandishing Kusanagi and slipping into a defense stance.

Mirai realized what the samurai wanted. Their backwards way of life be damned, they were an honorable folk. "Mirai Sarutobi," she grunted, weaving hand seals. "Summoning Jutsu! Monkey King: Enma!"

From a wisp of smoke, an ape appeared. He was more man than beast, with thick white fur coating his arms and legs. He wore a tiger's skinned hide for a shirt, and a pair of antiquated ninja pants held fast with chainmail. His hair cascaded down to the small of his back, where an agile tail flicked back and forth.

"Hoh," Enma spoke, eying the man who towered above even him. "You Sarutobi always find yourselves in the most interesting situations."

"Not now," Mirai grunted, holding out her hand. Enma nodded once, and his form fell in on itself. He took the form of a massive staff. It was made of a dark green metal akin to jade, and capped with gold. "Transformation: Adamantine Staff!" Mirai intoned, twirling the weapon deftly.

Honor satisfied, Tetsu bowed again. He then drew his sword above his head, holding it aloft with both arms. The sword glowed with a soft blue light as the samurai's Sabre Technique reinforced the blade and gave it a preternatural edge.

Mitsuki sprinted forward, and Mirai followed him. The boy's arms shot forward, stretching past a normal man's bodily limits, and Tetsu batted away Kusanagi with a casual ease. Mirai swung her clan's ancestral weapon with as much strength as her small frame could muster.

The samurai brought up his katana to block, and Mirai smirked. The Adamantine Staff of the Monkey King was no ordinary weapon. Her staff struck his sword with the weight of a mountain. Mirai was rewarded with Tetsu buckling under the sheer force of her strike. He held his free hand to the flat of his katana and locked his knees. The rock beneath his boots began to crack as she pushed harder and harder.

Then Mitsuki was back on his feet. He thrusted forward from over twenty paces away as his arm shot forward with unnatural flexibility. Mirai knew that their victory hinged on a single cut from the legendary sword. Orochimaru's progeny had coated the blade in more poisons than Sasori of the Red Sand.

With more speed than a man of his size ought to possess, the samurai lashed out and struck Mirai in the face. She felt her nose crack and staggered backwards. A moment later, Kusanagi struck Tetsu's katana in a loud, echoing clang. The samurai reached forward, gripped Mitsuki by the wrist, and hurled him.

Mirai grit her teeth as Mitsuki yelped and was bodily thrown down a nearby crag into a smaller gulley of the valley. She was on her own.

There was a gust of wind at her back. Mirai turned, so as to keep one eye on her opponent and the other behind her back. She saw the noxious cloud of gas clear, and two figures step out.

Bolt, and the masked woman.

Shikadai leapt from where he had hidden and joined Sarada and Himawari.

* * *

Sarada stared into Bolt's lavender eyes. His Byakugan bored into her Sharingan. The veins in his temples writhed unnaturally as the all-seeing eyes of the Hyūga took the battlefield in. "I should have expected this," Bolt said.

"You should have," Sarada confirmed, every muscle in her body tensing. "We've come to bring you home on orders of the Hokage, Bolt. Your father has avoided telling the rest of the Union about your defection, but he can't keep them waiting for long. You are the worst kept secret in the Hidden Leaf."

"Let him tell them, then," Bolt said, casually waving off her concerns. "I'm not going back to the Hidden Leaf."

Sarada frowned. "You have to, Bolt," she said softly. "You're powerful—too powerful. Do you know how badly you hurt Yamato? Lady Tsunade and my mother had to heal him personally. He's still in physical therapy for the damage done to him."

Bolt frowned. Sarada took that as a good sign. "What do you mean?" Bolt asked, a slight hesitance in his voice.

Sarada swallowed nervously. The tension was getting to her. She wasn't good at negotiations. "Your Gentle Fist, when augmented with the Lightning Armor, can cause permanent damage to a person's chakra pathways. By its very nature, it's classified as a kinjutsu under article five of the Union's charter. If you're declared a rogue ninja, then article one of the charter takes effect: you will be classified as an S-class criminal," Sarada said.

"You do know what happens to S-class rogue ninja, don't you?" Sarada asked.

Bolt scoffed. "Of course," he said. "I did actually pay attention in my classes at the academy."

"Then you should come home!" Sarada declared. "If you keep—keep gallivanting around, you'll be a wanted man in every nation. The Union will give the order to use lethal force."

Bolt had the audacity to actually _laugh._ "Let them try," he said. "I'm strong enough now that it would take a Kage himself to actually kill me. And even then, I'd bet on me."

Sarada shook her head. She couldn't believe how arrogant her best friend had become. That he was willing to throw away their home, their friends, and his family. Throw away _her._ All for what? A life on the run with common criminals. And he thought the Union couldn't touch him? She wouldn't let him make that mistake. If not for himself, then for Himawari. She glanced at the younger girl and found her trembling; half between rage and sorrow.

"Please, brother," Himawari begged, a slight tremble in her voice. "Come home. I don't want you to be in danger. Mom misses you. I miss you. Even dad misses you! He's been better lately, too. He promised me he would take more time off and spend it with us! Just give him a chance, please."

Bolt shook his head. "I gave him every chance. I'm not going to give him another one," he said.

Himawari looked up, sadness gone and replaced by anger. "What about mother? You promised me you would never leave me behind again? Did you lie to me?"

This time, Sarada could see the pain in Bolt's eyes. "No," he said softly. "I didn't. And I won't. Whether I had stayed in the Leaf or not, we would have been separated. I would have been promoted to chūnin and given my own missions, or joined ANBU, or maybe even became a representative of the Union. I was too strong to be a common grunt of the Leaf. We would rarely see each other."

"But," Bolt said. "Even if we rarely saw each other, I would always be your brother. I'll still always be your brother. No matter if we lived ten feet away from each other's bedrooms or ten thousand miles and five countries away. I love you."

"Why?" Himawari demanded. "Why won't you come back? You don't have to make peace with dad. Just come home, move out! Stay in that dumb hotel and join the ANBU for all I care!"

Bolt sighed. Sarada could see the weariness in his face and shoulders. "If you had told me that a few weeks ago, maybe I would have," he said. His eyes appeared distant and unfocused, as if he was reliving memories. His expression was torn between happiness and horror. Sarada did not miss the slight twitch of the eyes as he glanced at his masked companion.

"But not now?" Himawari asked tersely.

"Not now," Bolt confirmed. "I've been lost for too long, sister. I've finally found a dream. Something I can work towards with all my heart. Something that's worth sacrificing my personal happiness for."

"What dream could possibly be more important than your family?" Himawari demanded angrily as she clenched her fists.

Bolt's lavender eyes stared into her very soul. Sarada shuddered. "Peace," he said, with absolute conviction and certainty.

"Peace? What peace? We are at peace! We've been at peace since the end of the war!" Himawari yelled.

"Maybe the Union has been at peace, but the other nations and their people have not. The war ended nearly two decades ago and there are still people from the Land of Frost who have no country and no homes. The Land of Rain has been at war with itself since our father killed Pain, and _something_ has been murdering people in droves in the Land of Wind. Orochimaru's failed experiments and abominations run free in the Land of Sound to this day. The world is not at peace. It may never be. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't help," Bolt countered.

It was at that moment that Sarada realized something. Bolt had changed. He wasn't the bratty prodigy that she had known in her youth. He had matured. He shed his old flaws in the fires of battle and travel. It hadn't dawned on Sarada that the boy they had been pursuing had become a man. A man who didn't need them anymore.

It hurt.

Sarada knew that no amount of talking would ever convince Bolt to return to the Leaf. If she wanted to help him, she would have to take him by force. Sarada slipped into a defensive stance, which was almost automatically mirrored by Bolt and Hikari. Behind her, she felt Shikadai begin to plot their next moves. Himawari blinked away hot, angry unshed tears and took an aggressive Gentle Fist stance.

"It seems you understand," Bolt spoke. "Good. Let's see whose determination is stronger. Yours," he trailed off. "Or mine!"

In a flash he was upon them. He wasn't even using his Lightning Armor, but he was faster than most jōnin were. It was almost unnatural. Luckily, Himawari used her anger to fuel her speed and strength. The younger girl leapt forward and mat Bolt's thrust with a slap. Chakra arced from where their fists met, so strong that it was visible to the naked eye.

Sarada darted forward. It began to rain flashes of red light. Her Sharingan screamed at her to move; to dodge, not attack. She did so. Her eyes had never led her astray yet. As she leapt away, a barrage of needles hailed down upon where she and Shikadai had been standing not a moment earlier. The Nara was leaping backwards, deftly avoiding or deflecting any needles that came their way.

"Don't kill them!" Bolt barked, his voice echoing across the valley.

Sarada looked down. An ugly, tar colored liquid bubbled up from the rock where the needles struck. She had forgotten how terrifying it was to battle an opponent who used poisons. Sarada knew she wasn't a competent enough medic to cure any lethal toxins they were subjected to. It was only Bolt's mercy that spared them a painful death. The Hokage had been right. They were the only ones who had a chance of bringing Bolt in without heavy casualties.

"But don't be afraid to hurt them!" Bolt added.

"Yes, my lord!" Sarada heard a voice boom back, coming from the opposite side of the small valley where Mirai, Chōchō, and Mitsuki were fighting the crimson-haired samurai.

Bolt and Himawari were trading rapid Gentle Fist strikes. There simply wasn't an opportunity to join the fray. Hikari made Sarada's choice for her. The masked woman leapt at her with a growl on her lips. Both women threw their fists at each other. Sarada winced as her fist met Hikari's.

A massive whoosh of air boomed across the valley. The sheer power of their chakra enhanced strength send shockwaves through the stone, shattering the land behind them for ten feet in every direction.

A shadow lashed out from beneath Sarada's feet like an angry serpent. Hikari backed away, wisely, but Sarada wasn't going to let her retreat. She moved forward, and threw a vicious low kick forward. The masked woman evaded it, but the sheer gust of wind that followed sent her flying backwards.

Sarada weaved hand seals. "Fire Release: Fireball—"

Hikari was faster. In an instant, she wove two hand seals and spat a wall of water at Sarada. She winced as she spat a ball of fire at the oncoming water. The resulting explosion of steam scorched her flesh, coloring it an angry pink color.

The steam cleared, just in time for Sarada to grunt as Himawari was bodily thrown into her. She caught her friend on instinct as the force of the throw sent her tumbling backwards. Sarada glared up at Bolt as she jumped to her feet. "You're good, sister. But not that good. You trained with grandfather and mother. You've never been on a mission. You've never fought another man. You've never killed. You won't beat me," he said.

Himawari was on her feet as her normally pale skin turned an angry shade of red. "Did you learn this, brother?" Himawari demanded angrily. "Twin Lion Fists!"

Chakra erupted like flames around Himawari's clenched fists. It was roaring and angry, coalescing and taking the form of two great lion heads. Each had a maw of fangs, two haunting eyes, and a mane of wild chakra.

Sarada grinned as a fleeting look of surprise crossed Bolt's face. She remembered doing much the same thing the first time Himawari broke the secret technique of the Hyūga clan out during one of their spars.

Himawari sprinted forward, but stopped a full five feet from Bolt. She threw her punch all the same. The chakra construct roared forward, extending her range and covering the gap.

Bolt _caught it._ Lightning arced from his outstretched hand as he gripped the lion's skull and shattered it. Himawari's chakra sluggishly flowed back to her hands, where it coalesced into the lion again.

"Impressive," Bolt told his sister. He held out both hands in front of him, clenching and unclenching his fists. Sarada dodged a vicious haymaker from Hikari, and kicked her in the ribs for her trouble.

Then, she saw Bolt's chakra begin to coalesce over his own fists. No, that was impossible. Not without the Sharingan. The chakra formed two disfigured beasts who weren't even recognizable as the Hyūga clan's mighty lions. But they solidified and the flames of his chakra flickered like a candle in the wind. Sarada had no doubt the technique would work. Even if it looked incomplete.

Himawari was much more shaken than Sarada. Her clan's technique that she had labored over for hours and days and weeks had been copied by her brother with an almost casual ease. He saw it once, tried his hand at it, and succeeded. Like he always did.

Bolt dashed forward and threw a fist forward. Just like his sister, he skidded to a stop nearly five paces away. His chakra was thrust forward with all the strength and grace of a battering ram as it slammed into Himawari's chest. Sarada heard her gasp in pain as the wind was knocked from her chest. She was sent careening into a boulder where she cried out in pain.

Sarada growled. She wasn't going to go easy on them anymore. She sent a wide punch at Hikari. It missed, as she expected it to, but it gave her much needed room. Sarada kneeled, and peeled off the seals around her ankles and wrists. She dropped the thin sheets of parchment to the ground, where their weight shattered stone.

Sarada smirked and cracked her neck as she flexed her muscles.

* * *

Mitsuki grunted under the weight of Tetsu's downwards slash.

It should have been easy. One little cut, and the fight would be over. That was all it would take. Given the size of his enemy, mathematically speaking, it should have been easy to land a single cut with Kusanagi.

But it wasn't. The samurai towered over him, at least twice his height, and moved with a speed and agility that no creature his size should ever be able to. Chōchō threw a massive fist forward, as large as a boulder, and Mitsuki leapt away with haste. His chest heaved as he watched Tetsu slap away the legendary Adamantine Staff with a swing of his sword and rammed his shoulder into Chōchō's punch.

He was a juggernaut. Once he started fighting, you couldn't stop him. He just kept going, and going, and going. Mitsuki had overestimated his own skill in swordsmanship. He was beginning to see that the samurai was simply more skilled than him in kenjutsu and more experienced in actual combat. It was unlikely that he would manage to land a cut.

"Chōchō!" Mirai barked. "Go help Shikadai!"

Mitsuki looked over, where he had heard his three teammates fighting Bolt and Hikari. Sarada was engaging Bolt in a furious battle of speed while Himawari and Shikadai attempted to defeat the masked woman. He was surprised to see that the former hunter ninja was able to avoid a debilitating Gentle Fist strike. But, given that Bolt was her teammate, she probably had ample time to study the style.

What was truly impressive was her ability to dodge Shikadai's shadows and avoid Himawari's Gentle Fist at the same time.

"On it!" Chōchō yelled, shrinking her fist and running over to join the fray. Bolt landed a quick jab to Sarada's ribs, which she repaid with a devastating kick. Bolt dodged, but her foot collided with a boulder and reduced it to a fine dust.

That just left him and Mirai against the samurai. Great. Mitsuki weaved hand seals as he bit the sensitive flesh of his thumb. He slammed a bloody palm to the ground. "Summoning Jutsu!"

Mitsuki called forth a great, sinuous snake whose scales shone like gold. "Hold him," Mitsuki ordered as he brandished Kusanagi.

"Yes, master," the snake hissed and slithered forward with great speed. She was one of the most agile snakes whom had agreed to answer his call.

Mitsuki dashed forward as Tetsu turned away from Mirai and towards him and his summon. He lashed out with his katana, and a great crescent of chakra tore the stone asunder as it barreled towards them. Mitsuki felt his heart pound in his chest as his summon managed to slither out of the way just in time to avoid the attack. He himself dodged it with ease, and together the two of them worked to ensnare their enemy and deliver the single cut of Kusanagi that would end the fight.

The golden snake hissed and struck. Tetsu cut it in half at its midsection. Mitsuki didn't fret. The snake cast aside its severed tail and stemmed the flow of its bleeding. It continued forward, and wound up the crimson-haired man's leg and wound around his chest. She sunk her fangs into the massive biceps of his sword arm.

The arm went limp, and he dropped his katana. Mirai was already within striking distance as she swung her staff at him. Mitsuki was only a handful of paces away. He watched as Tetsu contorted his body and used his summon as a flesh shield. The staff instantly dispersed his snake and sent her back to her cavernous home. The blow softened, Tetsu rammed his shoulder into the staff and sent Mirai staggering back.

Then, Mitsuki was upon him. His arm remained limp and his sword discarded. He had him. Mitsuki brought down Kusanagi with a vicious slash. He watched as the man's remaining good arm fell to his waist and fish out a mangled sword. It had no blade, only a crossguard and a hilt, but he gripped it tightly all the same. "Iaidō: Flash," Tetsu intoned.

Mitsuki didn't even see the draw. One moment, the ruined sword was at his waist. The next, his left arm was raised over his head and the hilt pointed skyward. A crescent of chakra—much weaker than his earlier attacks—slammed into the blade of Kusanagi. Mitsuki held his sword with both hands tightly gripped around the hilt as he was bodily thrown backwards by the sheer force of the Flash.

The attack dissipated harmlessly on either side of him as he skidded to a halt. In the few meager seconds he had spent blocking the technique, the samurai had fetched his katana and had the hilt clutched between his teeth. Chakra leaked from the shards of the blade still lodged within the crossguard, forming a wicked shortsword out of the Sabre Technique. Even with no physical blade, the chakra construct would cut as surely as any steel.

Mitsuki sighed as Mirai appeared next to him, her massive staff hefted over her shoulder. Maybe she shouldn't have sent Chōchō off after all. They needed all the help they could get.

* * *

Bolt saw Chōchō sprinting across the valley towards him and Hikari. Their odds went from bad to worse as the number of opponents climbed from three to four. He was already overwhelmed by Sarada's freakish physical strength and newfound speed. Hikari was forced onto the defensive by the combined power of Shikadai's shadows and his sister's taijutsu.

Inojin was up on a craggy outcropping of rock and spewing forth inky beast after beast. They weren't dangerous on their own, but their sheer quantity made them an annoyance that Bolt simply couldn't afford.

It was time to take things seriously.

A shroud of flaming chakra consumed his body, which quickly sparked to life in an electrical storm. The world slowed to a crawl. He was back in his own little world, a world where he was king. He saw a plague of monstrous, inky rats swarm forward. Their teeth were gnarled and they bit with an audible clack of teeth.

Bolt slaughtered them. They erupted into great puddles of ink that pooled beneath their corpses like blood. Then, he turned his sights on their creator. Inojin's eyes widened as Bolt peered up at him. In a flash, he had weaved thirteen hand seals. Bolt spat a wave of water at him that slammed him against the stone and put the Yamanaka out of his hair.

He turned back to the battlefield, just in time to see Sarada deliver another freakishly powerful punch at his jaw. He leaned out of the way, allowing it to swing past him with an audible gust of wind. Hikari was nursing her dominant arm and doing her best to avoid the onslaught of Himawari, Shikadai, and Chōchō.

And she was failing. Bolt could tell she would lose if he didn't act. Maybe if she had been fighting to kill she could have won, but his heart wouldn't let him see his friends die for following orders. But, above all, he wouldn't lose here. And he couldn't let Hikari fall.

Bolt dashed forward, appearing as nothing more than an electric blue phantom as he streaked across the stone. It was an easy decision on whom he would strike first. Shikadai was the most dangerous person in the little band of ninja. His cunning mind was no doubt working overtime to develop a strategy that would see him in chains back in the Leaf.

"Shikadai!" Bolt heard Sarada cry out in warning. Her Sharingan was another problem. It had fully matured, and she had grown into its power. His speed, even with the Lightning Armor, could no longer overwhelm her so completely. Back in the Land of Waves, she had been unprepared in both body and mind. Now, she was a fully realized Uchiha with all the power and abilities that came with it.

Shikadai turned to face him, a look of weary determination in his beady black eyes. But not surprise, and not fear. Bolt was right. The Nara did have a plan. He was too dangerous to be left to his own devices. Shadows erupted from the stone and struck out at his own shadow. Bolt wouldn't make that mistake again. Before the all-seeing eyes of the Hyūga, he wouldn't be ensnared by them a second time.

Bolt felt, more than saw, something flicker around the edges of that miniscule blind spot in the back of his head. Tilting his skull slightly, it revealed to his vision Sarada throwing a single knife at him. It was a cross between a dagger and a pair of brass knuckles, and had a sealing tag flailing from its hilt. Bolt didn't have enough time to decipher its full meaning, but when he read the character for "shadow" on it he knew that it wasn't good.

He weaved to the side and raised his arms, allowing the knife to sail passed him. It sank into the stone. Bolt watched it for a few moments and found that it had done nothing. Assuming it was a Nara jutsu, it needed contact with his shadow. All he had to do was keep a watchful eye on where he stepped. Bolt turned and sprinted forward in pursuit of Shikadai again.

Only to run straight into Chōchō's inhumanly large fist. It was like running into the face of a mountain. He staggered backwards, shaken. The girl hadn't even punched him. He had just been so preoccupied with the knife that he hadn't bothered to take notice that she had laid her fist in his path.

Bolt growled, ready to met out a flurry of Gentle Fist strikes. Chōchō shrunk her arm and turned and ran. Shikadai had disappeared. That wasn't good. He needed to find him. Hikari was fine fighting against his sister, even with one arm. He needed to unblock her chakra points. Once she was at full strength, they could defeat his friends and be on their way.

Course of action decided, Bolt chased after Chōchō. The Akimichi girl was surprisingly quick for being so fat. She ran to a cliff and began to leap from rock to rock as she ascended upwards. Bolt sprinted forward, a blur of blue. He hesitated as Chōchō turned from an overweight teenage girl to an overweight teenage _giant._

She was as tall as a building and loomed over him for tens of feet. The height of the cliff only added to her already impressive stature. Bolt weaved hand seals.

Only to find that he couldn't.

Eyes bulging, Bolt looked down. He was standing in Chōchō's shadow. Heart hammering in his chest, he cast his gaze around for the culprit. He found him a moment later. Shikadai strode from a shadow atop the cliff where Chōchō was standing.

That wasn't possible. He had looked there—twice. Once when he was scanning for Shikadai, and again when he was chasing Chōchō. Bolt hadn't seen him. The Byakugan hadn't seen him. How did he evade the all-seeing eyes of the Hyūga? The Hyūga had a few seals that prevented their eyes from seeing through things, but they were only used for privacy in housing.

Unless... the Nara clan had always been secretive about their shadow techniques. Could he hide himself in shadows? Would that even affect his sight?

Bolt grit his teeth. "Shadow possession complete," Shikadai intoned, holding his hands in the Rat seal.

Bolt began to struggle with all the strength his Lightning Armor could muster. He was rewarded as Shikadai fell to one knee and his face turned beet red. "Finish him!" Shikadai yelled. "I can't hold him for long!"

Even immobilized, Bolt could still see the attack coming from behind. Sarada stepped in for Himawari in her fight with Hikari. His sister sprinted towards him, Byakugan flaring and fingers extended in an attack that would surely rob him of his chakra control.

He was going to lose. Bolt redoubled his efforts as he rebelled violently against the shadowy tendrils holding him in their grasp. Shikadai gasped as beads of sweat pooled on his forehead.

Himawari came closer, and closer, and closer. He wasn't going to break free in time. Bolt didn't know if the defensive aspect of his armor would hold up against the Gentle Fist. If his sister closed his chakra points, the armor would have nothing to emit from. She could disarm him.

Hikari was only barely holding her own against Sarada. With his armor and eyes, he could follow her almost inhuman physical strength and agility. Not as fast as him—but fast enough. He needed to break free and unblock her chakra points. He needed to—

A massive something slammed into him. It nearly ripped the wind from his lungs, but years of training and instinct kept him breathing. Bolt was bodily thrown from the shadow of Chōchō. Freed of the Nara technique, Bolt turned and prepared to end Shikadai's role in the fight.

What he saw made his blood boil. Tetsu had fled from Mirai and Mitsuki. And he had earned a sword through the shoulder for his heroics. Kusanagi was lodged in his shoulder at an awkward angle, as if Tetsu had ran into it rather than having been stabbed.

Mitsuki appeared and snagged the legendary sword from its holding place. Tetsu collapsed to his knees, and then fell to the ground. Only his Byakugan calmed the anger that threatened to overflow and consume him. He was alive. And unharmed, mostly. His eyes told him that. But there was something foreign in his body that prevented him from moving. A fast acting paralytic that affected chakra as well as the body.

What was he supposed to do? What could he do?

Mitsuki knelt and made an obvious show of providing first aid. His hand glowed a soft green as he closed the wound and stemmed the bleeding. But Tetsu did not rise.

Bolt turned and thundered towards Hikari. He couldn't save Tetsu without her help. He was upon Sarada in an instant. She turned, a look of surprise overtaking her pretty features, and Bolt flashed through eighteen of the sixty-four strikes that would end a normal ninja's control over their chakra.

He could see the pain flash across her face, followed by something very odd. Something he never saw before. He didn't like seeing it. Not on her face.

It was fear.

Why would she be afraid of him? He would never hurt her. She was his friend—Bolt looked down at his hands as she leapt away. They were coated with lightning chakra. Her words floated through his addled mind. "Permanent damage to the chakra pathways," she had said.

Guilt coursed through him for only a moment before Bolt dashed it away. He ran over to Hikari's side. In a flurry, he unblocked all thirteen chakra points that his sister had managed to close. Hikari's chest heaved from exertion and he could tell by the way she held herself that she was in pain.

"Can you still fight?" Bolt asked in a whispered tone, keeping both eyes trained on the assembled force. Inojin was down. Sarada, Mirai, and Mitsuki were sporting scrapes and bruises but otherwise unharmed. Chōchō was sweating profusely—a sure sign of waning power in the Akimichi—but otherwise fine. Shikadai, of all of them, was the most exhausted. And the most dangerous.

Hikari flicked her hand and produced two needles from the seals he had placed on the palms of her hands. She stabbed both of them into her thigh and sighed with relief. Bolt watched as her skin turned an angry shade of red. "I can now," she said through grit teeth.

"Give up, Bolt," Sarada called. "You've lost."

That was not an option. Bolt catalogued what options he actually had. He needed to give Hikari time to heal Tetsu. Once the samurai was up, they could fight together. Even his friends would have trouble against their combined might.

Bolt shared a brief look with Hikari. Both of them nodded. They did not need to speak to understand each other. Four years of teamwork born of trusting each other to have the other's back did that to a friendship.

Bolt held both hands in front of him, palms up. Chakra began to coalesce in the palms of both hands.

* * *

Sarada watched as two perfect copies of Rasengan blossomed to life in the palms of Bolt's hands. Then, before she could say a word, they shrunk to the size of a pebble. Her eyes widened as her mind flashed back to his fight with the Hokage. "Dodge!" Sarada screamed.

Bolt hurled the two spheres at them. Only a few feet after they left his hand, their forms unravelled. To everyone else they appeared to have come undone. But, to her eyes, and Himawari's, the technique continued forward. It was a deadly technique. One that couldn't be guarded against without a dōjutsu. "What?" Chōchō questioned.

Sarada realized her mistake too late. She hadn't shared her knowledge of Bolt's fight with Naruto with the rest of the team. She cursed her mistake, even as one of the spheres slammed into the giant girl's chest. Chōchō screamed, and the jutsu increasing her size faded. She crashed into the wall of the valley and fell to the ground; limp and unconscious.

Despite one of her friends falling, Sarada sighed in relief. She had expected the horror of the power Bolt unleashed upon his own father. Instead, the technique was only just powerful enough to knock Chōchō into blissful unconsciousness—not death.

There was a white blur that caused her Sharingan to scream in protest. Sarada lashed out on instinct. She was batted away by Hikari, who continued forward and past her. Sarada turned, torn between fighting her and fighting Bolt.

She chose Bolt.

That was the wrong choice. From behind her, she heard the sickening sound of bone shattering. She turned, and saw Hikari had punched Mirai's staff. Every bone in the masked woman's arm had broken, but she sent Mirai crashing into a nearby boulder. Then, Hikari rammed her knee into the woman's gut. Mirai dropped her staff, and it changed into the form of Enma. The monkey king had only a moment to charge Hikari before his summoner fell unconscious and the bonds tethering him were cut. He disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

Then, Sarada had bigger problems. Bolt was trying his damned hardest to block more of her chakra points. She could already feel her chakra control slipping—a crippling wound in one who used their chakra control to augment their strength and speed as much as she did.

Himawari joined the fray. Sarada sighed in relief as she changed between fending off Bolt, and unblocking her chakra points. Together, the two of them managed to keep him busy. That's all they had to do. Once Shikadai had recovered, they could try to ensnare him again.

Bolt sent a high kick at her head. Unexpected. But not unavoidable. Sarada dodged. Bolt swung his leg around, pivoting on the ball of his foot. When he was facing them again, it was with a Rasengan clutched in the palm of his hand. Sarada leapt out of the way, watching as Himawari mirrored her actions. Bolt's attack missed them, but Sarada felt the wind whirl as he passed.

And he kept going. "Watch out!" Sarada barked, knees bent as she prepared to run after Bolt.

He skidded to a stop ahead of her, and hurled his Rasengan again. This time, there was no dōjutsu to save her friends. Shikadai was running, but he wasn't fast enough. He was tired. He had been forced to hold Bolt's immense strength—not just once, but twice. The Rasengan whirled forward, invisible, and slammed into the Nara. He gasped in pain and joined his teammate in unconsciousness.

Bolt turned to face her, and Sarada growled as she saw the pleased grin on his lips. Now, it was down to her, Himawari, and Mitsuki. Their friends had fallen, one by one.

Himawari screamed in fury, surprising Sarada for a moment. It was out of character. She cupped her hands, and her own Rasengan whirred to life. "You're not the only one who can use grandfather's jutsu, brother!" Himawari yelled as she sprinted forward.

Bolt dodged using his preternatural enhanced speed. Sarada couldn't help a strangled chuckle escape from her lips as Himawari copied her brother's feint. She kept going, sprinting over to where Mitsuki was fighting Hikari over the fallen body of Tetsu.

Sarada leapt at Bolt, and saw the exact moment he realized his mistake. "Hikari!" Bolt screamed in panic.

He was too late.

Himawari shoved the whirling sphere of chakra into the masked woman's back. She crushed her into a cliff and only released the technique once she was sure that the former hunter ninja wouldn't be getting back up.

Bolt was so distracted, Sarada actually landed a punch. Her eyes widened in surprise, not actually expecting for the hit to connect. If she had thought Hikari's defeat would throw his concentration off that much, she would have put more strength into it. He staggered backwards, eyes wide.

Then he was back in the game, and his eyes were hard and sharp and cold.

Mitsuki walked over to join the two of them, breathing heavily from exertion.

"Give up. Please, Bolt," Mitsuki asked with a calmness that belied his exhaustion.

By the way Bolt's fist crackled with lightning, his answer was a resounding "fuck you."

Mitsuki sighed. "I didn't want to have to do this," he spoke sadly. "But, as your friend, know that I do this for your benefit."

Sarada watched as an inky blackness leaked from her friend's eyes, spreading across his face like cracked glass. Chakra surrounded his body like a fire, forming into two incorporeal snakes. From his forehead, a great horn grew forth. She winced as it broke the skin and blood ran down the valley of his nose and eyes.

"Sage Transformation," Mitsuki intoned, clenching his fists. As he did so, the incorporeal chakra serpents reared their ugly heads.

Sarada grinned as her friend brought forth his most powerful technique in his arsenal of jutsu. That was when she realized something.

They were going to win.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins as Sarada saw the end of the battle in sight.

* * *

Bolt felt, for the first time in a long time, fear claw at his heart. Mitsuki was a Sage. His father was a Sage. Nagato had written that his teacher was a Sage. Victory was a dwindling goal far in the distance, and it got ever farther. What could he do to defeat a Sage whilst avoiding two other immensely powerful opponents?

Nothing.

Nothing that wouldn't kill them. Bolt would rather be defeated a thousand times before he would ever consent to killing his sister—let alone his best friends.

Then, three of the most important people in his life were attacking him. They moved as one, with a cohesion born of years of shared training and hardship. Mitsuki swung his fist at his jaw. Bolt moved out of the way.

But something was wrong. The chakra of the world was all wrong. His Byakugan could see it. Like a curtain blowing in the wind. It was moving. It was a disconcerting feeling. The world of monochrome blue fire that his dōjutsu saw was not as it should be.

Bolt felt the punch connect. It was heavy, with the strength of ten men behind it. It felt like Sarada had just hooked him with her most powerful punch. Then one of the spectral serpents slammed into his chest like a whip. Only his armor kept his ribs from breaking, he was sure. Bolt slapped away a barrage of Gentle Fist strikes from his sister, only to be kicked in the thigh by Sarada.

He winced as he was brought to his knees by the low kick. Then Mitsuki punched him, again, and he had no chance of dodging. His fist, augmented by natural energy, slammed into his jaw. Even through his armor, Bolt saw stars as darkness crept into his vision.

He couldn't lose. He wouldn't lose. There had to be something he could—something other than the Lightning Release: Rasengan. He could barely keep himself alive using the technique. He wasn't going to risk his friends lives using it. Something, something, some—

Bolt's eyes fell on his discarded travelling pack. Yes, something.

He bit his tongue, using the pain to focus. He sprinted away from his friends—no, his enemies—and scooped up the leather pack. He tore it open and shoved his hands into its compartments, desperately searching for the flash of metal he knew was in there somewhere. Bolt was keenly aware of the sounds of his friend's boots pounding on stone as they chased after him.

Bolt felt the cold of steel run up the tip of his finger. He clutched a length of fabric and tore it free. In his hand, he held his Hidden Whirlpool headband. His scratched Leaf headband was safely sealed away, but he kept his ancestral clan's one close in case he had need of it.

Like, for instance, right now.

He tore the length of black fabric from the scrap of metal. There, on the back was a single seal. Just like the note the Amekage wrote him said it would be. _"When your life's in danger, channel your chakra into the seal,"_ he could hear the head of the Uzumaki clan say.

Bolt gripped the cold metal in the palm of his hand and grit his teeth. He pumped as much chakra and sheer will into the small seal as he possibly could.

Mitsuki was upon him. His arm was drawn back, fist clenched, and one of his spectral serpents coiled around his arm. Bolt knew it was the finishing blow.

The emblem of the Hidden Whirlpool glowed. From it, a single spearhead erupted. It shot forward, dragging a wicked, spiked chain behind it. It was spectral; half corporeal, half incorporeal, and was a pretty shade of pale lavender—just like the Byakugan.

The chain pierced Mitsuki's chest, erupting from his back, and then wrapped around his body. In that moment, as his friend's body shifted back to his normal appearance, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Sarada and his sister were shocked into disbelief, and in their moment of weakness, Bolt dashed forward. He quickly flashed through all sixty-four strikes and blocked all major chakra points in Mitsuki's pathways. He was down for the count. Even if Himawari unblocked them, he would be unable to mold chakra for some time.

Now, it was more even. Two against one. Bolt could work with that. He was better than his sister; stronger, faster, more talented, more experienced. He would defeat her first, then move on to the more difficult opponent: Sarada.

Bolt dropped the plate of steel to the ground and the chain faded to nothingness. He vowed, then and there, to throw himself head first into completing his sealing jutsu training. He'd go back to the Hidden Whirlpool if he had to. The ultimate sealing jutsu of his clan had defeated a Sage in a single blow.

Bolt grinned as his sister and Sarada frowned and slipped back into defensive stances.

* * *

Sarada didn't know what happened—only that it was bad. With Sage Transformation, Mitsuki was more powerful than even she was. And Bolt used only a single jutsu to take him down. Luckily, it seemed he could only use it once. He had discarded the headplate immediately after taking down Mitsuki.

Lightning crackled around her friend's body as he locked eyes with her. Doubt began to claw at Sarada's mind. She had been so sure of her victory before. Now, she didn't know if they would emerge victorious or taste bitter defeat.

Bolt turned and leveled a glare at Himawari. Sarada leapt into action as Bolt shot forward. Her strength was waning. She didn't know how Lee and his father could possibly keep up their inhuman strength and speed for so long. Their bodies had to be different on a genetic level; perhaps an unrecognized bloodline?

Himawari traded Gentle Fist strikes with her brother and Sarada tried to jump between the two of them as often as possible. Every punch she threw, Bolt dodged. Every kick she lashed out with, he dodged.

Sarada grunted as she felt Bolt's boot connect with her sternum. She was sent bodily tumbling over rough, jagged stone. When she rolled to a stop, her head snapped up. Bolt had his sister trapped; pinned between a cliff, two boulders, and himself. She had nowhere to go. "I'm sorry, sister. I love you," he said, ever so softly.

"Eight Trigrams! Sixty-Four Palms!" Himawari barked out, not going down without a fight.

"Eight Trigrams! One Hundred Twenty-Eight Palms!" Bolt called in response.

Sarada was helpless. She watched as Bolt overpowered his sister's technique with his own. He closed her chakra points, and she collapsed from exhaustion and pain.

It was down to her, and her alone. And, in her heart, doubt clawed at her. Sarada was afraid. Not of Bolt, but of losing. Of failing her first mission, but more importantly, failing the subject of that mission. If she lost, Bolt would have a bleak future and a short life.

That was something Sarada could not allow.

She raised her head as Bolt stalked toward her, his chin held high and his eyes cold.

It would probably destroy her friendship with him. Sarada knew it. It would definitely destroy any chance she had at having her fledgling feelings that had been growing since childhood returned. She knew that, too. But, if it saved his life, then that was a price Sarada was willing to pay.

Her Sharingan met his Byakugan, and for the first time, she cast a genjutsu on Bolt.

Through her dōjutsu, Sarada could see everything as it unfolded. Her breath caught in her chest as Bolt stilled for a moment. She thought he would cast off the illusion then and there. It had been a stupid thing to try. The Hyūga's control of their chakra pathways were unnaturally precise. He had noticed her tampering.

But then Bolt shook his head, and kept walking. Sarada couldn't believe it. He was too exhausted and too drained to notice the genjutsu. She swallowed hard as the illusion advanced to the next step.

Lightning coalesced in the palm of Bolt's hand. It was a technique she knew well. Chidori. "Let's end this," Bolt said with a weary sigh.

Sarada—or, rather, her illusory phantom—growled in response. She kneeled, and her own Chidori sparked to life. The two of them charged each other. Sarada watched as her phantom shoved her fist into Bolt's chest, only for his armor to hold fast. Then, he reached out and shoved his fist through her chest.

Sarada couldn't believe her friend's brutality—and, apparently, neither could he. Bolt staggered backwards as her lifeless phantom fell to the ground. Blood rapidly pooled under her body, and she made ragged, choking noises.

"No. No, no, no, no," Sarada heard Bolt utter under his breath, over and over like a prayer. He was staring at his bloodied hands in disbelief.

He walked over to her dying, prone form with unsteady legs. Sarada watched in terrified, horrified fascination. This was Bolt's innermost fear? Sarada looked down, and her phantom had changed appearances. She now wore a set of armor, including a crude helmet with a demonic mask. And they weren't in a valley anymore. They were on some sort of gruesome, bloody battlefield that was decorated with gore. It made Sarada's stomach churn.

Sarada watched as Bolt bent down and ever so carefully unclasped her mask from the helmet. It was a woman's face, but not one that she recognized. She was pretty, in a way, Sarada supposed. Pale skin and sea-green eyes with inky black hair. "Hikari?" Bolt croaked, now staggering backwards. Unshed tears pooled in his eyes. His armor evaporated into flickering flames of chakra that quickly burned themselves out.

Then he screamed. It was full of pain and heartbreak and sorrow. Full of sadness for things that could be and things that never would be again. The tears flowed down his cheeks in great rivers and he tore at his hair. Sarada could see bloody chunks of his scalp come away as he struck himself over and over.

In that moment, Sarada knew she had won. Her heart broke, at dealing her friend so much pain. But it would spare him from a lifetime of misery, so she pressed onward. Sarada shot forward, and struck Bolt clean in the chest with all the strength she could muster.

Bolt crashed into a stony cliff with enough force to bring the rock tumbling down atop him.

She had won.

Sarada fell to her knees, chest heaving from exhaustion as the adrenaline coursing through her veins began to ebb. She had to get up. She needed to secure Hikari and Tetsu, and then make sure her friends were all okay. It was going to be a long journey back to the Leaf, and she would need Shikadai's genius in order to develop a method of safely transporting three immensely powerful prisoners.

She turned, and began to walk towards the prone form of Tetsu.

That was when every hair on her body stood on end. Sarada shivered from head-to-toe. Her well-combed hair was frazzled and in disarray, and the hairs on her arms and legs were standing nearly perfectly vertically.

Sarada turned, already knowing what she would find but dreading it all the same.

There an explosion of light as Bolt burst forth from his rocky tomb. His armor was back—stronger than ever. His blonde hair stood on end as electricity arced up and down his entire body. His chakra scars, so reminiscent of whiskers that she had teased him about in their childhood, were inflamed and darkened. It gave him a wild and feral appearance.

Bolt growled like a rabid dog, and Sarada could see the rage and hate in his Byakugan.

Sarada didn't even blink—he was just gone. There was no warning. No blur of blue nor flash of red light as her Sharingan warned her of an approaching attack. Bolt was simply there, and then he wasn't.

And, for a brief moment, Sarada thought she was in a genjutsu.

That was when the pain came. All at once, she felt every pore in her body cry out in agony as she felt a single hand lightly touch her shoulder. Raw lightning coursed through her body as she was electrocuted. Where Bolt's hand rested, her shirt caught fire and her skin beneath his palm charred.

Sarada collapsed to her knees, and fell onto her back. She stared up at the sky with a dazed, pained expression.

Bolt loomed over her, like an executioner with his axe.

* * *

Bolt stared down at the girl he had known since childhood. She was his friend, but also more than that. She was his _first_ friend, and he'd entertained a small crush on her since their days in the academy.

But even reminding himself of that, he couldn't extinguish the fires of anger that were scorching him from the inside out. She had used a genjutsu on him—trapped him in the throes of the nightmares that even today still haunted his dreams at night. And he cursed himself even more than her. He felt the genjutsu ensnare his mind and bewitch his senses. But he ignored it. Ignored his instincts.

And now, for the rest of his days, he would have to live with the image of reliving that hellish battlefield in the Battle of Fort Sugawara. Only, this time, it culminated with not killing his sister—but Hikari.

He locked eyes with Sarada, and for a time the only thing that the two of them saw was the emotions reflected in the other's eyes.

They were interrupted by a groan. Himawari, against all odds, stood up. She had a will of iron, bolt supposed, just like he did. He watched as she limped forward, favoring her right leg. "Brother," she rasped. "Don't do it. Please. Come home with me."

"No," Bolt spoke. He was surprised by his voice. It was hardly recognizable as his own. It was as hard as steel and cold as ice. Yet it burned with a righteous anger that he had never heard before—not in his own voice, and not in another's.

Himawari growled, and Bolt felt his respect for his sister climb. Even defeated, battered, and bereft of her chakra, she was still a fighter. She lunged forward—more of a fall, really—and Bolt felt his body move more than he controlled it.

He grabbed her by the wrist and hurled her into the ground next to Sarada. He allowed his Lightning Armor to fade. Instantly, he felt a wave of exhaustion slam into him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The second level of activation took more out of him than he thought he could endure.

It was a miracle he had even activated it at all. Only his rage had allowed him to endure the lightning coursing through his body.

Now, the question was, what to do with them?

* * *

Sarada stared into Bolt's eyes as he glared down at her and his sister. The girl whimpered in pain next to her. Sarada watched as something horribly broken and pained was reflected in those blue eyes.

"I can't have you two coming after me," Bolt spoke, after a time. "But I know you. You'll keep coming. Because I'm your friend, your brother, or the son of your Hokage."

His eyes shifted and warped. From broken and pained to cold and full of a dark glee. Sarada felt real fear claw at her from the inside. "You can't make me stop," Himawari spat defiantly.

Bolt chuckled. It was dark and throaty and tinged with a hint of madness that sent shivers down Sarada's spine. "That," he said. "Is where you are wrong, dear sister. I can. And I will."

He circled them like a vulture. "You said that my Gentle Fist, when combined with my Lightning Armor, causes permanent damage to a person's chakra pathways," he said, looming over them. Bolt smirked as his armor sparked back to life. "Then I'll close every chakra point in your bodies," he hissed. "Again, and again, and again!"

Sarada couldn't believe this was Bolt. It couldn't be. She knew him better than anyone. She knew there wasn't anyone this twisted and cruel inside him. His armor faded. "But that would be too cruel, even for me," Bolt said, coming to a stop beside her. He kneeled, and peered into her eyes.

"I've been practicing a new seal," he said, almost conversationally. "But it's difficult to master. Especially with no one to test it on..." Bolt trailed off.

Sarada's heart began to flutter in her chest as a grin bared his canines. "I think you two will be my first test subjects," Bolt said, as he kneeled.

Sarada watched as he began to weave a long series of hand seals. He continued on, minute after minute, until he came to the end of the chain. A flame of dark, inky black chakra blossomed at the tip of his index finger. "This will hurt," he warned. "A lot. Consider it punishment for what you inflicted on me."

With his free hand, Bolt pulled down the collar of her shirt. His finger loomed over her pale skin, and Sarada tried desperately to wriggle free of his grasp. "Cursed Seal of Obedience," Bolt intoned, and he pressed the flame of chakra to her neck.

Sarada screamed.

* * *

Bolt marched on. His mind was muddled and in a daze. Stone gave way to sand, and he trudged through it even as he sank up to his knees. On his back, he carried Tetsu over one shoulder and Hikari over the other.

In his addled state of mind, he laughed. He probably looked comical. Wandering through the desert with a man as large as a boulder thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Bolt sank to his knees.

He couldn't go on.

The battle, the second level of the Lightning Armor, and the two seals on Sarada and his sister had drained him of everything he had. Hikari would lecture him about the dangers of chakra exhaustion and he would wave her off.

Maybe next time he would listen to her.

Bolt stared up at the peak of a dune. A camel crested it, snorting as it reared its ugly head

He laughed one last time, and fell flat on his face as darkness took him.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Next chapter is Leaf centric! If you have requests for character appearances, now is the time to ask for them! Planned: Naruto, Hinata, Kakashi, Sakura, and Tsunade. I was extra inspired to write this chapter, as I know it was cruel to leave you guys hanging like that. 11k+ words in 2 days! Next chapter _officially_ wraps up the Land of Rain arc, and then we transition into the Land of Wind arc.

Since it's a common "issue" with Bolt's character, here is my reasoning with why he appears to rely on Hikari's healing so much. Strength is, as has been proven time and time again, inproportional to caution. The stronger someone is, the more likely they are to throw themselves head first into danger. Bolt doesn't get into the situations he does because he has Hikari, he does it because he thinks he is the best. There was a reason that the god-like Madara Uchiha was defeated not by Naruto or Sasuke in a duel, but by Zetsu stabbing him in the back. He was so powerful he never even considered he would be defeated outside of combat. It literally did not even cross his mind. He thought it was an impossibility, and so he never guarded against it. Hikari, in fact, points this out in chapter 34 I believe.

A reader asked me why I had Tetsu (and some other characters) swear by or in the name of the Sage of Six Paths, considering that many characters in canon did not know of him or thought of him as a myth. The answer is that it is part of the expansion on religion in the world, which will be expanded upon more directly in the upcoming arc—albeit minorly.

Also, reminder! This story is AU, and Mirai is the teacher of the new generation of Ino-Shika-Chō. As she should have been...

Answers to guest reviewers (you guys should make accounts!):

Guest (chapter 35) — Bolt doesn't know Rasenshuriken. Naruto (mistakenly) called his Vanishing Rasengan that, because it was what he thought it looked like. I've done well, in my opinion, in balancing power vs. time invested in gaining that power. Bolt made a highly unstable, highly dangerous version of the Lightning Armor in however many days I had him training with Eiji. He then spent the next **four years** developing it to a level that was recognizable as the technique of the Raikage. He most certainly wasn't "handed" his power. He _worked_ for it. No mystical figure came down from the heavens and gave him his power, no mythical being sealed in his belly rolled over on its back and gave him his power, his eyes didn't unlock a mystical power beyond their own biological functions. He worked for everything he's gained so far. And he will continue to do so.

Thoughtful — In my own personal headcanon, healing jutsu make it so that all but the most serious of injuries aren't crippling. Nothing he has suffered yet has been a crippling injury. Organ destruction, severed limbs, extreme destruction on the cellular level, genjutsu/mental injuries, and chakra exhaustion are, in my mind, the number one killers of ninja. Anything else can be healed, in time.

Guest (chapter 34) — Bolt hasn't fought anyone with Wind Release, to my knowledge... maybe I made a slip somewhere. He is _definitely_ weak to Wind Release. Stay tuned for more on that subject.


	37. Chapter 37

The first thing Sarada noticed was the smell.

It was the sharp bite of antiseptic that irritated her nose and threatened to make her sneeze. Groaning, she cracked a single eye. Sarada winced as a harsh, white light blinded her. Blinking rapidly, unshed tears pooled in her eyes.

"She's waking up," a voice said.

"Out of my way!" Sarada heard her mother yell. Despite herself, she smiled.

With great effort, she turned her head. With what strength she had, Sarada held her eyes open and was rewarded with the sight of her mother looming over her with worried, tearful green eyes. She sniffed, and deftly hid a lock of pink hair behind her ear. "Hey," her mother said softly. "How do you feel?"

Sarada blinked. How did she feel? It was hard to describe. Her body ached in places she didn't know she had. Her mind felt muddled and warm. Her stomach was devoid of its contents, but strangely, she didn't feel hungry. But her tongue. Her tongue was the worst. It was dry and sore and cracked. "Thirsty," she croaked.

Sakura nodded deftly and quickly stood. When she reappeared, she had a small plastic cup clutched between her hands. "Here," her mother said, as her hands glowed with a soft blue light. She held them over the cup, and siphoned a globe of water upwards before directing it to her lips.

Sarada sighed in relief as the cool liquid ran down her throat and eased her discomfort. Swallowing, she asked _the question_. "Where am I?"

Sakura smiled sweetly at her, and it made Sarada's heart clench painfully. It was a look full of pity and pain. But, worst of all, it was filled with something she didn't want to see— _understanding_. "You're in the Leaf," her mother answered softly. "Inojin brought your team back five days ago."

Cold dread filled Sarada. She had failed. Worse still, she had been brought back to the Leaf as a failure. Her mother seemed to be able to read her like a book, for she frowned and lines creased her brows in worry. "Why was I asleep for so long?" Sarada asked, before her mother could attempt to console her.

"I think I should be the one to answer that," a voice spoke. A head of silver hair filled her vision as a man every man, woman, and child knew the face of appeared behind her mother. Kakashi Hatake; the Sixth Hokage. "But it would be better to answer that after your friend has awakened," he added, smiling pleasantly.

Kakashi nodded to her opposite side, and reluctantly, Sarada shifted her head. Himawari was slumbering peacefully in a bed next to her, with her mother and father nervously fretting nearby. Lady Tsunade ran her hands over her prone form; her hands glowing with a soft green light.

After a few moments, Himawari blinked. Sarada could see the confusion and pain on her friend's face. She knew the feeling intimately. She herself had just experienced it. The Hokage and his wife fawned over their daughter, just like her own mother had just done. The distinct lack of a father, however, made her heart flutter. Not for the first time, Sarada wished now more than ever that her father would come home. Maybe he would know the solution to her dilemma? He had been Bolt's master—for however brief of a duration.

Sarada could see it in Himawari's eyes. The exact moment she realized the same thing she already did.

They had failed.

Tears pooled in her friend's eyes. The Seventh began to panic, and flailed his arms as his expression morphed into something impish and foolish. He prattled about promises of ramen and piggyback rides. Sarada giggled, and hissed as pain lanced through her.

It was kind of funny, how little parents knew about their children.

Kakashi coughed loudly, silencing the room. "You did call me out of retirement for this, Naruto," he said.

The Hokage laughed nervously and scratched at the back of his head like an embarrassed fool. "Now," Kakashi said. "I need to explain some things to the two of you," he said, motioning with a single finger between her and Himawari. Sarada swallowed nervously.

"What do you remember before you fell unconscious?" Kakashi asked.

Sarada heard a strangled sob, and, to the man's credit, Kakashi looked guilty for having asked the question. "I remember," Sarada trailed off. Bolt. The pain. The _seal._ Her hand trailed up to her neck, where it felt like she had been branded.

"Good," Kakashi said. Sarada looked up and saw that Himawari had mirrored her gesture. "You've had a Cursed Seal placed on you," he said, without preamble.

The silence was deafening.

"When you were admitted to the hospital, I was called in by the Hokage as the most skilled seal master the Leaf had," he explained. "I've attempted to remove your seals, several times. As of yet, I've been unable to."

Sarada nodded numbly as the memories of their battle flashed in her mind. "Now," Kakashi said, drawing her out of her reverie. "I need you to tell me as much of what lead up to the sealing as possible. In as much detail was possible."

Sarada's mind drew a blank. She remembered Bolt kneeling. Remembered him weaving a long chain of hand seals. But she had been too focussed on the emotions in his eyes to memorize them. But she did remember the name. "He—he said it was the Cursed Seal of Obedience," she finally managed to say.

A dark expression flashed over Kakashi's face, and for a moment, Sarada felt her pulse spike. Then, it passed. "I've placed a counter-seal around the original," Kakashi explained. "It limits its power and influence over you."

"What does it do?" Himawari spoke up.

"Well," Kakashi said, smiling. "It's a little complicated, but the basis is that it contains and filters any chakra tained by the original seal—"

"Not that," Himawari cut him off. "What does the original seal do?"

Sarada could practically see the frown beneath the man's mask. "We don't know," he answered darkly. "But we should know soon. There is a video call later this afternoon with the Uzukage. That's why we woke you up. We need you to be present to answer any questions she has."

Sarada nodded numbly. That they didn't know what the seal placed on her did was disconcerting. The fact that the Sixth hokage didn't know was doubly so. The fact that they were forced to call upon the _Uzukage,_ the most powerful master of seals alive, was terrifying.

Kakashi nodded stiffly. "We'll let you rest," he said, waving everyone out of the room. Even their parents. "I'll return in an hour to take you to the meeting," he promised.

With barely a word, the room emptied. Then there was only a tense silence that was louder than words.

* * *

Mitsuki stared out the window of his hospital room and up into the night sky. Stars twinkled in familiar constellations; a far cry from the every changing heavens the further they ventured towards the Land of Wind. Despite himself, he had missed the Hidden Leaf.

It had grown to become his home. When he left his father and brother behind, he had been determined to make his own way in life. Determined to learn right from wrong; justice from vengeance. The Leaf had been the only place he could go. He had worried needlessly over his place in the village until he met Bolt and Sarada. Since then, he had felt at home. At peace.

But now, a piece of that home was missing. Forever torn from him, and by its own will no less. In some small, dark part of him, Mitsuki respected Bolt. He had a will of steel that was unbending and unbreaking. Bolt's father had wronged him, much like his own father had wronged him, and he was not above airing his grievances with the man. Even if it meant abandoning his friends. His home. His family. The only life he had ever known.

Mitsuki wasn't like Bolt. He had ran away. He just accepted that he and his father would always have a strenuous relationship at best. Orochimaru was a dangerous man. No one ever really knew what the snake was thinking. Not even his own sons. Mitsuki felt a cold chill crawl down his spine as he recalled the genjutsu Sarada had placed him under.

He desperately prayed to what gods may be that his father was not raising him to be his next vessel. Waiting for him to mature and ripen, like some sort of fruit.

But Bolt. Bolt was different. He didn't just run away from his problems. If he thought you wronged him, he wasn't afraid of punching you in the face and letting you know.

Mitsuki frowned. He was nothing like Bolt.

A dark, eerie chuckling echoed through the silence of the night.

Mitsuki stiffened. From a shadowy corner of the room, two yellow, slitted eyes opened. He swallowed nervously, and reached for the first thing he found to defend himself with: a vase of wilted, dying flowers.

"No need for that, my son," Orochimaru said, stepping forward into the moonlight.

"What are you doing here, father?" Mitsuki demanded, his hand reaching for the call button that would have a nurse in his room in a matter of moments. "You're not allowed in the Leaf."

Orochimaru chuckled. "I'm one of the legendary Sannin, boy. With my skill and power, infiltrating this village is child's play," he answered.

"You didn't answer my question," Mitsuki pointed out, his hand ever reaching closer for the call button on his bed.

Suddenly, a snake slithered from between the sheets of his bed and bit him on the hand. Mitsuki hissed and withdrew his fingers from the serpent before it could strike again. Orochimaru laughed darkly, as if he was amused that his son thought he could escape from him by summoning a nurse.

"It's quite simple, really," Orochimaru spoke, recalling the snake that had bit him. He paused, and for a moment, Mitsuki saw his near permanent sneer fall from his father's face. It was disturbing. He saw a fleeting expression of—of, concern? Then, as soon as it left, the sneer returned. As if he was looking down upon the entire world. "I heard my son was in the hospital. Isn't that enough of a reason for any father to visit their child?"

Mitsuki smirked. The way his father spoke made it seem as if he was telling a clever joke. But his previous, fleeting facial expression betrayed his true thoughts. In some small way, he was worried about him. It was immensely gratifying.

Orochimaru quickly realized his mistake and pushed on. "I heard your little Uzumaki friend was the one responsible," he said. "Truly, the Hokage is an inept fool to allow a Byakugan to roam freely outside of the Leaf's walls. If you would like, I could have some of my agents hunt him down."

Mitsuki stilled at the look of dark glee that filled his father's eyes. "The Hyūga have been so very, very careful with their eyes. Even I have not been able to secure a pair to experiment on. Who knows what secrets are hidden in those eyes? Is there a higher level of activation in them, similar to the Mangekyō? It would be so easy—"

"No," Mitsuki stated with a cold finality. "You won't touch Bolt. You won't send your agents after him. You won't even monitor his location," he commanded.

Mitsuki wouldn't even let his father think of using Bolt as an experiment. It was unfathomable.

Orochimaru chuckled. "Very well," he rasped, slipping back into the shadows. "I can see you are well on your way to recovery. I won't harm your friend, for now. I can see you still haven't given up on him. How very like the Hokage of you, Mitsuki."

Mitsuki felt a surge of pride at being compared to the legendary Seventh Hokage. He felt all trace of his father's presence leave the room. He relaxed and let a sigh of relief slip from his lips. "But," Orochimaru spoke, his voice echoing from somewhere in the shadows. Mitsuki flinched. "If you ever desire power, seek me out."

Despite the dark words and ill omen, Mitsuki smiled to himself. In his own twisted, dark way, his father was trying to help him.

Maybe their relationship wasn't so fragile after all.

* * *

Sarada stared at herself in the mirror. Her skin was pale and her cheeks sullen. With a groan, she stripped from the hospital gown that clung stubbornly to her skin. She winced as the fabric of the gown, soft and downy, brushed against her neck.

Pain pulsed through her skin, and Sarada gently brushed her fingers over the offending area. Tilting her head to the side revealed the source of her pain: a small tattoo. It was a circle, no larger than a coin, with nine arms coalescing into a dot in its center.

It was a whirlpool.

A line of jagged, archaic text flowed around it; encircling it, ensnaring it. Sarada supposed the whirlpool was Bolt's seal, and the barbed wire-like seal surrounding it was Kakashi's work.

The surrounding skin was an angry red color, and it stretched from her neck, over her shoulders, and down her back and across her chest. Sighing, she quickly slipped into a bright red shirt and white shorts her mother had brought her from home. She had only just finished dressing when she heard a knock echo through her room.

Kakashi entered her hospital room without any preamble. "Hello," he greeted her. "How is the seal? Any changes?"

Sarada shook her head. "None. Just sore," she answered.

Kakashi nodded. "That is to be expected. Are you ready?"

Sarada nodded and Kakashi motioned for her to follow him. As she strode through the halls of the hospital, Sarada saw flickers of motion in her peripheral vision. Her Sharingan revealed them to be men and women with porcelain animal masks.

Why were ANBU following her?

Kakashi did not miss her knowing gaze. "They're for your protection," he whispered.

Sarada frowned. Why did she need protection? "Why?" Sarada asked.

Kakashi sighed, and for a moment, Sarada could hear the weight of all his years in his voice. "Protocol. Your father went through a very similar event in his childhood. We all know how that turned out, don't we?"

Sarada frowned as her thoughts turned inward. She would have to corner her father and guilt him into telling her about his "event." Kakashi led her from her hospital room to a large conference room on the second floor. Her ANBU guard followed her dutifully and with as much skill and stealth as they were infamous for.

A large, rectangular table sat in the center of the room. Chairs were arranged so that everyone of importance had a seat. At the head of a table sat a large television with a camera and tripod looming over it. An overweight man with glasses fiddled with some wires and the screen flickered for a moment. Sarada took a seat next to Himawari, who had already been in the room. Kakashi sat next to her, and Sarada had the strangest feeling that she was being guarded by the man who had been the Sixth Hokage.

The signal established, Sarada saw an older woman with washed out pink-colored hair. It was eerily reminiscent of her mother, who sat but a few seats away from herself. Sarada imagined that, at one time, it might have been the bright crimson that the Uzumaki were known for. It had faded with age, but the woman's shoulders did not slump and her chin was held high. She had not faded with her hair.

"Lord Uzukage," the Hokage greeted respectfully, bowing at the waist.

The Uzukage nodded her head in greetings. "Lord Hokage," she said.

Naruto cleared his throat nervously. "We, uh, need your expertise," he began with.

The Uzukage sighed and motioned for him to continue. "I, ah, know you trained Bolt in the art of sealing. He's applied a seal—rather accidently, mind you—to one of his fellow ninja. We'd like you to take a look at it," the Hokage said.

Sarada cringed at how poorly their leader was lying. And to another Kage, no less. The Uzukage frowned thunderously. "Let's not mince words, boy," she said. "What are we dealing with," she demanded.

Naruto sighed audibly, and Sarada saw Bolt's mother place a comforting hand on her husband's. "Bolt has defected from the Leaf. The team I sent to capture him was brought back, alive, but two of their members had an unknown seal placed on them," he explained. "I've had our resident seal master, Kakashi Hatake, take a look at it. He has intimate experience in the field, but has been unable to remove the seals or determine their purpose."

The Uzukage hummed in thought. "I suppose the two brats are the ones with the seal?" she asked, nodding her head in a distinctive forward gesture.

The Hokage nodded. Sarada stilled as she felt the Uzukage's crimson eyes fall on her. "Tell me what happened," she commanded.

Sarada did.

"Approach the camera," the Uzukage said, beckoning her forward. "I need to inspect the seal."

Sarada stood, with Himawari mirroring her. The both of them approached the tripod as a technician tilted the camera to allow for a better angle. A blush blossomed across Sarada's cheeks as she drew her shirt's collar away to allow the woman a view of the seal.

The Uzukage _laughed._ "Fascinating," she spoke.

Kakashi cleared his throat, and the entire room turned to face him. "What, exactly, about this situation do you find fascinating?"

Sarada returned to her seat as she spoke to someone off camera and beckoned over someone. A tall man with broad shoulders and distinctive amber-colored eyes appeared behind the Uzukage, hovering over her right shoulder. "Your son," she began, nodding to Naruto. "Has advanced far more than I could have ever hoped."

Naruto frowned, and a brief flash of anger overtook his features. "This is not a joke," he said with all seriousness.

The Uzukage waved him off. It was, of all people, Lady Tsunade who asked the very question Sarada had on the tip of her tongue. "What do you mean he has advanced far more than you hoped?" Tsunade asked, leaning forward.

"Princess," the Uzukage greeted the last Senju respectfully. "Young Bolt has reached the level all great aspiring seal masters aim to reach. He's developing his own script."

Sarada frowned. That hadn't answered her question. But, it seemed, to Tsunade and Kakashi, it had answered theirs. They both wore shocked, if awed, expressions. "For those not in the know," Sakura requested.

The Uzukage sighed. "I taught Bolt only the most basic fundamentals of sealing during his brief stay on my island. It was Uzumaki sealing basics, but basics all the same. Any ninja can learn the basics of sealing. It is why all explosive tags look the same. They are mass produced by dabblers in the sealing arts," she began.

"But, when Bolt left, I gave him a single scroll. This scroll contained an expansive library of techniques for him to learn and methods of sealing that have been lost since our clan was scattered to the four winds. The scroll, however, taught him a flawed technique. Purposefully," the Uzukage said with a smirk.

"For all great seal masters, without exception, can only go so far on another's work. When they reach the limit of their learned sealing script—the language in which we write seals—they make their own. You have only to look at your father," the Uzukage said, nodding to the Hokage.

Sarada knew who the Seventh's father was: the Fourth. "Minato was one of the greatest seal masters in a century. When he copied the Flying Thunder God from Tobirama, he was unable to decipher the man's script. So, he made his own. That is why their marks are different."

Sarada saw recognition flash across the Hokage's face before he steeled his features. Her gaze returned to the television. "The reason I say Bolt has advanced far beyond what I could hope for is because he has reached that level. He has reached the end of what the scroll has taught him, and is now improvising and creating his own language," the Uzukage explained, and Sarada could plainly hear the distinctive hint of _pride_ in the woman's voice.

Kakashi cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, you haven't told us what this specific seal actually _does,_ " he pointed out.

The Uzukage nodded sagely. "I haven't," she said. "Because I can't."

"What! What do you mean you can't?" Sakura cried. Sarada blushed at her mother's rather forceful defense of her.

The Uzukage's crimson gaze moved to her mother, and Sarada could see the woman's eyes harden at the disrespect she was shown. "All great seal masters write in ciphers. Not only is this seal written in an entirely new language, it's written in code," she said. "It is impossible, even for one as skilled as I, to decipher it over a _camera._ "

Her mother's frown turned thunderous. "You're the greatest seal master alive. You trained Bolt. and you can't even decipher your own student's work?" Sakura spat.

"Careful, girl," the Uzukage intoned. "If you knew what I could do with a brush and a sheet of parchment, you would never sleep soundly for the rest of your life."

Sarada didn't know when he heart had started pounding, but it made her head spin. Thankfully, her mother was cowed and sat back down. "But," the Uzukage said, clearing the air. "I do know that it is not what Bolt said it was. We Uzumaki have no 'Cursed Seal of Obedience.' Well, we do, but it is not something that could be applied so casually as what the girls have described. I also find it highly unlikely that Bolt, as talented as he is, could create a seal that does what a ritual requiring no less than three trained Uzumaki seal masters and dozens of days of preparation can do."

Kakashi leaned forward. "What is it, then?"

The Uzukage shrugged. "I don't know. That is why I'm sending my grandson, Kohaku, to the Leaf. He will decipher the seal for you," she said, gesturing to the man hovering over her shoulder.

Kohaku looked distinctly nervous. He ran his hand through his crimson locks, hiding them behind his ears.

Her mother frowned. "If Bolt is so talented, why can't you come? The Leaf and Whirlpool are allies, after all," she pointed out, her earlier anger somewhat lessened.

The Uzukage chuckled. "I have my own village to run, and ours is in a much more precarious situation than yours," she answered.

Sakura frowned. "How do you know your grandson will be able to decipher the seal, then?"

The Uzukage smiled. "Because," she said. "He is one of the only two in contention for being my successor. It only makes sense one would attempt to undo the work of the other."

The Hokage looked confused for a moment. Sarada thought it was a much more fitting look than the seriousness he had displayed earlier. "What do you mean? You told me Kohaku was your successor," he said hesitantly.

Sarada's eyes widened as she realized what the Uzukage meant. She saw the exact moment when the Hokage came to the same conclusion she did. "Absolutely not!" Naruto barked, standing abruptly.

The Uzukage had the audacity to laugh. "I've requested one of your children be sent to be fostered among us since the moment I learned they were in the womb. You denied me all those years, and yet fate still brought me one of your children," she said.

"Bolt is a member of my family and a ninja of the Leaf!" Naruto protested loudly. "You shouldn't have trained him, let alone considered him for the position of Fourth Uzukage!"

"Please," the woman chided. "We all groom our successors. You yourself have trained both the girls present, making them ideal candidates when the time comes. And do not think I am not aware of you teaching the young master of the Sarutobi clan. I simply did what was expected of me."

"They are my children," the Hokage ground out.

"You have two. One to continue the blood in the Leaf, and one to continue it in the Whirlpool—if he so chooses," the Uzukage countered.

"Be that as it may," Kakashi said, rather loudly. He ended the argument before it could escalate, and Sarada had to bite her lips to avoid laughing at how ashamed the Hokage looked to be scolded by his former teacher. "Bolt is a criminal. It's only a matter of time until he becomes a wanted fugitive by the Union. Supporting him—especially officially acknowledging him as a possible successor—is a highly politically disastrous move. The Leaf will not be able to support the Whirlpool in such a situation."

Sarada frowned as Kakashi brought forth the issue of their failure, and the repercussions of it. _"It is only a matter of time,"_ Kakashi said. It was true. She placed a reassuring hand in Himawari's lap. Her friend looked at her with unshed tears in her blue eyes.

When Sarada's gaze returned to the television, she felt the cold chill of fear crawl up her spine. Thousands of miles away, separated by land and by sea, the Uzukage sent Kakashi a glare that would have made lesser men empty their bowels and cut their own throats—even through a television screen.

"Is that a threat, _boy?_ " the Uzukage hissed. "The Whirlpool will always stand by its sons and daughters. Our clan was brought to the brink of extinction once. It shall never happen again. The Cloud and Mist feared us so much that they attempted to slaughter every man, woman, and child with a drop of Uzumaki blood in their veins. If the Union dares to threaten us, they will learn the true meaning of _**fear.**_ "

Sarada couldn't move. The image of the Uzukage flickered erratically as the woman spoke, as if something was interfering with the signal. Through the static, Sarada saw Kohaku rest a hand on his grandmother's shoulder. In an instant, the interference ceased and the signal's quality returned.

There was a silence so tense and thick that it could be cut with a kunai.

Kakashi cleared his throat with a nervous cough. "I apologize," he said, with a casual wave that belied his tension.

The Uzukage nodded. "Expect Kohaku in a week's time. He will decipher the seal, I assure you," she promised, before the screen went black.

Sarada noticed the woman had said _decipher_ —not _remove._

* * *

Himawari awoke next morning to the sound of nurses flittering in and out of their room. They came and went at all hours of the night. They ran tests, took blood, and changed their IVs. Apparently, they were still officially considered in "critical condition" due to their seals.

This time, however, their nurse wasn't a nurse. It was the greatest medic of all time: Tsunade Senju. To be honest, she was intimidated by the woman. Despite her age, she appeared to be physically in her prime. She held herself with an air of superiority that came with being a powerful ninja and the last in a legendary line of blood.

"Yes?" Himawari asked, afraid of what the Fifth Hokage could possibly want.

Tsunade smiled down at her. "It's time for your physical therapy," she said, with a small, sad smile.

Himawari deflated. Another reminder of her failure. Another reminder that her brother was living on borrowed time. Any day now, the Kage would hold their monthly meeting and her father would have to tell them that Bolt had, officially, defected. He couldn't lie to them. Not again. Bolt was the worst kept secret in the Leaf. Everyone knew that he and the Hokage had a strained relationship. Everyone knew that Bolt had fled the Leaf at the tender age of twelve after the public humiliation his father brought upon him.

Himawari's hand reached up to her neck and caressed the inky black seal that resided there. She could see Tsunade frown out of the corner of her eye. "How are you feeling? Is the seal bothering you? I can call Kakashi here at a moment's notice—"

"I'm fine," Himawari assured the older woman. "Just—just," she said, reaching for a word that just wasn't there. No words existed for how she felt.

All the same, Tsunade seemed to understand her. "I understand," she said softly, taking a seat on her bed. "I grew up with Orochimaru. He was quite talented in the sealing arts, just like your brother. In fact, he taught me much of my basic medical seals. Well, before he defected. It's a strange power they wield, isn't it?"

Himawari nodded numbly. Then her words set in. She had compared Orochimaru and her brother. As if they were the same. As if they were similar. "It's not the same," she muttered with determination.

It wasn't the same. It wouldn't be the same. Himawari didn't think she could live with herself if her brother grew up to be the next Orochimaru. Mitsuki's father was an evil, twisted man who took pleasure in other's pain. He cared nothing for anyone other than himself, and was more than willing to murder, torture, and experiment on anyone to get what he wanted.

They weren't the same at all.

"Maybe not," Tsunade said, a pleased smile on her lips. "I need you to channel some chakra through your pathways for me. Of all the people injured on the mission, yours were the worst."

Himawari nodded. She reached for the pit of fire in her belly that radiated chakra. She grabbed hold of it and circulated it through her body, wincing as her muscles burned as if aflame. She felt feverous.

"How do you feel?" Tsunade asked, running her hands lightly over her skin as they glowed a soft green.

"Hot," Himawari answered, quickly releasing the control over her chakra. It pooled back in its forge, where its flames were reduced to embers.

Tsunade nodded. "I've managed to heal you and Sarada as much as I could during your medically induced coma," she said. "You're young, which is good. Your pathways still have room to grow. It's likely you'll experience a short term decline in chakra control, followed by a rapid rise in your late teens to early twenties as your body naturally stabilizes itself. Yamato was not so lucky."

Himawari sighed. "Is there no way to reverse what my brother's jutsu does?"

Tsunade shook her head. Her blonde hair swayed as she answered. "I'm afraid not. The body simply wasn't meant to handle having its chakra points closed—or opened—to such a degree. You know of the Eight Gates, yes?" Tsunade asked.

Himawari nodded. Most everyone did. Might Guy was heralded as a hero for his efforts in the war and his usage of the Eight Gates. "Think of the Eight Gates as the polar opposite of your brother's technique. The Eight Gates fully unlocks a person's chakra points. Bolt's technique fully closes them, with such force and power that they are damaged in the process. That damage adds up over time, leading to the chakra points growing weaker. If damaged enough..." Tsunade trailed off.

"They would lose control of their chakra," Himawari finished for her.

Tsunade nodded sadly. "It's a terrible fate for any ninja," she said. "Yamato was luckier than most. Though older, his body contains the cells of my grandfather. I think that's the only reason he has bounced back as fast as he has."

"Will it take long for me to heal?" Himawari asked.

Tsunade smiled. "Not if you do exactly as I say, and don't use your chakra unless ordered to," she answered, standing up. "Come on. I had Kakashi fetch Sarada."

Himawari learned a newfound respect for the former Hokage as the woman ran her and Sarada ragged. It was a special kind of training; one meant to minimize chakra usage but promote the growth and strengthening of their pathways.

It was hell.

* * *

Naruto sat before his computer screen; grim faced with cold eyes. His shoulders sagged in defeat as he watched the clock above his office door tick ever closer and closer to the designated time. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

His screen lit up with a hiss of static as the other Kage began to connect. He could see Gaara, pale with worry as he took in his haggard appearance. He was the only Kage he felt he could trust enough with the truth. He too knew what was to come, and Naruto silently thanked him for his support.

Chōjūrō was the next to connect. As a former servant of the previous Mizukage and the last living member of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, he had an impeccable sense of punctuality. Then came Darui, and finally, Kurotsuchi. The leaders of the Five Great Nations traded greetings and pleasantries, though Naruto could tell they only half meant the words.

Then they moved on to more serious matters. There was the ever increasing tension between the Sand and the Stone as they argued over whom had more claim to the mines in the mountainous border between them. Cloud reported an alarming rise in the number of Jashin worshippers in and around the Land of Lightning. The Mist reported more success at purging its waters of mercenaries and pirates. Naruto himself reported on Orochimaru, his current projects, and the movements of his former experiments in the Land of Fire and its ally, the Land of Sound, to the north.

It was always a tense subject to broach. Orochimaru's reputation still struck fear into the hearts of many. The Leaf was still criticized—to the very day—for sparing the man due to his efforts in ending the war with Madara. Only Naruto's promise to continue watching over him had spared the man from being hunted down by the other villages.

Then they moved on to a subject close to his heart. The Tailed Beasts. "The Three-Tails hasn't been sighted in nearly a decade," Chōjūrō reported dutifully. That was to be expected. Isobu, the great turtle, spent most of his time in the depths of the abyss. Far below where the light of the sun could reach.

"The Two-Tails is quite happy with the range of mountains the Cloud has gifted her," Darui stated. Naruto smiled fondly. Matatabi took to following Bee around like a lost puppy. She hated when he told her that, though. "And Bee continues to wander," he added with a sigh.

"The Four-Tails has claimed residence of one of the volcanoes to our western border," Kurotsuchi reported. "The Five-Tails roams the frozen tundra to the north."

Naruto nodded. "Saiken, the Six-Tails, was last seen in the underground caverns of the Land of Rivers. He hasn't been sighted in nearly eight years," he reported. It fell to the Leaf, being the closest of the Great Five, to monitor Saiken's actions.

The other Kage nodded. Naruto frowned. Whenever they discussed the Tailed Beasts, they never referred to them by name. "And Chōmei?" Gaara asked. All, of course, except for Gaara.

"I haven't heard from him since the end of the war," Naruto informed them. "But my connection with him is still strong. He must be flying around the world." Monitoring the mobile Seven-Tails was an impossibility. The giant, six-winged beetle could fly the distance between the furthest isle of the Land of Water and the furthest peninsula of the Land of Wind in a single day. There was simply no method of tracking him.

"And what of the One-Tail, Kazekage?" Darui asked.

To the others, Gaara answered with a casual calm. But, to Naruto, he clearly saw the lines of tension in his friend's forehead. "Shukaku continues to roam the desert, but little else," he answered.

Satisfied that the Tailed Beasts were not wreaking havoc on the world, the Five Kage moved on to more mundane matters. Trade agreements. Renewing alliances. Planning for their countries' future growth and stability.

That last one, naturally, brought them to the topic Naruto always dreaded. The monthly reports of ninja whom were at risk for defection, and those that already had.

"The Mist continues to keep a watchful eye on its rogue elements. We have nothing to report at this time," Chōjūrō stated dutifully.

"The Sand also has nothing to report at this time," Gaara said.

"The Cloud has retrieved most of our rogue ninja over the years as we and the Mist have hunted down the various mercenary groups in the Land of Water," Darui reported. "Other than those already known, we have nothing to report."

Kurotsuchi cleared her throat. She wore an odd expression, half torn between annoyance and shame. "Two of our ninja, Kagami and Kagari Akiyama, have handed us their _informal resignation_ from the Stone ninja corps," she reported.

"Really?" Naruto asked. Kagami and her sister had been the finalists in the Union's tournament. The elder sister took the title of strongest, but Naruto knew it had only been because he sent the Leaf's most powerful competitors to capture his son. Usually, such high profile ninja were the last to defect from their village.

Kurotsuchi nodded. "They've stated they wish to become bounty hunters. We have ANBU hunting them down as I speak," she said.

The Kage nodded. Naruto minimized a document that had been sent to him containing the intel the Stone had on the two girls. Naruto didn't need to read it. He had remembered, quite vividly, their fight.

All eyes turned to him. Naruto sighed with resignation. "Orochimaru is, as you know, under surveillance. Former agents of the Sannin are under surveillance. The Hidden Sound has made valiant efforts to purge itself of supporters to their old ways and have made every effort of cooperating with the Leaf," he began. With each word he spoke, he dreaded the report he would have to give.

Naruto inhaled a great breath and let loose a long, ragged sigh. "Bolt Uzumaki has, officially, been declared a rogue element of the Leaf," he said, and he cursed his traitorous body as his voice cracked. "I have sent a team to retrieve him."

His declaration was met with silence. It was not often, after all, that the family of a Kage defected. The five Kage nodded, and not a single one of them looked surprised. It was common knowledge, after all, that the oldest child of the Hokage publicly disagreed with the Leaf and its leader.

"Keep us posted," Kurotsuchi said, and one by one, their pictures faded to black on his screen.

Naruto let a long, ragged sigh tear itself from his lips. He powered down his computer, and let the darkness of the night consume the office. Only a pale sliver of moonlight streamed in from the windows. Naruto reached down and opened a drawer. In it, a small earthen jug was hidden away in a discreet green-colored cloth pag.

He poured himself a cup of rice wine as the clock continued to tick life away. He had only a few minutes to enjoy the bitter drink as he waited for his next appointment to join him. He didn't have to wait long. The door parted on silent hinges as Kakashi slipped into the room with barely a sound.

"Kakashi," Naruto greeted, pouring him a cup. The older, silver-haired man took a seat opposite him and graciously accepted the proffered drink. Naruto took a sip, and in the time he had taken his eyes off his former teacher the man had managed to slip off his mask and down the cup's contents.

Despite his grim mood, Naruto smiled wryly. The two of them sat there, in silence, in the darkness of the night. Eventually, he could wait no longer. His second appointment was waiting for him, and wives tended to hold it against their husbands if they were late—even if they were the Hokage. Naruto sighed. "Take care of him, please," he asked his teacher.

"Sure," Kakashi said casually, standing and walking towards the door. "But," he said, pausing and resting his hand on the doorknob. "This is my last mission, Naruto. After this, I'm no longer a ninja of the Leaf. I'm retired, _retired._ "

Naruto nodded, and Kakashi slipped back out into the darkness of the night. He sighed, standing and throwing his Hokage cloak over his shoulder. Tonight, he didn't feel like wearing it. For the first time, in a long time, he doubted his dream. He made his way home, wandering through the dark streets and alleys of the Leaf's less developed districts.

Reaching his door, Naruto turned the doorknob with a sigh. He kicked off his shoes, and found Hinata sitting on a couch waiting for him. She had a scroll clutched in her hands as she sat there patiently awaiting his return.

Naruto found his eyes drawn to the scroll, rather than his wife's beautiful face. "Welcome home, dear," Hinata welcomed him, with that sweet, soft tone she reserved only for him.

"I'm back," Naruto returned, eyes still focussed on the rather official looking scroll.

Hinata was smart. She saw his gaze, and followed it. With a sigh, she handed it to him. Naruto unfurled it with a practiced ease born of years of paperwork behind the Hokage's desk. At the top of the parchment there was a sigil emblazoned in black ink. A large V with a flame kindled between it. The Hyūga clan's sigil. His eyes quickly darted over the words written there.

Naruto had wondered what his wife had wanted to talk to him about. Was it their son? Certainly, that was probable. Their daughter and her injuries? That, too, was something he could understand. In his heart, above all, he had feared the scroll would be a petition for divorce. He hadn't been the best husband over the years. He was married to the job more than Hinata, it felt like. He couldn't blame her if she fell out of love with him.

But this. This was much worse.

"You want to be put back on active duty?" Naruto croaked. It was a petition to be admitted back into the ninja corps. Signed by the clan head and three clan elders. Hinata had officially retired—not like Kakashi, since you never really retired from being a Hokage—when Bolt had been born.

"Yes," Hinata answered, with the same reserved determination he found so attractive in her.

Now, now it wasn't attractive. It was frightening. Naruto had watched the world as the hard won peace he and Sasuke had fought for slowly began to unravel. Tensions were high in Sand and Stone. Mist was on the brink of civil war over the marauding bands of mercenaries, whose popularity swelled ever larger each passing year as the Union's sanctions left ninja in every country bereft of their way of life. People everywhere lived in a near constant fear of the roaming Tailed Beasts, even after countless promises and reassurances that they weren't a danger to them.

The world was not a safe place. Not anymore. Naruto could feel the storm brewing in the distance. He didn't want his wife to get caught in it. He didn't want his children to get caught in it.

"Why?" Naruto asked. In his heart, he knew why, but he still had to ask.

"Because," Hinata said softly. "Our daughter doesn't need me anymore. She has changed from the little girl who followed her mother around grocery shopping. She's more like you, when you were young. Always sneaking off to slip in a training session. Shopping for the best prices on quality steel kunai and shurikens. There's no reason for me to stay home anymore. Not for her. And our son..."

Naruto swallowed. "Our son is lost, Naruto. Lost like Sasuke was. He's so angry and hateful of what the Leaf has forced you to become. You've done your best, I know, for your family and the village. But that's not enough for Bolt. He doesn't want a Hokage. He wants a father," Hinata said.

He could understand the feeling. More than anything else in the world. Naruto had cried himself to sleep more times than he could count wishing and praying that he would wake up the next day and find his mother and father waiting for him. He had been a fool. How could he have never seen the same pain in his son that had plagued him his entire life?

"And," Hinata continued. "And I trust you. Have trusted you. You said you would save Bolt. And you will. But Himawari's injuries tell me that Bolt is angrier than what either of us thought. If someone is going to put their body, their life, on the line to bring him home, then... then it should be me."

She said it with such determination in her violet eyes that Naruto felt his denial catch in her throat. Just like the time she saved him from Pain. Hinata wouldn't back down from this. He should have known from the moment he read the signatures of approval at the bottom of the petition. She had been so determined that she strong-armed the Hyūga clan— _the Hyūga clan,_ of all clans—to allow their princess back into the ninja corps.

"Are you sure?" Naruto asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yes," his wife responded.

Naruto nodded sadly, knowing there was nothing he could say or do that would convince her not to put herself in harm's way. "Alright," he agreed. "But! But, I'm putting you on trial! If you want to be receiving missions again you'll have to prove you're still as strong as you were when we were kids!"

Hinata smirked demurely at him. "Would you like to find out exactly how strong I am, dear?" she asked.

Naruto backed away as he saw the muscles under her thin nightgown ripple as she slipped slowly into a Gentle Fist stance. "No, no! No, dear, that won't be necessary!"

He knew that wasn't a fight he could _ever_ win.

* * *

Sarada creeped through the dark halls of the hospital. Her gown flowed behind her, and only her Sharingan illuminated the darkness enough for her to avoid stubbing her toes on chairs, desks, and gurneys that littered the halls.

She made her way to Himawari's room in a few short minutes. It had taken awhile to shake her ANBU guard, but there was little they could hide from her before the eyes of the Uchiha clan. Sarada opened her friend's door and slipped into the room before the hinges could make a sound.

Himawari was waiting for her. She sat on the edge of the bed and kicked her feet back and forth as she stared up at the moon. Sarada took a seat next to her. "We don't have a lot of time," she warned her. She was good, but she wasn't good enough to fool five ANBU into guarding an empty room for more than a handful of minutes.

"Yeah," Himawari said, not looking away from the moon.

"So," Sarada said. "What do we do?"

Himawari was quiet for a time, and Sarada could see her biting her lip as she stared at the moon. "We complete our physical therapy," she finally said. "Lady Tsunade says it will take six months to a year for us to not feel any effects from Bolt's jutsu. After that, we train. One of us will need to join the Union. From inside, we can sabotage as much intel on Bolt as we can without being discovered. Then, when we're strong enough, we go beat some sense into his skull—literally," she said.

Sarada smiled at that. "What about our seals?"

Himawari scoffed. "I know my brother. No matter what he's been through, no matter what you made him see in that genjutsu, there is no way he would ever hurt us. You should have seen him when we were younger. I used to follow him when he went out, and he'd follow after you like a lost puppy when you weren't watching. It was adorable," she said.

Sarada laughed. Himawari's words made her heart swell pleasantly. "What do you think the seals are then?"

"I don't know," Himawari answered. "But we'll find out when Kohaku gets here."

Sarada nodded, turning as she heard the door open. A masked ANBU stood in the door. The man sighed wearily and beckoned her to come with him. Sarada smiled sheepishly and jumped to her feet. She and Himawari parted ways with a wave and a smile.

She didn't have to wait long. Kohaku arrived, along with a small contingent of Uzumaki clansmen, nearly a full week later.

* * *

 **A/N:**

There we go. Leaf centric chapter. I was actually surprised with how long I could write without running out of things to say. Anyway, we see the return of the Whirlpool in the story, including the Uzukage (Akane) and her grandson, Kohaku. For those who do not remember them, they are distantly related to Mito Uzumaki, the wife of Hashirama.

Next chapter is the start of the Land of Wind arc! Along the way, we see some old faces, meet some new ones, and go on a magic carpet ride.

Question of the Chapter — I've actually forgotten the past few of these due to the length and hype of the chapters... damn. Anyways, who or what would you like to see in the Land of Wind? I'm taking a very "Arabian Nights" kind of approach to the Land of Wind, so it will be pretty cool. At the moment, I've got Kankuro, Shiki and his team, a few old faces from the Hidden Sand, and the new characters we'll be seeing next chapter.


	38. Chapter 38

"Hello, friend!"

Bolt grimaced as the words rang through his skull like thunder. He hadn't even opened his eyes and he was in more pain than he had ever remembered being in. Peeking through his eyelashes, he saw a swarthy man with bronzed skin and a thick black beard smiling down at him.

He hadn't ever wanted to murder a man more than he did at the moment. How dare he drag him kicking and screaming from the warm, dark oblivion of his dreams? He was so comfortable, and now he was in agony.

Bolt groaned and leaned forward to sit up.

Pain coursed through his chest like the lightning had before he mastered the Lightning Armor. His entire body screamed in agony. Bolt flailed backwards, gasping for breath as he recovered from the shock. "Easy, friend," the man said, again, in that thick Land of Wind accent. "Your ribs are more crooked than the Wind Lord's court," he jested with a small chuckle.

Bolt didn't think it was that funny. "Yes, you took quite the beating I'd say. Found you wandering the dunes in the badlands half delirious with your friends on your back. Very dangerous place. Very hot. No water. Lots of snakes and scorpions. Not a place for foreigners," the man said, lifting a skin of water to his lips.

Bolt drank greedily, and his previous anger was forgotten. He hadn't thought water could taste so good. "Where are my friends?" Bolt asked, sighing in relief now that he had slaked his thirst.

"Oh, the big man is outside. Little girl is sleeping," the man answered, pointing to where Hikari was slumbering in a dark corner of the tent they were in. She looked as if she had seen better days. Her black hair was mangled and matted with blood and sand, and it hung loosely to her shoulders. Her right arm was wrapped in a thick cast of sandy brown bandages.

Bolt returned his eyes to their apparent savior. "My name is—" he considered lying, but he didn't know how much either Hikari or Tetsu had said. So he didn't. "My name is Bolt. Thank you saving us. Where are we? Who are you?"

The questions poured from his lips. The man smiled down at him, revealing pearly white teeth that contrasted with his inky black beard. "I'm Shūichi. You're in the middle of the badlands, so the _where_ is difficult to say. We're a few miles from Tottori. Shouldn't take our caravan more than a few days to get there," the man—Shūichi—said.

That only created more questions. For one, why did a few miles of travel—to the nearest city, no less—take several days? He could run the breadth or width of the Land of Fire in a single day if he didn't stop to rest.

Normal people, he scoffed.

But Bolt had other things on his mind. He needed time to heal, and so did his friends. Then, Sage of Six Paths willing, they could begin their investigation into what had been killing people along the northern border of the Land of Wind and Earth. With a great strength of will, Bolt pulled himself into a sitting position.

The movement made every fiber of his being scream in agony, but he did it. Bolt blinked the spots in his vision away as the pain receded like the tide. From his new vantage point, he could see that the bed he lay in was little more than a pile of old, dirty rags and the tent was crudely made from dried twigs and a leathery tarp that wasn't even staked to the ground. Wind kicked up the tarp and blew hot air and sand into the small pavilion.

Bolt groaned. This was not a hygienic place for healing. He probably contracted some form of disease that hadn't afflicted ninja since the warring clans era. His groan woke Hikari, who started at the sudden noise. Her right hand instantly slid towards the poaches at her waist, only to grasp at nothing. Old habits died hard. It would take her time to adjust to the seals he had placed on the palms of her hands.

He could imagine her blinking sleepily behind her mask as her mind took in their surroundings. Then, she stood and stalked over to him. Her boots kicked up sand in wispy clouds that were quickly blown away by the wind as she walked. Bolt looked up at her from his pile of rags and saw a grim determination in her eyes.

"Your fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh ribs are fractured on your right side, and your second and third on your left. Your sternum was also fractured in two places. I've been doing my best to patch you up, but you need a doctor. One more skilled than me. It's taken all my skill just to keep you alive this long," Hikari said.

Bolt swallowed as she explained the severity of his injuries. He had always known Sarada had a strong right hook, but _this_ was something else. She had really held nothing back at the end. And it nearly killed him. Bolt could only pray that her mother had taught her some medical ninjutsu, or they would have been bringing him back in a body bag.

"How long have I been out?" Bolt asked. He needed to know how long it had been since they escaped from his retrieval team. Then he could plan his next move.

Hikari tilted her head to the side. "I put you in a medically induced coma while I healed your pulmonary contusion and stabilized your flail chest. That was three days ago. I only woke up five days ago," she answered.

Bolt turned to eye their savior. Shūichi was doing his best to give the two of them their privacy, idling near the tent flap and looking outside. As the wind blew, Bolt could see other tents, milling men and women, and the sandy-colored fur of camels. "Shūichi," he called. "How long ago did you find us?"

Shūichi started, then turned and strode back to them with a spring in his step. "Oh, must've been at least two weeks now," he said, looking between the two of them with interest. "If you'd be wanting a doctor, the best round these parts would be ol' Doc Sawbones. Couldn't help but overhear," he explained with a sheepish grin. "Runs a clinic up in Tottori, best in the business."

"I doubt this _doctor,_ " Hikari said, with clear distaste. "Would be skilled enough to perform an operation of this calibre without killing his patient."

Shūichi just grinned. "Ol' Sawbones is the best doctor we've got out here," he said. "She used to be a Sand ninja some folk say. She must've retired years and years ago. No one knows why she left the village and moved to the middle of the badlands. We don't question it too much, though. She always patches us up right and doesn't ask questions so long as we pay her. Should be good enough for yourselves, right? A ninja doctor for a ninja."

Bolt stilled. Shūichi _knew_. He knew he shouldn't have given his real name. "How did you know?" Bolt asked. He had to be sure. He couldn't make the same mistake again.

"How did I know? Who you were?" Shūichi asked, clear confusion written on his face. Bolt nodded.

"Why! You're famous, of course!" Shūichi declared, fishing a crumpled length of parchment from the folds of his vest. He handed it over to Bolt without hesitation. "The boys n' I been wondering if you'd come down to these parts. We've been readin' bout your exploits in the Land of Rain since the newspapers started printing. Course, they're difficult to get out here but we make do with what we can."

The paper was a wanted flier. It had a picture of him from the Union's tournament. Below it, in large black letters, were the words he both desired and dreaded to hear. "Wanted! Dead or Alive: Bolt Uzumaki," it read. Below, it told that he was an extremely dangerous S-rank criminal—the first to earn the infamous title since Sasuke Uchiha—and hailed from the Leaf. There was a brief summary of his skills, but nothing specific. No mention of his Lightning Armor, no mention of his Rasengan, and no mention of his sealing jutsu.

The Union had been given shoddy intel, or had been willfully ignorant of his growth in power. Both were to his advantage. The former was especially interesting. If the Union was given bad intel, who had given it to them? Who had risked their career to give him that slight edge?

That was the question.

But the flier brought another question to his mind, one far more dangerous and pressing. If Shūichi knew who he was, and had all three of their unconscious bodies at his mercy, why didn't he turn them over to the authorities? His bounty was... "Fifty million ryō?" Bolt read, aloud.

"Yes, quite the sum," Shūichi agreed with a nod of his head.

"Then why didn't you collect it?" Bolt asked, wincing as he adjusted his torso to be more comfortable.

Shūichi laughed. "I can't," he answered. Bolt noted that he said he _can't_ rather than he _wouldn't_. "The guards at all the collection stations would kill me on sight."

"Why?" Bolt asked, his brows furrowing.

"Because," Tetsu spoke, holding the flap of the tent aloft. "We're in the company of a band of thieves."

* * *

Kohaku was an interesting man, Sarada decided. He _looked_ young, but wasn't. When she first met him, she thought he was only a few years older than her. Maybe in his early to middle twenties. It came as quite the surprise when he had to correct them, stating that he was nearing his late thirties.

That was Uzumaki blood for you.

Sarada peered over his shoulder as he drew symbols on Himawari's pale skin ever so slightly. The sealing arts were something she couldn't wrap her head around, even with her Sharingan. She could see the chakra, see the way it was woven and formed, see how it was applied. But she couldn't copy it, and she couldn't understand it.

It was interesting.

"Feel anything?" Kohaku asked Himawari. Her friend shook her head. Nothing. No progress. Even after three days.

Kohaku sighed deeply and withdrew his brush. "Having troubles?" Sarada asked with a small grin.

"It's always difficult to decode someone else's script," Kohaku said. "But it's doubly so for this because it is so well encrypted. It matches nothing in any of the scrolls I've read, and it doesn't respond to any of the traditional methods of accessing its core functions."

"Bolt was a genius," Sarada told him.

"He's still a genius, if this is anything to go by," he grumbled, picking up his brush and writing a few more characters. Sarada watched as the painted ink glowed a beautiful azure color. "You'd think a seal like this would have more defensive formulas if it was designed to control you. But it doesn't react to anything I try. It only resists being removed. Feel anything?"

Himawari shook her head again. Kohaku tossed his brush aside and sat back in his seat as he crossed his arms.

But his words sparked an idea in Sarada's mind. Her memories of the end of the fight were muddled. The pain would do that to you. But she remembered a few things. She remembered being afraid. Afraid of bolt, and how much he had changed. How dark he had become in the short few years he had been away. They had been friends since childhood, just like their mothers and fathers. She knew he couldn't have changed that much, no matter what he had done or seen.

Maybe that was it.

"Try," Sarada said, pausing to think a moment. She didn't know how to word her idea. "Try treating it like a seal that _isn't_ trying to control us. Something—something..."

"Something more beneficial," Kohaku finished for her. "Right, couldn't hurt. Certain seals would remain inert, even in the face of probing," he said, picking up his brush once more. "But that doesn't make sense. He told you it was a—"

Himawari stiffened, and Sarada's eyes zeroed in on the seal on her neck. It glowed a dark crimson color and the arms of the whirlpool shifted and writhed as they grew until the small whirlpool was nothing but a large black dot on the small of her friend's neck. "Feel anything?" Kohaku uttered, quickly drawing more characters.

Himawari shook her head. "Nothing," she said, but from her tense tone of voice Sarada could tell she was feeling _something._

Sarada watched as the seal's glow increased in luminosity. Inky black symbols sprawled across her friend's back, written in a language she had never seen before. "Yes!" Kohaku cried, pumping a fist in the air. "I've got you beat, kid. Experience trumps genius any day."

Kohaku drew characters up and down Himawari's back. The inky black markings of Bolt's seal wriggled and writhed as they changed from indecipherable gibberish into something resembling broken, indecipherable gibberish. She still couldn't read it.

Kohaku let loose a howl of triumph. Apparently he could read it. Then he bowled over and started laughing until tears ran from the corners of his eyes. The markings receded back into the now familiar whirlpool seal. Himawari quickly pulled her shirt back on to preserve her modesty.

Sarada kicked Kohaku. The Uzumaki was still laughing uncontrollably. "What's so funny?" Sarada hissed.

"Oh, man," Kohaku grit out between giggles. "I knew the kid had a soft spot for his baby sister. When you two told my grandmother about what happened, I thought it was strange. I was right. He lied."

Sarada frowned. "Bolt lied?"

Kohaku nodded. "Oh, he branded you with a seal alright. But it's not the Cursed Seal of Obedience. It's a complicated seal that allows the user to track whoever the seal is placed on, even if they are separated by hundreds of miles. He probably even knows that I cracked the seal, since it activated momentarily," he explained.

"But that's not all," Kohaku continued. "I thought it was weird that Bolt would even attempt to place such a complicated seal on you, considering at the end of the fight he would have been injured and exhausted. He didn't have the focus nor the chakra to place such a powerful seal on the two of you. The tracking seal isn't a cursed seal, so it was also odd that it had hurt as much as you described."

"But you were right," Kohaku conceded. "Bolt was—is—a genius. He combined two seals. The tracking seal, and the Cursed Seal of Empowerment." Sarada shivered at the sinister name. "It's a bit of a misnomer, really. It should be called a _blessed_ seal, rather than cursed. It creates a small nodule in the target's chakra pathways and imparts a portion of the user's chakra to them, to be used when needed. That was why the seal hurt."

Himawari spoke up. "But if Bolt was so exhausted by the end of the fight, how did he have chakra to seal into us?"

"Oh, that's easy. He stored some of his chakra from his Yang reserves. He probably has—" Kohaku stiffened and immediately stopped talking.

"Probably has what?" Sarada prompted.

Kohaku shrugged. "Sorry. Clan secret," he said simply.

Sarada grinned despite herself. She had been right. It felt good that her belief in her friend had been vindicated. She was going to give Bolt a proper beating for scaring her and Himawari the next time they met. "So, can you remove it?" It would be difficult to capture Bolt if he knew they were coming. Although it wouldn't keep them away, as he had intended with his lie, it would allow him foreknowledge of their arrival. They would never ambush him again.

Kohaku hummed in thought. "I could, maybe, in time," he answered. "But it would probably be safer not to. Plus, the Yang chakra that Bolt blessed you with is no small amount. It's triggered to activate if your lives are ever in danger. It's not usable in a fight, but it will keep you alive and on your feet far after normal men would have dropped."

Sarada was torn. Kohaku made it sound as if removing the seal would be dangerous. On one hand, she was loathe to revisit that exquisite pain that Bolt had inflicted upon her when he branded her with the seal. On the other, the seal was, supposedly, able to save her life if it was ever in danger. Keeping it could be a boon.

But then Bolt would always know if his sister or her was attempting to hunt him down.

Decisions.

* * *

Bolt stiffened as an ache filled his being. He felt a pull in his navel far to the east. He swore.

"What's wrong?" Hikari asked, walking alongside the makeshift sled that he lied on. Shūichi had it tethered to the saddle of his camel as their caravan sloshed through the sand.

"The seal I placed on my sister was activated," he answered. He could tell that much. He could feel the distinct quality of her chakra, so similar to his own. From the general direction and the strength of the pull, he estimated that they were in the Leaf.

Which was troublesome, because Bolt hadn't thought the Leaf had a seal master capable of undoing his work. That someone had was worrying. If they could activate the seal, they could possibly remove it. Then all his work would be for nothing. The act that he had performed—that nearly broke his heart when he saw the fear reflected in Sarada's and Himawari's eyes—would be for nothing. He did not suffer that sadness just for some random ANBU seal master to throw away his sacrifice so easily.

"Is everything—" Hikari said, pausing as an older, fat thug strolled by. He was balding, wearing nothing more than a leather loincloth. A wicked, curved scimitar rested on his hip. The thug grunted at them as he strode towards the front of the caravan. "—okay?"

"It should be," Bolt said, pausing to think for a moment. "Just because they've broken the seal doesn't mean they understand it or know how to remove it. They'll probably decipher its true purpose, but won't attempt to remove it. Nothing changes."

Hikari nodded and the two of them drifted into a weary silence. The desert was an unforgiving, harsh mistress. It was hotter than fire during the day and colder than ice at night. Bolt had learned that the hard way when he idly drew in the sand one day. It had scalded his fingertips. From then on, Bolt made a point of not touching the sand. He understood why so many people wore thick boots despite the heat. If you couldn't use chakra to stand atop the sand, it would be unbearable to walk for any great length of time.

It was damn near impossible to walk for any great length of time regardless. The heat and the sand and the wind made travelling through the desert an exercise worthy of ninja training. How people lived in the Land of Wind without the aid of chakra was beyond Bolt.

Another pack of thieves ran to the fore of the caravan, kicking up great wisps of sand with their curved boots. Bolt caught Tetsu's eye as the samurai gripped the hilt of his sword. He had not been thrilled to be travelling in the company of thieves—the "honorless whoresons" as he had so colorfully described. Bolt would've found it funny if he wasn't near death and surrounded by forty cutthroats. He didn't dare mention to Tetsu that he himself had been in the company of thieves when they had met. He had owed them a "debt," whatever that entailed. Must have been some debt if they had forced Tetsu to help them rob travellers.

Probably why he didn't try very hard to save their lives when he and Hikari slaughtered them. Bolt's lips twitched upwards at the memory.

There was a cry of elation somewhere up ahead. Bolt steeled himself and turned his body so he could look around the camel's flanks. Cresting a large dune was a massive, rocky sandstone crag. The only solid land for miles and miles. Atop it was a crude city of huts and hovels carved from the stone. A tent city had been erected around the crags and Bolt could see the many hundreds, if not thousands, of people milling about. There were so many that they kicked up a small sandstorm simply from walking.

Bolt wrinkled his nose the closer they got. The wind carried the stench of sweat and blood and stale alcohol and camels. God, did it smell like camels. He hated the foul creatures already. They bit. They spat. They smelled. They were slow. The fact that he was currently dependent on one for mobility made it doubly worse.

As their caravan entered the tent city, men and women stopped to shout crude greetings. Bolt noticed they were all armed. There were casks of alcohol on nearly every corner of crude pathways. Even during the day, at high noon, there were drunkards slumbering in their own vomit in the sand. A few couples made love passionately in the shade between tents where they had as much privacy as one could hope for. There were games of chance ran by street urchins. Men threw throwing knives at wooden posts from varying distances, competing to see who had the best aim.

Bolt realized what Tottori was. It was a city. A city of thieves. His eyes and his training picked out the few who were out of place. Burly, barrel-chested men armed with scimitars. Guards, to ensure order. Wizened old men with white beards who exchanged goods for ryō and ryō for goods. The fences; resellers of stolen goods.

Bolt grinned. He had expected a hovel of buildings from the warring clan eras when Shūichi had told him they were going to a city in the badlands. Tottori was only just above that, but there was one thing that thieves traded in that he was very, very interested in purchasing.

Information.

Information about what had been happening in the north that would cause the Stone to send their ninja to investigate dead Land of Wind citizens. Something, or someone, had to be shaking cages. He was determined to find out.

"Here we are!" Shūichi called, dismounting from his "trusty" steed as he had told Bolt. He didn't think the camel was trained not to shit where it ate, let alone be "trusty."

They were at the base of the rocky crags where great caves and tunnels had been hewn from the rock. In one of them, Bolt could see the telltale signs of a field hospital; bloody rags hanging from hooks, beds and gurneys, poles to hang IVs from, and dividers to keep the patients separate. He could smell blood and sweat and fear. More than once, Bolt heard a scream of agony erupt from somewhere deeper in the cave.

Hikari was staring at Shūichi like she wanted to wring his neck. Truthfully, Bolt thought she might have done so had her right arm not been broken and encased in a makeshift cast. He wasn't too thrilled either. Despite the risk, he would have preferred her to perform the surgery. "Not to worry!" Shūichi told them, smiling broadly. "Doc Sawbones is the best in the business!"

Best in the business—of thieves. There was an unholy wail of pain followed by the sound of flesh ripping. Two men barreled out of the cave and fell to their knees as they lost the contents of their stomachs in the desert sand. They didn't phase Shūichi at all as he proudly lead them into the lion's den. Tetsu stepped forward and pulled his sled into the cave. Bolt heard Hikari let a soft sigh out at the feeling of solid ground under her feet once more.

He was almost as fearful of being up and on his feet in the sand as he was of the doctor. Tetsu followed Shūichi, dragging him towards the back of the cave. Old, large light bulbs flickered above and casted them in a warm, yellow light.

Bolt paled as they came upon whom he had assumed was the doctor. She was looming over a man writhing in pain atop a table. The man whimpered as she wrapped clean linens around the stub that used to be his leg. It had been amputated from the knee down. The discarded limb twitched on the ground not far away. Now he knew what had caused the two men to vomit earlier. It was a grisly sight.

The woman finished wrapping the stub, and the man passed out. From pain or loss of blood, Bolt didn't know. She gestured, and the two men from earlier returned. They were pale and shaky, and approached her with clear hesitation. "Your friend should be fine. Keep his bandages clean and his leg elevated. If there is any sign of rot, return immediately," she said. Her voice was wizened and baritone.

The two nodded eagerly and carefully scooped their friend into their arms. They made a hasty retreat, and then the doctor turned her eyes on him. Bolt swallowed as he felt his pulse spike. She was an old woman, with wrinkles from both age and worry creasing her brow. Her hair was a faded black-gray, and her eyes were a dull, jade-green color. Bolt could see that, if she had been younger, she could have been a beautiful woman. His eyes fell to her right leg—it was a prosthetic. The joints of a puppet leg were clearly visible under her slacks, and the fabric wafted around the thin limb in an idle breeze.

"Hello. I'm Doctor Sawbones. What can I do for you?" the woman asked, though her eyes slid down to his prone form on the floor.

Shūichi waved a greeting with a broad smile. He didn't seem to understand the grim atmosphere. Hikari stepped forward. "My friend has several broken ribs. I've stabilized him as best as I could, but the surgery is beyond my skills," she informed the doctor.

Sawbones nodded. "Put him on the table over there," she said pointing to a—thankfully—clean surgical table on the opposite side of the room. "It's one hundred thousand ryō for the surgery, an additional fifty for post-care."

"Money is of no concern," Hikari said.

The doctor nodded and was about to speak, but was interrupted as a crowd filtered inside the cave. They were men and women; all armed to the teeth. Scimitars on their hips, throwing daggers in their hands, and a few even carried large fans on their backs. Bolt recognized a few of them from Shūichi's caravan. One of them, the fat man with no sense of modesty, stepped forward. He drew his scimitar and pointed it threateningly—right at him.

"I told you, boys," he spoke. "Bolt Uzumaki. Son of the Hokage, and rogue ninja of the Leaf. Injured and not even able to stand. Easiest fifty million I've ever seen."

"There will be no violence in my hospital," Sawbones said sternly. "Or you and your friends will never get treated again."

"That's fine, doc," the fat man said with a laugh. "We won't need to be thieves after he hand in his head."

That was the wrong thing to say. In a flash, Tetsu appeared before the crowd. There was perhaps twenty of them in all. He slaughtered them. Like a butcher mincing meat into cubes. It happened in the blink of an eye. Severed limbs and heads rolled about as he ruthlessly and methodically dismembered them. There wasn't even enough time for the would-be bounty hunters to scream. They simply died.

Sawbones frowned, but said nothing. Bolt could see her eyes were flicking between Tetsu and the river of blood that flew from the cave and cared canyons in the sand outside. "You didn't need to do that," she chided them, nodding towards the entrance.

A few of the burly guards Bolt had seen earlier were breathing heavily with their swords drawn. Their eyes were wide with shock at the carnage that Tetsu had dealt. "We might be thieves, but even thieves have honor."

"None may threaten my lord and live," Tetsu spoke without a hint of regret.

Bolt smiled grimly at that. Sawbones waved him off as she and Hikari carefully hefted Bolt off the sled and onto the surgery table. Things moved quickly after that. Bolt closed his eyes as a blindingly white light shone down upon him. He could hear the clink of metal and the sharp sting of antiseptic in his nostrils. "This is gonna hurt, kid," the doctor warned him.

"I'd rather it didn't," Bolt quipped, his entire body tensing in preparation. He heard an audible sigh and flinched as something sharp pierced his neck. His entire body went numb and limp. He couldn't feel anything. Then his mind grew warm and muddled, and he had never appreciated Hikari's talents in poison more than he did at that moment.

Darkness took him as he felt someone move his body.

* * *

Bolt awoke the next day, blinking his crusted eyelids open. He uttered a silent prayer that he had actually woken up at all. He felt sore all over, but it was a good sore. The kind he felt after a good workout session. It was the telltale sign of medical ninjutsu, practically its signature; sore but warm and pleasant.

He sat up, ever so slowly, so as to not hurt himself. Bolt let a groan of relief slip out as he managed to sit upright. He felt shaky and clammy from the surgery, but that was a dramatic improvement from constant pain and agony. He was dressed in soiled white linens that had been stained from so much use that no amount of soap would ever get them clean. Bolt guessed it was what passed for hospital gowns in these parts.

Carefully, he slipped a hand under his robe and felt around his chest. He grimaced as he felt what was clearly an open wound that had been stitched back together. Dreading what he would find, he pulled his collar forward and looked down his shirt.

The doctor had cut his chest open, slicing two long lines from his shoulders to his sternum, and then down to his navel from where they met. His skin was crudely sewn and stapled together. Bolt could tell immediately that it would scar, even with the aid of medical ninjutsu. Just another to add to the growing collection. Unless, of course, he could get Sarada's mother or Tsunade to heal him. Neither was likely, given his status as an official rogue ninja of the Leaf.

Sighing, Bolt leaned back into the pillows of the bed he was lying on and closed his eyes. He still felt a little drowsy from whatever poison Hikari had given him. Now that he was freed from the constant pain he had been in, his mind had other things to ponder.

Like how much of a fool he had been.

He had told his sister that only a Kage could capture him. What a load of shit that was. Outnumbered against inferior forces whom his father knew he wouldn't allow to be hurt, he and his friends had been beaten soundly. Forget S-class, like his wanted poster described him as, he was barely fit to be considered A-class.

The gap between B-class and A-class was small. High chūnin were regularly considered B-class criminals in the bingo book. A-class were jōnin. But the gap between A-class and S-class?

That was something that could not be quantified. You didn't become S-class through training. You became S-class when the world bestowed you that title. When your power was so far removed from an average human's that you more of a force of nature than a man. When your visage was what children feared or prayed to see in the night. When your very name was enough to inspire bravery in your allies and terror in your enemies. When you speak, the world listens with baited breath.

Bolt was not S-class. No matter how much the Union wanted to call him that. It was a technicality created by bureaucrats whom had never even seen a battlefield or who had forgotten what war was like entirely.

No, he wasn't S-class.

Not yet.

If the Union wanted to brand him as the most dangerous criminal from the Leaf since his master, then he would give them exactly what they wanted. First, he would recover. Then, he would help the people of the Land of Wind. After that, then he would train. There was still much he could learn. He needed to complete his sealing training. There was little the Uzukage's scroll could teach him, but there were a few lessons he had yet to complete. There were higher levels of the Lightning Armor he had theorized to exist but had not yet reached. He needed to refine his Rasenshinsei until using it was as easy as breathing.

Then he would give them a reason to call him S-class.

Bolt blinked, looking up as he heard boots scuffing stone. The sandy sheets erected around his bed for privacy were parted. It was Shūichi. "Hello, friend!" the man greeted him with a smile and a wave.

Now that he wasn't delirious with pain, Bolt found him odd. "Hello," Bolt greeted. He was too happy. As if the weight of the world wasn't on his shoulders. Shūichi always had a smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eye. He talked too much, too. He made pleasant conversation with anyone who would listen.

He just seemed to have an innate innocence, a goodness, a purity, about him that made Bolt relax his guard. That was what made his instincts scream at him in alarm. After the battle with his friends, he would never ignore them again. There was something off about Shūichi, and he was determined to figure out exactly what it is.

"Can I help you?" Bolt asked, when Shūichi just smiled at him.

"Oh, no, I was just checking on you. Little girl fell asleep," he answered, pointing towards the slumbering form of Hikari who rested against a nearby wall.

"For your own personal safety, don't ever call her that when she's awake," Bolt told him.

Shūichi just smiled and nodded, unaware of the danger he was in. Hikari had slipped poison in more than one Crimson Tide mercenary's food for less. "She insisted on assisting with the surgery," Shūichi informed him.

Bolt was rather thankful for that. He wasn't sure how much he trusted the good doctor after watching her hack someone's leg off. For all he knew, he was only alive because she had overseen the doctor's work.

But that was in the past. Now he could move forward, and continue working towards his dream. "Shūichi," Bolt said, drawing the man's attention. "Who are the information brokers in Tottori? Someone trustworthy, who knows what happens in the capital and in the Sand."

Who better to ask than a thief? And where better to find an information broker than a city of thieves? Bolt couldn't have asked for a better place to end up.

Shūichi faltered. "Well, there are a couple in town. The good ones charge a lot, though," he said.

"Money is of no concern," Bolt told him. He had plenty of money, after all. From the Crimson Tide, and from the spoils of war in the Land of Rain. He was quite wealthy. "Just that their information is accurate and recent."

"Well, if you've got the ryō, might as well visit the Broker," Shūichi said.

"The broker? What broker?" Bolt asked.

"No, that's his name. Nobody knows who he really is, so we just call him that," Shūichi said.

Bolt sighed.

Walking was something he had taken for granted. Standing, even. It had taken all his skill and willpower to avoid crying out as he managed to hoist himself to his feet. Thankfully, Hikari slept through the entire ordeal. She must have been truly tired to have not heard him. Bolt knew he wasn't as silent as he should have been. Tetsu, however, was not so easily fooled. He had stood watch over him, silently guarding him as he slept off the effects of the poison and the surgery. When Bolt made to leave, the samurai followed him dutifully without uttering a word.

Bolt was thankful he didn't need to convince Tetsu that he was fit to be up and walking again. He was sure Hikari would have chained him to the bed. Shūichi led them through the sandy pathways that passed for streets in Tottori. He waved at people—even people he shouldn't. More than once, Bolt thought he had seen a murderous expression cross a man's face as Shūichi passed them. He made quick, pleasant conversation with vendors selling their stolen wares. He even let a few street urchins scam him out of his ryō, whilst another two children picked his pockets.

It only made the feeling of wrongness echo louder in Bolt's mind.

Bolt was thankful no one had tried to steal from him. Not that he had anything in his pockets, it was all stored in a seal, but he didn't want to find out if Tetsu would extract the samurai's punishment for theft. They were quite fond of lopping hands off.

Eventually, they came to a large series of brightly colored tents. It was a bar, of sorts. It had worn wooden tables and chairs whose legs were not all the same length. Serving girls were scantily clad and served casks full of rice wine to the patrons. A few were kissing passionately where they sat, not bothering to find privacy.

Bolt scampered after Shūichi, who led them to an older woman with graying hair who was cleaning a porcelain cup. "Hello, madam!" Shūichi cried in greeting, heedless of how loud he was being. Several people looked up from their drinks.

"Here's in the back," the old woman said, sounding disinterested. She didn't even look up from cleaning her cup.

A small tent had been erected towards the rear of the tavern, and unlike the others, this one was as black as pitch. No light filtered through brightly colored fabric. There was only darkness. Bolt was immediately on guard. He felt chakra build in his eyes against his will; his dōjutsu making itself known.

Bolt gave in. He wasn't hiding. Not here, not anymore. The darkness cleared, giving way to a world formed of blue fire. There were a handful of chairs and tables scattered around the room, a bookcase in the corner that was filled with scrolls, and a lone man sat in an armchair at the far end of the tent. His hands were folded in his lap, but he was not deep in thought. He was looking right at them. Bolt could see the chakra of two trained guards hiding out of sight, just behind him. But nothing could hide from the Byakugan.

The Broker—for that was all Bolt could think of the man as—gestured for them to sit. Even in the darkness, he knew that Bolt could see him. Which made sense. He was an information broker; it was his job to know things. Knowing that a highly dangerous criminal from the Leaf was in your city, even temporarily, would be something he would know. And, if he was smart, he would look into said criminal's powers and abilities.

Bolt knew the Broker knew he had the Byakugan. Bolt took a seat, guiding Tetsu and Shūichi forward. Tetsu looked tense. He didn't like not being able to see. Bolt tapped him on the shoulder, once, to let him know that it was alright. He could handle things. And, well, if they needed light... lightning gave off plenty.

"Bolt Uzumaki," the Broker spoke. His voice was deep and gravely, as if he had smoked too many cigarettes in his life. Bolt could see that he was an older man, perhaps in his forties or early fifties. It was probably true. "What can I do for you?"

Bolt pressed his index finger to his forearm. There was a wisp of smoke and an audible discharge of chakra. Bolt saw the two guards behind the Broker tense and reach for their weapons, but the Broker waved them off. Bolt placed a suitcase of ryō on the table and slid it over to the man. The Broker was quick and methodical in his motions, as if he had performed the same action many times. He probably had.

He opened the case, quickly perused its contents, then clicked it shut and passed it off to one of the guards. "I can see this is going to be the start of a most beneficial relationship, Mr. Uzumaki," the Broker said. "What would you like to know?"

"There has been rumors of killings in the north," Bolt explained immediately. "People going missing in the night, near the full moon, only to wander back to their homes a few days later. I know that the Hidden Stone has sent ninja to investigate, and they whispered of men who were hollow inside. They found corpses, a veritable graveyard, in the northern mountains. What do you know about it?"

"Ah," the Broker said, exhaling audibly. There was a flicker of flame as he lit a cigarette. Bolt wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell of tobacco. It was different than the ones in the Leaf. "You're talking about the Spider of the Sand," he exhaled a great puff of smoke.

"Spider of the Sand," the Broker said, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Tsuchigumo. Not even I know much about him. Not many people survive meeting with it."

Bolt didn't miss the fact that the Broker referred to Tsuchigumo as an it, not a him or a her. "I've sent agents north to spy on the Spider, but they never come back alive. Well, not in the traditional sense."

"Traditional sense?" Bolt questioned. There was only one type of living, as far as he knew.

The Broker nodded. "You were right about the _hollow men_ , as the Stone so aptly put it. Stop by the gallows on your way out. You'll see what I mean."

Bolt frowned. "That's all you have? A name, and a general location? The Land of Wind is a large country. It could take years to scour the north and find Tsuchigumo," he said.

The Broker chuckled. "If you're seeking the Spider out, I wish you luck and a swift death. That's all I know. The others will tell you tales of half truths and fantasy. My information is trustworthy, and more importantly, true," he answered, waving Bolt off.

It was as clear of a dismissal as Bolt had ever seen. Grumbling at the loss of nearly a million ryō, he stalked out of the tavern with as much vitriol as he could muster. He headed back towards the clinic he was supposed to be interred in, but stopped for a moment to follow the Broker's advice.

The gallows were little more than a stone outcropping that extended from the rocky crags that the tent city of Tottori was built around. Thick woven ropes were circled around the stone. There were bodies hanging there by the neck. Men and women, and even some children. Most of the corpses were little more than bones and mummified skin. But a few. Those few.

They were dead, that much Bolt could see. But they didn't decay. They were as whole as they were in life, but his Byakugan could see that their eyes were unseeing and glazed. Their limbs were hacked off at the waist and shoulders, leaving dark, gaping holes.

But one corpse above all caught Bolt's attention. It was a young woman, perhaps no older than fourteen or fifteen. She had an uncanny likeness to Inojin's mother; pale skin, long blonde hair. Her jade eyes stared down at him, her eyes cold and lifeless. But she had been cut in twine at the waist, just above the hip. Bolt walked forward, dreading what he was to find, but praying that he found it all the same.

He stood under her hanging body, and looked up. He expected to find guts and gore. But he didn't.

He found nothing.

She was empty inside. _Hollow._

Bolt recoiled, backing away. He blinked, his dōjutsu fading. He shivered, feeling a cold hand run up and down his spine. The walk back to the clinic was in near silence. Tetsu, bolt could tell, had been as disturbed as he had been. Shūichi, even, so boisterous and happy, had been subdued. The hanging woman had been so... so human looking. So real. What could have happened to her to turn her into that? A shell of a woman. In the most literal sense.

Bolt didn't even flinch as Hikari had flung him back into bed the moment he had returned. She—quite literally—chained him to his hospital bed. He could escape, probably, if he wanted to. But he didn't. Bolt wanted to think.

He had a sickening feeling of dread in the back of his mind. An idea. One so dark and twisted that he didn't want to entertain it for fear that it would manifest itself as truth.

He knew of one "hollow man." Not personally, only through reading. Nagato had extensive intel on all of his Akatsuki members. On their powers; their abilities. Their strengths and weaknesses. Their history.

Sasori of the Red Sand was a hollow man.

Bolt dreaded to think that the woman he saw today was a human puppet. But, in his heart, he knew it to be true. That was what she was. A puppet. A woman who had been murdered and turned into a literal walking, talking shell of her former self. A slave to a puppeteers will.

Tsuchigumo was a human puppeteer. He was killing people, hundreds of them, and making an army of puppets so lifelike that they couldn't be discerned from real flesh and blood.

It was a crime against humanity.

And Bolt would make him pay.

* * *

 **A/N:**

So this chapter is a little late. I really have no excuse. I've just not had time to write as I've found myself submerged in my other hobbies. That's just the way the cookie crumbles, I guess. Anyway, this chapter was one I'm a little disappointed in. I feel like it wasn't as strong as the previous one. But it does set the stage for the Land of Wind, and I'm pretty excited for how things unfold here.

I sort of had Bolt take a page out of Itachi's book, when it came to Himawari and Sarada. It felt right.

I wanted to take this time to get on my soap box about the Tsunade/Sakura/Sarada super strength. In the manga, it's used almost as comedic relief 99% of the time. In reality, it would have been a seriously dangerous strength. A single hit, though slow, would almost surely kill and cripple any opponent if it landed. When Tsunade would hit X character for saying/doing something she didn't like, she would have to be extremely careful with how much strength she actually used lest she killed them. And, most of the time, they would get up and shake it off like nothing had even happened. The extent of Bolt's injuries are quite serious (flail chest is when your ribs are broken in so many places that portions of them are no longer connected to bone and are "floating") due to Sarada's misjudgment of how much strength she could use.

Also, as a side note, for anyone who watches Game of Thrones—wow. S06E09, holy shit. I think that was the best hour of television I've ever watched.


	39. Chapter 39

It was three days later that Bolt ventured forth into the unforgiving sands of the Land of Wind. He had recovered from his surgery faster than anyone Doctor Sawbones had ever seen, according to the old woman. Bolt blamed his Uzumaki heritage. That, combined with the bulging stores of Yang chakra he kept partitioned within his system, lead to a speedy recovery.

Bolt hired a guide—which ended up being Shūichi, to his great displeasure. The man was, as they had learned, one of the few people who knew the desert in and out. He still found something about how cheerful the man was to be disturbing. No one was that happy. But, maybe, that was just him. It was hard to imagine a life of such happiness. He hadn't been happy in a long, long time. Not truly. Not since he was too young to understand that his family was broken irrevocably.

Bolt took a long swig of water from his canteen. It was lukewarm and didn't satisfy his thirst, but he knew that if he wanted to stay alive in the desert he needed to keep hydrated. His boots sank into the sand as he walked, sending up wisps of sandy clouds with each footfall. Bolt understood why the people of the Land of Wind rode camels. Walking in the sand for any great distance was an effort in futility. It was exhausting. Even using chakra, sandwalking was as tiresome and tedious as waterwalking. If not more so, because of the heat. It was hard to concentrate on anything when your brain was being boiled in your skull.

He looked to the north, peering through the rocky crags and sand dunes that made up the badlands. Nothing, no man or beast, called the badlands their home. It was nothing but death and heat and sand for miles and miles. The tent city of Tottori was the notable exception. The city of thieves moved from place to place, sometimes throughout the badlands, but always in the more habitable area. But it was the most direct route towards the border of the Land of Earth and Wind.

And that was where they needed to go. Tsuchigumo operated in the north, according to rumor and what intel he had purchased from the various brokers of Tottori.

"We should have bought camels," Hikari said with a breathy sigh.

"No," Bolt said immediately. He had, in fact, agreed to purchase camels for their journey. Then one bit him on the shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Foul creatures, the lot of them. He'd rather walk through the desert than have the mangy beasts carry them.

"It would be better than walking," Hikari grumbled. She was from the Land of Water. She wasn't built for the heat. Sweat poured off her in waves.

"What's that?" Tetsu asked, holding a hand to his eyes to shade them from the sun. He pointed towards the west.

Bolt narrowed his eyes as he looked at a wall of brown towering in the distance.

"Sandstorm!" Shūichi cried, taking off at a dead sprint.

Bolt swore and followed after their guide, Hikari and Tetsu trailing behind him. Shūichi lead them to one of the rocky crags that dotted the badlands. It was a towering monolith of red-brown stone that erupted from the dunes. Boulders and smaller rocks were littered around the crags, and Shūichi began to pile them. Bolt quickly realized he was making a makeshift shelter.

"Help him!" Bolt cried, running to a nearby rock as large as his torso. He gripped it tightly with both arms, chakra surging through his limbs as he half carried, half dragged the rock over to their shelter. Bolt cursed, wishing for the first time that he had an affinity for Earth. If only his sister were with him. No, don't think that. Don't wish that.

Tetsu carried a boulder that was as wide as Bolt was, and at least twice as tall. It alone created one wall of the shelter. Hikari, using her preternatural strength, performed a similar feat. Together, the four of them managed to create a defensible shelter to shield them from the storm.

Just in time, too. Bolt could hear the wind howling and raging, even in the distance. They huddled inside the stone dwelling, sweating profusely from the heat and exertion. Between the four of them, there wasn't much room. If they hadn't been comfortable with each other before, they quickly learned to. Bolt was not used to sharing his personal space with other people. It was worsened because everyone was sweaty and hot.

Then the storm hit. Hikari cried out as a tendril of sand seeped between the gaps of the stonework and licked at her hand. It carved away skin with ease and left a bloody trail along her arm. She recoiled, collapsing backwards into Tetsu. The samurai slammed his forearm against the offending gap, closing it.

Bolt swore under his breath as a look of pain flashed across Tetsu's face. He quickly pressed a finger to his forearm, and summoned forth his sealing brush, some ink, and four scraps of parchment. There wasn't a lot of room to work with, and his hands were shaky. Tetsu and Hikari did their best not to move, so as to not cause his handwriting to falter. Shūichi was sandwiched between Tetsu and the back of the shelter.

It was shoddy work. Bolt didn't like that he had no time to properly give his sealing jutsu his normal flair. But they were in a bit of a pinch. He plastered the four newly crafted seals to their shelter, one at each of the cardinal directions. Bolt contorted his hands into the Ram seal as he invoked the jutsu. _"Whirlpool Barrier Jutsu,"_ Bolt echoed in his mind.

The tags glowed with an icy blue light. A whirling chakra coalesced in a sphere around them. It was like being encased in a bubble of water. The bubble frothed and whirled, as if it was made from several whirlpools. Bolt let a sigh of relief escape his lips as the wind died down and the sand fell to the floor harmlessly.

Tetsu removed his arm from where he had been blocking a gap in the stone. The sand at cut deep into his flesh. To the bone. Hikari hissed her displeasure and quickly latched on to the offending arm. Her hands glowed a soft green as she ran them up and down the samurai's wound. Little by little, the flesh knit itself back together. "Thank you," Bolt heard Hikari whisper as she finished healing him. He smiled, his hands shaking from the effort of maintaining the barrier.

He leaked chakra like a sieve. He was surprised by the sheer effort it took to maintain a barrier. "How long do these storms usually last?" Bolt asked through gritted teeth.

Shūichi managed to weasel his way out from behind Tetsu, looking over the samurai's shoulder. "Oh, big storm like this, could last days. Weeks, even. Hasn't been one that bad since the big storm just after the war, though," Shūichi answered.

Bolt uttered a silent prayer to the Sage of Six Paths. He would drop dead from chakra exhaustion before the storm let up, he knew. An hour passed. Then two. Then three. And then four.

By five, Bolt was shaking violently. He couldn't feel his legs anymore, and collapsed to his knees. He was practically sitting in Hikari's lap. She herself caught him, falling back into Tetsu's chest. Even sitting, the samurai was as tall as her. "Friends?" Shūichi murmured fearfully.

"I don't know how much more I can do this," Bolt gasped. His fingers felt numb and swollen from holding the Ram seal for so long. His stitches on his chest were burning something fierce. Bolt was sure that some sand had managed to work its way into the wound.

Hikari held a soldier pill to his lips. Wordlessly, Bolt ate it. He felt his aching muscles sigh in relief as the energy in the pill coursed through him. It was temporary, lasting a few hours at best, but it was a luxury Bolt would gladly take. He would dope himself out on soldier pills before he let the barrier fall and expose himself and his friends to the elements. Outside, the storm raged with a new intensity.

A ghastly roar echoed in the distance, echoing through the badlands. Bolt felt Hikari shiver in fear against him. Bolt bit his tongue to stop his limbs from trembling, though his exhaustion made that an effort in futility. "By the gods," Shūichi whispered. "What was that?"

Bolt didn't know. Truth be told, he didn't want to find out. He pitied the poor soul that did find the source of that noise; be it a roar or the desert playing tricks on them. He prayed it was the latter. Bolt's head lolled on Hikari's shoulder as the storm intensified. Sand ate at rock, carving through it little by little. Had it not been for his barrier, they would be dead.

Bolt wouldn't let the barrier fall. He couldn't. They would all be dead if he did.

* * *

Gaara rode forth on a nimbus of sand as he soared through the desert towards the badlands. Ahead, he could see a wall of sand and wind that towered above him for thousands of feet into the sky. His ANBU had reported earlier that day that a sandstorm was brewing in the badlands. Not an uncommon occurrence. Certainly nothing that would ever warrant the Kazekage himself to act.

But when the storm grew and raged, Gaara knew it was no mere act of nature. His suspicions were confirmed when his ANBU began to report sightings of a massive shadow lurking in the storm. He knew who it was.

Shukaku.

The One-Tail's roars could be heard for miles and miles in every direction. The badlands was a hive of scum and villainy, but they were his citizens all the same. He couldn't let them perish to Shukaku's rage. It was his duty, as the former jinchūriki of the One-Tail, and Shukaku's friend, to calm him.

Gaara peered skyward. The sun was beginning its descent, and the moon could be seen in the sky. It was a full moon. Shukaku seemed to be more prone to his fits of madness during the full moon. Gaara himself had lived through it for over a decade, so he understood his friend's rage. But, even still, he couldn't let Shukaku release his anger in such a way. The sandstorm he was generating would blow outwards from the badlands and destroy towns and villages, kill crops, and dry precious, life-giving wells of water.

Gaara extended a hand, his fingers splayed, as he entered the sandstorm. The sand parted around him like water. He formed a bubble of air around his body, making it easier to see and breathe. He could see Shukaku's shadow looming in the distance. It was nothing more than an indistinct blur of black amongst the red-brown sand. "Shukaku!" Gaara cried, yelling so loudly that his throat bled.

All that answered him was a roar of fury and rage. Gaara cleared the sand and entered the eye of the storm. Shukaku was there, roaring at the sky. Around him, several dozens of men and women lay dead or dying. A few were dragging their friends to whatever safety they could hope to find, and a desperate few stood their ground as they faced their deaths at the hands of the One-Tail.

Gaara scowled as he saw the mercenaries attempting to slay his friend. In his heart, he knew he could not blame them. Likely, some poor village had pooled their savings and hired them because they feared what the One-Tail would do. Gaara had to admit, simply being near the towering creature of living sand took an iron will. Even after all these years, he still felt an irrational spike of fear when he saw Shukaku.

Gaara lashed out with one arm and clenched his fist. Below, sand reared up and crushed what few mercenaries remained. Their blood stained the sand crimson, and he hoped it would abate Shukaku's rage if even a little. "Shukaku! Calm yourself!" Gaara cried into the raging wind.

A deafening roar answered him.

Gaara straightened, raising both arms above his head. He began to subjugate the raging sandstorm before it could blow outwards to the rest of his country. He didn't even see the massive wall of sand before it slammed into him. He was knocked from his nimbus of sand and fell to the dunes below. A quick jutsu summoned a tendril of sand that shot skywards and caught him. It softened the blow as he landed hard, on his back.

He curled into a ball as a coughing fit overtook him. Gaara held his hands to his mouth as he felt something warm coat his palms. When he removed his hands, they were coated in blood. He swore. The doctors had told him that he had years to live yet. A decade, at least. Two, if he took care of himself. But he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to live that long if he was going to feel like he did. His body was slowly dying from the inside out. Granny Chiyo's technique, powerful as it was, was not enough. He had been dead. Truly dead. For how long, he didn't know, but he had been dead.

The body did not take well to death. It was a miracle that he hadn't suffered more brain damage than he had. It was a miracle he had even been brought back at all. In a way, he wished that they had never brought him back. Death was peace. It was so easy to slip away to oblivion. To sleep and dream forever. He didn't have to go back to the world of pain and agony.

But he did. He returned, and he overcame that pain and agony that Akatsuki had inflicted upon him and Shukaku.

Gaara struggled to his feet as the wind whipped at him. He redoubled his efforts in dissipating the storm, even as Shukaku raged and fought to empower it. Minutes passed. Then hours. The full moon rose, high in the sky, and Shukaku's madness overtook him. Gaara knew that there would be no reasoning with his friend now—if he could even be called that. The full moon twisted and warped the One-Tail beyond all recognition of its former self.

The sun was just beginning to crest the mountains in the distance when Gaara finally subdued the storm. As the moon set, Shukaku seemed to calm. Then, without saying a word, the massive, lumbering creature of sand set forth deep into the desert.

Gaara collapsed to his knees, coughing up more blood. His hair and clothes were damp with sweat, and he knew that he had shortened his already shortened life even more by fighting the sandstorm. But he was the Kazekage. It was his duty. If it costed him his life to spare his people even a little hardship, he would gladly do so. After all, it wouldn't be his first time.

Gaara watched the retreating form of Shukaku as he disappeared over the dunes.

He didn't know it, then, but that was the last time either Tailed Beast or jinchūriki would ever meet.

* * *

Hikari nursed Bolt in the crook of her arm. He was as stiff as a board, but shivering as if deathly cold. His eyes were closed, but his hands still held the Ram seal that kept the barrier erect. It was the only thing keeping them alive. Outside, she could hear the wind howling with an unnatural fury. The low grating sound of sand eating at stone rumbled in her ears. If the barrier fell, she was sure they would die. It would be a quick death, but a painful one. In the end, there would be nothing left of them. Not even bones. Just dust.

Tetsu was restless. She sat in his lap in their small shelter. The samurai clenched and unclenched his fists. His knuckles were white. The few times she had looked up at him, his teeth were clenched and the muscles of his jaw were bulging. Yes, Hikari could understand that feeling. The feeling of helplessness. To be in a situation where you could not influence the outcome. They were at the storm's mercy, and among the four of them only Bolt had the skills that could save their lives.

Not for the first time, she felt the acidic burn of jealousy well in her stomach. She was well aware that her own strength had been approaching a plateau. It stung to see Bolt, whom had been weaker than her when they first met, soar to new heights. Heights that she could not ascend to. For the hundredth time, she swore to herself that when her arm no longer felt so brittle it would snap in a gentle breeze, that she would renew her training with zeal.

There was much she could improve on. Her skill as a medic was sorely lacking. The hunter corps had only cared that she could dismember a man. They cared little if she could reassemble him. Her repertoire of water and lightning jutsu could be expanded, too. Bolt probably knew a few things that even she didn't know. His genius in ninjutsu continued to awe her. So, too, could she finally accept Bolt's offer of signing a summoning contract. She had held out, for fear that she would be rejected as a summoner. Even if she was accepted, Hikari knew she simply didn't have the chakra to summon the more powerful members of her chosen summoning clan. She could make strides to improving her taijutsu. Seeing the Uchiha girl's display of strength was an awe inspiring thing to witness. Her own chakra enhanced strength was sloppy; she had the strength, but not the control.

Hikari peered down at her right arm, encased in a crude cast. That was why her arm had shattered against the Leaf woman's staff. Had she possessed full control over the strength, her bones would have held up to the titanic strength she was capable of conjuring. Though, she supposed, that had more to do with her use of steroids in the fight than anything else.

Still. She refused to be left behind.

The wind was dying down. The low grating sound that had reverberated in her ears for so many hours was being silenced. Shūichi let out a gasp of relief. Their guide had practically been beside himself in his fear. She supposed that, as a citizen of the Land of Wind, he had plenty of reasons to fear the sandstorms. They wrecked havoc on the land and its people. This one was particularly bad.

"The storm has passed," Shūichi whispered, in awe. Hikari rolled her eyes as she heard him utter a prayer of thanks to the Sage of Six Paths.

Hikari waited for a few minutes. The wind died down and settled back into its natural pattern and strength. When the sand had settled and cleared, she was satisfied that they were no longer in danger. "You can release the barrier now, Bolt," she whispered to him.

Bolt nodded fervently, and peeled his hands apart. His joints popped as he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to work feeling into them. Around them, the blue-green whirling barrier of chakra dissipated with nary a sound. A blissfully cool wind blew through the gaps of their stone shelter. Hikari sighed in relief. She had been so afraid of the storm that her fear had pushed all thought of how blisteringly hot it was inside the small space with three men crowding her. Tetsu, in particular, was like a living furnace.

Hikari felt Bolt's body go slack in her arms as he fell into a much deserved slumber. She had been worried the strain of the barrier would have adverse effects on his wounds, but careful monitoring throughout the night had assuaged her worries. He was fine.

"We should get moving," Hikari said, cradling Bolt in her arms as she stood. It took a small flux of chakra to strengthen her body to carry his weight, but she could handle it. If Bolt could keep a storm at bay for half a day and an entire night, she could carry him to safety. "Where is the nearest village?" Hikari asked Shūichi.

Tetsu stood and lumbered out of the small shelter. Hikari winced as she heard his knees pop audibly. Comparing the two, she realized it must have been extremely uncomfortable for Tetsu to sit in the shelter for any great length of time. Still, he had endured. Shūichi scampered out after him.

Their guide breathed in the fresh air as a happy grin overtook his features. "Ah, my friends! We are free at last! The nearest village is," he paused, his splayed fingers working through his beard. "A few miles... that way!"

Shūichi pointed off in a seemingly random direction. There were no landmarks. No stars to navigate by. No charts or compass or map. He simply pointed. It frustrated Hikari to no end, but they had no choice but to trust in their guide. Bolt had decided to hire him in the end, and she would have to trust that he made the right choice.

Their group walked forward into the dunes. With Bolt's weight, the level of concentration needed to walk above the sand and not sink to her knees was doubled. They walked for hours. The heat rose and rose, until Hikari was sure she could cook an egg on the stone. She hated it. The Land of Water never got so hot, even in the dead of summer. Even if she sailed south to the tropics, the cool sea breeze always comforted her. Here, there was no respite from the scorching heat.

Then, as if fate was smiling upon them, they crested a towering dune of sand. And there, at the base, a sprawling village of mud huts sat. And, to her immense gratitude, a small river flowed through the center of the village. All along the banks, wispy stalks of grass reached skyward. A few hardy trees grew, casting blissful shadows over the water.

Hikari sighed, her shoulders slacking in visible relief. Finally, her element showed itself. Water. Blissful, cool water. The villagers stared at them with clear distrust, fear, and a little awe. Hikari set Bolt down on the bank of the river and kneeled before the water. It was crystal clear. She could see her mask in the reflection, and the sand below it. She cupped her hands and threw a handful of water over her head, basking in the relief it provided. The water was warm, but compared to the heat of the desert it was as cool as ice.

"I'm going to look for lodgings," Hikari told Tetsu. "Watch over Bolt for me, will you?"

She didn't need to ask, but did anyway. Tetsu stood above Bolt as he slept. The samurai kept a fist clenched around the hilt of his sword, and his head on a swivel. He took his duty seriously. It was almost frightening, the level of devotion he displayed. Hikari chopped it up to the relationship between master and samurai.

The village was small, and had no inn or tavern. Luckily, Hikari managed to barter with a local family whose sons had left home to find their fortune abroad. They were all too happy to house the four of them, for a price.

Bolt awakened briefly later that afternoon. The older couple doted on him, since he was "a dead ringer for their youngest boy, if his hair was black." They spoon fed him a bowl of cactus soup, and Hikari enjoyed watching him squirm under their affections. After she had explained he was recovering from injuries, they left him alone to rest. He was asleep, again, not soon after.

Hikari fell asleep that night, thankful that they had survived the storm and praying that the worst of their journey was behind them.

She knew it was pointless, but she did it all the same. Trouble seemed to follow them wherever they went. And, really, when Bolt was leading them head first into more trouble, it was hard to avoid it.

* * *

Bolt awoke the next morning feeling refreshed. His muscles ached something fierce, but that was to be expected after holding the same position for nearly a full day. He was cramped between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. He had slept it off, though, and sleeping in a proper bed and eating a hot meal had gone a long ways to improving his mood. For the first time, in quite a long time, the shadow of grief he felt over what he had done to Sarada and his sister didn't weigh so heavily on him.

He thanked the elderly couple for their hospitality, being sure to avoid staying for longer than was strictly necessary and polite. He really didn't want the old woman to pinch his cheeks again. He was sixteen, practically a man, and had more blood on his hands than most men twice his age. He hated being treated like a child.

The four of them set out early that morning. Shūichi promised that it was good to travel during the morning, rest in the afternoon, and continue into the evening before stopping for the night. It maximized travel time whilst keeping them out of the blistering heat of the day and the freezing cold of the night.

But Bolt could tell that they wouldn't be getting much travelling done that day. They were only a few miles north of the village when he began to feel eyes on his back. And not the friendly ones, either. He conveyed his findings to Hikari and Tetsu through a silent language that only the three of them understood; glances, nervous tics, and odd sounds. Shūichi was blissfully ignorant of the exchange, which was probably for the best considering that he wasn't a ninja.

And whoever was hunting them was most definitely a ninja. Bolt was tempted to reveal his dōjutsu, but chose to wait. He knew they were being followed, he just didn't know why. If they were bounty hunters, revealing his dōjutsu would be as good as confirming he was who he was. Maybe, just maybe, their hunters would leave their group alone.

That hope was dashed as a black dot appeared amongst the sand. Bolt and his group stopped walking. The dot stood in the distance, not moving. Then, it was joined by three more. Together, the four of them advanced. Bolt could see the leader. He was a tall man with a broad forehead and a large nose. He wore a one-piece suit of black fabric that covered his head, where two bestial ears sat. His face was tanned, but was stained a red-purple color by warpaint.

He had seen enough pictures of his "uncle" Gaara to know that this was Kankurō of the Sand. Bolt knew who stood next to him. He remembered watching Shinki fight during the Chūnin Exams, and his bout with Sarada was etched in his mind. The dangerous, swirling cloud of iron sand that he wore as a cloak was a dead giveaway. Shinki's teammates stood on either side of him; a boy wearing a long, tan colored coat and a pale imitation of the Mist's hunter masks, and a girl with long blonde hair and pretty blue-gray eyes. She wore a large battle fan on her back.

Well. Bolt hadn't expected new hunters so soon. He supposed it made sense, though. His father was close friends with the Kazekage. It was not a stretch to imagine that he had asked the Kazekage to have men looking for him.

"Bolt Uzumaki," Kankurō intoned, his voice hard. It echoed over the dunes. "As a favor to your father, the Kazekage has tasked us with apprehending you. We would appreciate your cooperation."

Bolt had no intention of ever cooperating with anyone that would lead him to a Union's prison cell. He placed his thumb against his forearm and summoned his Leaf headband in a wisp of smoke. He could smell the sharp tang of chakra as he tied it to his skull. Bolt's lips twitched upwards in a grim smile as the four of their eyes hardened. Kankurō, in particular, stiffened as he saw the scratch in the headband.

"I see," Kankurō said, withdrawing a scroll as long and as thick as his forearm. Bolt watched, fascinated by the display of foreign fūinjutsu. Kankurō placed his palm on the seal, and a cloud of smoke erupted from the scroll.

The smoke dissipated, revealing a puppet wearing nothing more than a tattered black cloak. Bolt frowned thunderously. He recognized that puppet. It was the body of Sasori. Pressure built behind his eyes as his Byakugan made itself known. In his anger, he couldn't even control his dōjutsu. How dare they. Sasori may have been a monster, but he was still a human. Using his corpse as a puppet when it should have been given the proper respect was an insult to the man's name.

"Leave the one in black to me," Bolt told Tetsu and Hikari. "Shūichi, get back." Their guide scampered back down the dune and towards safety.

There was hissed orders issued by Kankurō. Two of his students—Araya and Yogo, if he remembered right—circled around him. Shinki stood side-by-side with his father, his cloak of iron sand wafting in a magnetic field that Bolt couldn't see, feel, or sense. "You'll be giving Sasori's body to me," Bolt spat.

A fleeting look of surprise, anger, and—and fear?—crossed over Kankurō's features. All the same, Bolt would be taking his corpse. It was the least he could do to honor the organization he had come to respect. "I don't think so," Shinki spoke, bringing forth his own puppet; a horrible skeletal abomination.

Bolt heard boots kicking up sand to his left and right. "This one shall be your opponent," Tetsu intoned, brandishing his sword. He could see the masked Araya draw a sword that was as tall as he was from a scabbard he kept on his back. Hikari and Yodo stood a few paces away from each other, both with cold looks in their eyes. Yodo's hands were inching for her battle fan on her back, and Hikari was slowly forming the hand seal that would summon needles from the seals on her palms.

Bolt turned his gaze back to Kankurō and Shinki. He grinned. A cloud of chakra burned around him before it ignited into a storm of arcing lightning. Electricity leapt from his body and scarred the sand, leaving bubbles of molten glass in its wake. There was a flash of panic that crossed their faces.

That was all the warning they got. Bolt darted forward, kicking up sand as he sprinted forward. Wisps of cherry-red sand glowed in his wake from the heat his Lightning Armor generated. He was behind Kankurō before the man could even twitch his fingers to move Sasori.

But Shinki was not caught so unawares. A wall of iron sand surrounded him as Bolt's fist came down. Lightning arced from his fingertips across the iron, but the wall did not budge. Then the skeletal puppet was rushing him, its claws bared to savage him. Bolt was gone in a flash, appearing before Kankurō, who had now turned to face where he had attacked previously.

The man, despite being brother to the Kazekage, had obviously never fought someone as fast as he was. But, he didn't need to. Bolt saw his fingers twitch, and Sasori returned to life. The crimson-haired puppet's arms lashed out as two holes appeared in the palms of its hands. Flames erupted in a great explosion of heat and light.

Bolt abandoned his attack, watching as an inferno obliterated the sand he had been standing on. Nothing but molten glass remained. He spared a quick glance at his friends; Tetsu was dueling Araya, and Hikari was raining down needles on Yodo. Araya was barely handling Tetsu on his own, but Yodo was using gusts of wind from her war fan to knock away Hikari's needles with ease. It was a poor matchup, but Bolt had faith that she would emerge victorious in the end.

And if not... well, he could kill Yodo in a flash before she knew that death had come for her.

Bolt dashed forward, kicking up globules of molten glass. He evaded Shinki's skeletal puppet entirely, dodged a tendril of iron sand, and a barrage of kunai that Sasori's puppet body had launched at him. They dripped with a noxious purple colored liquid, and Bolt knew that even the slightest cut would be something very unpleasant.

Then he was upon the father and son duo again. He lashed out with the Gentle Fist, intending to close half a dozen chakra points of Kankurō. Shinki's wall of iron sand blocked him, again. Bolt was starting to get annoyed. He dug his boots into the sand and spun. Chakra, augmented by his Lightning Armor, exploded from his chakra points with an audible crack of thunder. The wall of iron sand turned into nothing more but a cloud of sand with lightning arcing between each grain.

Kankurō and Shinki were shaken and deafened by the Revolving Heaven. It was all too easy to slip forward between the clouds of sand. Sasori's puppet body twitched, and a serrated scythe-like blade erupted from its forearms. Bolt ducked and weaved, avoiding the blades that were drenched in poison. He threw a fist forward that connected with Kankurō's chest. It echoed with a dull, hollow thud.

Bolt threw himself backwards as Kankurō sprouted two additional arms. There was a click, and Kankurō's jaw parted. A hail of needles shot forward, each dripping with poison. Bolt cursed, and spun into another Revolving Heaven. As he spun, his Byakugan scoured the land for the hiding Kankurō. He had, at some point, replaced his body with another puppet. Bolt found him hiding beneath the dunes no more than a few paces away.

He stopped his revolutions and held his right arm aloft, index and middle fingers pointed at where he was hiding. Lightning arced down his arm and shot forward. A lance of lightning speared the sand dune, kicking up clouds of sand that glowed cherry-red from the heat. Kankurō was ejected from the sand, a grimace on his face.

Then Bolt was slammed into the ground by a fist of iron sand. Before it could catch him in its grasp, he darted away with his preternatural speed. All the fist caught was a handful of sand. The two puppeteers regrouped, both breathing hard.

Truthfully, Bolt respected the both of them. Puppeteers were thought of as weak, but Bolt could tell that they were anything but. Fighting with puppets required careful planning and used more cunning than strength. They were fighting to capture him a prison of iron sand or poison him. All while defending against his augmented speed. Impressive.

There was a scream of agony that made Bolt's ears twitch in annoyance. Araya lay in the sand, his coat stained crimson from a long slash that ran the length of his body from shoulder to hip. Tetsu flicked his sword, cleaning it of gore. As Bolt had expected. "Tetsu, help Hikari," he commanded. The samurai nodded and made to join their masked friend.

"Shinki! Go!" Kankurō bellowed.

"But—" Shinki protested.

"Go!" Kankurō commanded.

Shinki flew to his remaining teammate, the girl, Yodo. She was sending wild gusts of wind at both Hikari and Tetsu, and having little luck in hitting either.

Bolt smirked. They were out of their league. But he wouldn't underestimate them. Not again. Not after what his sister and Sarada had shown him. He formed the clone seal with both of his hands. Two wisps of smoke spat forth two identical copies of him. "Smoke bombs," Bolt commanded.

"You got it, boss," the clones echoed.

* * *

Kankurō cursed under his breath as two clones joined the original. Great. Just great. It was like fighting against a younger Naruto. One who had the speed of Raijin himself and wasn't afraid to cut him to ribbons. He was already near his wit's end trying to avoid the attacks and score a hit with his puppets—a hit that he didn't know would even connect, given that he was using the armor of the Raikage.

Kankurō's fingers twitched, ever so slightly, and his puppets responded; Karasu took the forefront, while Sasori stayed in reserve. For whatever reason, Bolt seemed focussed on stealing his puppet of the late Sasori. It was disturbing that one so young as Bolt knew not only who Sasori was—the Sand didn't like to acknowledge the man ever even existed—but that he knew his puppet was not just a puppet, but that it was the "corpse" of the late Sasori. He resolved to find out just how he had discovered that dark secret.

Then the smoke bombs came. Bolt was eaten by a cloud of billowing blue smoke. A moment later, the smoke dissipated as if swept away by a gust of wind. Bolt darted forward, though Kankurō had no idea if it was the original or a clone. His fingers twitched, readying Karasu to enter melee combat.

That was when _something_ slammed into Karasu, shattering the puppet and utterly destroying it. Shards of chakra-hardened plastic were thrown in his face from the force of the blow. Kankurō felt something invisible rush past him like a gust of wind. Then Bolt was upon him, and Kankurō had no desire to discover what exactly the Gentle Fist did to his body. Sasori flew forward and slashed at him with the scythes mounted in its forearms. Bolt slapped them away.

For a moment, Kankurō thought had had won. Sasori's arsenal was all coated in a powerful paralytic poison that would leave even the strongest of ninja in a near comatose state. But, apparently, the Lightning Armor shielded him from the effects of the poison. His eyes could see the charred remnants of the poison burned onto the blades.

"Rasengan!"

Kankurō looked up, and stared into the face of Death itself. A whirring, roaring sphere of chakra was mere feet from his face. Bolt—one of his clones, Kankurō amended—had descended from the sky with a Rasengan clutched in the palm of his hand. Bolt was going to kill him. Actually murder him, here, on the sand dunes he called home. The son of Naruto, a man he called a friend, was going to kill him.

There was nothing he could do. Kankurō leapt backwards in a desperate attempt to avoid a fatal blow. Bolt sailed downward, the Rasengan missing him by the barest of inches, and slammed into the sand. There was an explosion of pressure and blinding white-blue light. Kankurō surrendered his body to the forces acting upon it, and was bodily thrown from atop the sand dune they fought upon.

He blinked groggily, in disbelief that he was still alive. Pushing himself to his knees, Kankurō looked up. Bolt—the real one, he assumed—was kneeling over the puppet body of Sasori. His two clones had the puppet pinned. Bolt was weaving hand seals with the preternatural speed his armor gave him. His hands were nothing more than a blur. Then, in a wisp of smoke, the puppet of Sasori was gone; sealed away, never to be seen again.

Kankurō swore, staggering to his feet. He fetched the scroll he kept hidden on his back, where his other puppets were stored. This fight wasn't over. Not by a long shot. His pride as a puppeteer wouldn't let him be defeated after losing two of his creations. He unfurled the scroll, letting his chakra course through it. "Black Secret Technique," he intoned, as ten wisps of smoke spat forth ten puppets of his own creation; one for each finger.

The largest of which, a barrel-chested armor puppet, rushed for the injured Araya. The puppet swallowed him, storing the boy in its chest cavity, and dashed back towards the Hidden Sand. Hopefully, he would be okay, and the Sand would send reinforcements when they saw his puppet carrying the injured Araya.

Bolt stared him down with the Byakugan. Truthfully, the eyes of the Hyūga frightened him a little. Not that he would ever admit that aloud. He still remembered the hatred reflected in Neji's eyes during the Chūnin Exams so long ago.

Both of the clones were dispelled, and Kankurō swallowed his fear as their chakra returned to the original. His Lightning Armor arced with even more electricity. The blonde's eyes drifted from one puppet to the next, his body tense. Kankurō's fingers twitched as he arranged them in formation.

Then his white-violet eyes settled on him, and Kankurō shivered. The aura of flaming chakra about him intensified; exploding with lightning. His hair stood on end, and the scars on his cheeks darkened.

And, in that instant, he hesitated. For that one terrible moment, he saw a much, much younger Naruto cloaked in crimson chakra with wild eyes and feral scars on his cheeks.

Then it was over. His puppets were in shambles, and he felt darkness creeping into the edges of his vision as he fell to the sand.

"Dad!" Kankurō heard Shinki scream.

Then he knew no more.

* * *

Bolt set his sights on Shinki. He had raged the moment his father went down. That distraction was all it took for Hikari to slip past him and slam her fist into Yodo's sternum. The blonde girl collapsed in a pile of tangled limbs, wheezing. Then Hikari's boot connected with her skull, and she did not rise.

He could see the moment clarity returned to Shinki as he realized he was surrounded on all sides; bereft of his allies and facing three of the strongest rogues in all the land. Bolt could feel that his time using the second level of the Lightning Armor was growing short. That moment of clarity he felt when he let his anger control him during his fight with Sarada was a double-edged sword; it let him use power beyond his imagination, but it was wild and untamed.

Shinki stood over Yodo's prone form, a curtain of iron sand surrounding him. His skeletal puppet was fending off Tetsu, who traded blows; sword against claw. "You've lost, Shinki," Bolt told him. Honestly, he had lost to Sarada. How did he ever think he could win against him?

Shinki's eyes were wide and full of fear as they darted between Bolt and Kankurō. Bolt could see the moment he had reached his decision. It was a base instinct. Fight, and if you can't, flee.

Only he didn't understand that there were some foes you couldn't flee from. Even a rat knows to bare its fangs to the cat when cornered. His iron sand split into two great tendrils that slammed into Tetsu and Hikari. Both grunted and were sent flying down the sand dune. Then Shinki charged him.

How foolish. Bolt darted forward, slipping into an aggressive Gentle Fist stance that would allow him to close his opponent's chakra points. Bolt skidded to a stop as the massive clawed paw of his skeletal puppet swung at him from behind. Quick reflexes let him dodge with ease.

Shinki was no more than a handful of feet away when Bolt slapped the puppet away, destroying it, and returned his focus to Shinki.

What Bolt hadn't expected for Shinki to do was skid to a stop. He stood no more than a single pace away. Then he exhaled a great gust of wind. Bolt saw it coming, but it wasn't enough; the gust was too wide, too all-encompassing. So he darted forward, barging through it and raining down Gentle Fist blows on Shinki as he sprinted past him.

Only he didn't.

Bolt stepped into the wall of wind, and it shredded his armor like a kunai slashed paper. There was no resistance; no defense. Blades of wind parted lightning with natural ease as his chakra's natural enemy destroyed his armor. Then, the blades kept going. One cut across his shin, before stopping at the bone. Another slashed at the soft flesh below his ribcage. A third was deflected off his collarbone and cut a gash across his shoulder.

He fell to the ground in a tangled pile of limbs with a whimper of pain as he clutched at his leg. It spilled blood with great spurts that stained the sand crimson.

"Bolt!" he heard Hikari scream.

There was a roar of fury and a massive crescent of chakra soared through the air. Shinki summoned a wall of iron sand to block the Flash. It exploded, raining down gray-black grains of sand all around them. But Shinki was gone, Yodo flung over his shoulder and Kankurō floating on a cloud of iron sand.

The three of them retreated into the desert, heading west towards what Bolt presumed was the Hidden Sand. That would be good information for later, he realized.

That was the last thing he thought of before his mind narrowed in on the soft green glow of Hikari's hands as the world slowly faded to black.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Faster chapter this time, to make up for the slight delay of last chapter.

Back on my soapbox. I didn't like how they cheapened Gaara's death by having a random resurrection technique on hand. If you die, you should stay dead. Edo Tensei being the notable exception, because you're not truly "alive" with that technique. Anyway, this was the Gaara plot bunny that I teased several chapters ago. Props to those with the more clever theories, including that Gaara had been injured in the war or that he had contracted Itachi's ninja AIDS.

In addition to the above, I dislike how the manga did a _complete 360_ with how it treated and viewed Tailed Beasts. I can kind of, maybe, accept that Kurama could change. He was the most powerful of the nine, and held in the most powerful container who was also the reincarnation of his father's children. Gyūki, too, because of his friendship with Bee. But the other 7? No way. There was a reason the people feared the Tailed Beasts and called them demons. They were literal forces of nature who viewed humans with the same respect that we use to view ants. Maybe they weren't always that way, but thousands of years of hatred and animosity is not erased in a few days of goodwill by one man (Naruto). Anyway, we see a bit of Shukaku and what he is up to this chapter.


	40. Chapter 40

Bolt woke up angry. He was so, so tired of being injured. He hated it. It seemed like he was in a constant state of life-or-death battles that ended in him or his friends being wounded. Thankfully, he had yet to lose one of those fights. Still, every breath he drew made him wince in pain. He didn't think his armor would be so easily destroyed in the face of a wind jutsu.

He had been foolish. Arrogant. Overconfident.

Again.

He should have known. It was possible for an element to overpower its weakness, but very rare. It took a truly gifted ninja to master their elemental ninjutsu so such a degree that fire could overpower water, and wind could overpower fire.

It was a mastery he did not yet possess over lightning. The sheer difficulty of the Lightning Armor made it doubly so. This was the Land of _Wind._ It had been the height of arrogance for him to presume that he could use lightning jutsu to defeat its people. He'd have to rely on his other elements. Water.

Water was nearly useless in the desert. The air was too dry. There was nothing to draw water from; no rivers, no pools, no lakes, no oceans, not even the water in the air. Water jutsu were weak in the desert, and took much more chakra to use because he was forced to generate the water entirely from chakra.

Wind, then. Wind was his tertiary element, after Water. It was therefore naturally weaker than his other two. He had shied away from learning it because he both considered it a waste of time—why learn Wind when Lightning and Water were so powerful?—and because it was his _father_ , of all people, who had offered to teach him a handful of Wind techniques.

Bolt had declined him, of course. It was a clone that had offered to teach him, after all. He wouldn't settle for anything less than the real thing. And, as he knew, his father was too busy being Hokage to teach him. Typical.

Now, Bolt wished he had taken the clone up on his offer. He berated himself the moment the traitorous thought crossed his mind. No, he did not wish that. He wished his father would have taught him. Spent more time with him.

But, then again, Bolt sneaked a glance at his friends as they sat around a campfire at the mouth of the cave he had awoken in. It was night outside. If his father had been a real father, he wouldn't have met his friends. Wouldn't have seen so many different people and places. Wouldn't have discovered his dream.

No, Bolt supposed. He preferred the way things had ended up. Despite all the pain, all the loneliness, he liked where he had ended up in life. Even if it hadn't been a traditional career path. He wondered what the history books would say about him. Probably nothing good. Bolt chuckled.

The sound of his laughter drew his friends' attention. Bolt sighed, knowing that they would probably fawn over him. Honestly, when would the world realize he was not some fragile child. "I'm fine," he hissed out, before either the approaching Hikari or Tetsu could say anything. "Where are we? What happened to Kankurō and Shinki?"

His memories were hazy. He remembered them running off, but nothing after that. "We found shelter in a cave not far from the previous town, my lord," Tetsu answered solemnly. He sounded half angered, half saddened. Bolt rolled his eyes at the title. He would never get Tetsu to stop, now.

"The enemy ninja fled once you defeated their leader," Hikari told him, kneeling and a running a shaky, glowing palm of green chakra over him. "They haven't returned, nor have we seen any reinforcements or scouts from the Sand. I didn't want to risk returning to the village, in case they had agents there. We've been waiting for you to recover."

"How long have I been out?" Bolt asked.

"Only a day or so," Hikari answered him, removing her hand. "Tonight is the day after the fight."

That hadn't been as bad as Bolt had expected. He'd been out for less than twenty-four hours. "Good," Bolt said with a nod. "We'll leave tomorrow morning. We need to head north, away from the Sand. We can find a town to rest at on the way."

The two of them looked uncomfortable, but said nothing. Good. He knew his limits, and he knew that staying in one place to recover while the Sand hunted them was suicide. Hikari and Tetsu returned to the campfire, where Shūichi regaled them with some tale of surviving the harsh wastes of the desert.

Satisfied, Bolt moved on to the next item on his list. Really, it was always on his list. Get stronger. He weaved five hand seals and bit the soft flesh of his thumb, coating it in blood. Pressing it to the ground, there was a wisp of smoke. He might not have his father to teach him Wind Release, but he had the—quite literal—next best thing. Who better to teach him Wind Release than a hawk?

A small hawk with a soft, sandy colored plumage emerged. He was smaller than most, only a hair larger than a normal hawk. He had sharp, amber-colored eyes that spoke of a keen intelligence. On his back, he wore a contraption that held a handful of scrolls no thicker than Bolt's fingers. "Takasuke," Bolt greeted.

"Bolt, sir!" Takasuke squawked. "'Tis an honor to be summoned by you! I am at your service," the hawk said, bowing.

Bolt chuckled. Takasuke wasn't the most powerful of the hawks, nor the wisest, nor the strongest. But, above all, he was the fastest. His official duty to the hawk clan was overseeing the various hawks who acted as messengers for the ninja. Granted, their use had declined in recent years due to technological advancements, but he was still an influential member in the clan hierarchy.

"No need to be so formal," Bolt told the summon. "I need your help. I want you to teach me Wind Release."

Takasuke looked up, his bestial features shifting into something which could have been something resembling pride in a human. "It would be an honor, sir!" Takasuke chirped.

Bolt nodded. "Thank you," he said. "I'll summon you tomorrow when I'm ready to begin. We aren't exactly in an area which is conducive to training at the moment."

"Yes, sir!" Takasuke squawked, bowing low, and then disappearing in a wisp of smoke.

Bolt shook his head at the bird's antics. He grunted from effort as he stood, and made his way over to the campfire. Hikari moved to the side, making room for him. Shūichi was in the throes of telling a story, one that Bolt had been idly listening to since he had summoned Takasuke.

"So, there we were! We crested the top of the dune, and looked down into the Valley of Death," Shūichi said, his voice growing dark and low.

"It was an ample name, really. The kings of ages past were laid to rest there, and any who lingered too long joined them in their slumber. Cursed, really. But the gold! The gold..." Shūichi lamented, holding his hands to his heart with a lovelorn look in his eyes.

Then he beamed, smiling broadly with a twinkle in his eyes. "So, naturally, we head into the crypts!"

Yes, naturally, that is what one does when you go grave robbing the cursed tombs of your ancestors.

Bolt was determined to figure out Shūichi yet.

* * *

Kakashi took a long, long drink from his canteen. He peered down the sandy hill of the dune he sat atop, gazing over a sprawling banana plantation. A winding river ran through the land, with sparse reeds of hardy grass springing up from the banks in every direction. Banana trees were grown in neat rows and columns in fenced off farmland. A few huts of sandstone were erected around the central "road" of the town—if it could even by called that.

Still, it was the first sign of civilization he had seen in nearly two weeks since arriving in the Land of Wind. A soft bed and a hot meal were balms for his soul. God, he was getting old. There was a time when he could live off field rations and sleep on the cold, hard ground. Now, he awoke with a kink in his spine from sleeping in his luxurious sleeping bag.

He hated getting old. Was this how Jiraiya felt? The Third? Maybe the Fifth's unique transformation jutsu prevented the aches and pains. He'd have to ask her, some day. Maybe over a jug of high quality rice wine. Top shelf, none of that mass produced stuff. He was entitled to spend a little of his retirement, wasn't he?

Kakashi sighed, and began the descent into the town. His boots kicked up clouds of sand as he went. He watched as they drifted over the town, where he saw a little girl playing in the streets. She was the sand, followed it, and saw him. Then she darted off into one of the nearby houses. A few moments later, an elderly man emerged. Her grandfather, Kakashi presumed. Knowing that the townsfolk would want to know who he was and what he was doing in their neck of the woods, he sighed and made his way towards the man.

His heart hammered in his chest the closer he came. The little girl shared an uncanny resemblance to Rin. Brown eyes and hair, with sun-kissed skin. All she needed was the Nohara clan's facial tattoos. Kakashi felt the pang of loss in his heart.

It was dashed away as he looked into the girl's eyes. Rin's eyes were warm and kind, so full of life. Before he had killed her, anyway. This little girl's eyes... they were wide and dull. Cold and lifeless. She stared into Kakashi's eyes, and he shivered. It felt as if she was staring into his very soul. "Now, now," the elderly man chided. "It's not nice to stare, Kimiko."

The little girl nodded, never blinking, and mechanically turned and fled into the house. Kakashi swallowed, battling down the disturbing feeling rising in his gut. "Hello," he greeted. "My name is Kakashi. I'm from the Leaf; just passing through. Is there an inn in this town?"

The elderly man bowed a little greeting. "Hisao," the man introduced himself. "I guess you could call me the mayor of this little town. I'm afraid we don't get much visitors around these parts. The closest inn is about one hundred miles south of here."

Hisao pointed south, following the river. Kakashi wasn't looking forward to another hundred miles in the desert. "Ah," he said. "That is unfortunate. Is there anyone who would be willing to host me for a day? I'd be willing to pay."

Kakashi held out a handful of ryō, and the mayor's eyes widened. It was probably more money than he had seen in his entire life. "Well, I've had a spare room ever since my children left. You can sleep there for the night, if you'd like," Hisao said.

Kakashi nodded. "That would be wonderful, thank you," he said, handing over the money.

Hisao led him into the sandstone house he called home. It was nice, Kakashi supposed, in a quaint, homely way. It looked lived-in. Old black-and-white photographs of a man and his wife. The same man and woman, with three giggling, smiling children circling the wife's dress. Their furniture was worn, the veneer coming off the wood. There were scuffs in the stone where chairs had been slid back and forth over the years. A fireplace sat in the corner with twigs ready to be lit. It would be a blessing when the night fell and the cold reigned.

Kakashi was given the room of the mayor's oldest son, who had passed away some time ago. He offered Hisao his condolences, but the man just waved him off. "Dinner will be ready in an hour. You're welcome to join us, if you'd like," he offered.

Kakashi nodded. "That would be nice, thank you," he said.

In the meantime, he took a bath in a wooden tub. He heated the water with a quick fire jutsu, thankful that he hadn't needed to produce the water. The desert made such a task strenuous at best. His mediocre chakra reserves couldn't handle it for very long. But, then again, maybe that his age talking.

The little girl—Kimiko, if he remembered right—fetched him a short time later. He shivered as he felt her unblinking, piercing gaze bore into his back as he returned to the living room. It truly was disturbing. Kakashi sniffed the air as he smelt a cool, sweet scent waft into the hallway. Hisao was pouring bowls of steaming hot soup. Kakashi could see the cubed cactus in the broth. It was a local staple; fried cactus sweetened with sugar cane and honey. Not the most filling of meals, but it was hot. And, more importantly, it wasn't dried, preserved field rations.

The soup was delicious. Hisao sipped spoonfuls with a grace, being careful not to dip his beard in the bowl. Kimiko sat, her food untouched, staring with wide, cold eyes at him. Kakashi was determined not to let the little girl get to him. He had faced down monsters far worse than her without cowering in fear; Pain, Madara, Itachi, Obito. He wasn't going to be cowed by one prepubescent girl.

But the silence. The silence was unnerving him. He could hear the river running outside. The sound of fire as it crackled in the night. The wind as it blew over the dunes. The soft slurping sounds as the two of them ate their soup.

There was a tug at his sleeve. Kakashi nearly jumped. He glanced over, and Kimiko was staring up at him. Her eyes were wide and dark, with ugly black bags hanging under her lids. Kakashi stared back down at her. The girl returned the stare, unblinking.

Before Kakashi knew what had happened, the girl had a kunai lodged in her skull. It took a moment for his mind to catch up to his instincts; he had stabbed her. Blood gushed from her split skull as she collapsed to the ground. "No!" Kakashi yelled, kicking his chair away as he cradled the girl in his arms.

It was doubly horrific because of her resemblance to Rin. Then Kimiko began to twitch. Her head moved with jarring, mechanical movements. She turned and stared up at him, her eyes as wide and dark and unseeing and unnatural as they had been. Kakashi stiffened. Then the girl went slack, though her eyes never changed.

"I—I," Kakashi stuttered out, looking up. Hisao was standing over him, a blank look on his face. "I didn't mean to! She—"

"She was newly raised," Hisao said. The old man's voice was a fluty soprano, boyish almost, tinged with a dark sadness. It was not the mayor's voice. "I will not make that mistake again."

Kakashi's body leapt before his mind told it to. He was never more grateful for his instincts than in that moment. A barrage of darts shot forth from Hisao's body, embedding themselves in the wall. Kakashi hurled a fistful of shuriken at the mayor. They embedded in his chest with an audible thunk.

His eyes went wide as the mayor got on all fours, like a beast. The old man's shirt bulged and was shredded to ribbons as a great tail of interlinking metal sheets erupted from his back. In that moment, all hesitation vanished from Kakashi. Whoever, whatever, these people were, they were enemies. Enemies who had attacked him, despite his headband declaring him a ninja of the Leaf. As such, he would put them down.

"I cannot allow you to live, now that you know," Hisao rasped. Then the mayor was charging him, his metallic tail darting forward.

Kakashi weaved hand seals and spat a ball of raging fire at the charging man. He didn't even make a sound as he was incinerated and turned to ash. Kakashi leapt from the building as it exploded and was consumed by crackling flames.

He narrowly avoided a hail of shuriken, kunai, and darts. All around him, men, women, and children were emerging from their homes. They all stared at him with open hostility. Some, like Kimiko, stared at him with cold, dead eyes. There were nearly twenty, in all. One of the men, a towering man who stood a full head taller than Kakashi, lumbered forward. He raised his arms, and they split open with a bone snapping crack. Then, two orbs of blue-white light coalesced in the palms of his hands.

Kakashi threw himself to the side, taking shelter behind the burned ruins of the mayor's home. Two bolts of lightning shot forward, drilling through rock with ease. There was a sound above him. Kakashi looked up into the burning, charred face of the mayor. His skin has melted and fell down his face like a burnt out candle. The only thing left was a skull of metal and two charred eyes.

Kakashi swallowed his rising bile as he leapt backwards, back to the river. He stood atop it, bobbing softly with the tide. He realized, then, what these "people" were. They were puppets. A horrible, dark collection of puppets.

The townsfolk marched down upon him. Kakashi weaved hand seals. "But," he wondered aloud. "If you are puppets, then where is the puppeteer?"

The river reared up from its bed and swept inland. It knocked a few puppets to their backs, but most waded forward. Kakashi weaved more hand seals. The tall puppet from earlier raised his arms again, charging another lightning jutsu. "Lesson number one," he said. "Ninjutsu. Lightning Release: Purple Electricity."

A storm of screaming, purple-colored lightning erupted from his fingertips. It danced across the inundated river and incinerated the puppet army. In a flash, it was over. Kakashi waited a moment, then two. When the puppets did not rise, he strode forward.

Now he just had to find the puppeteer.

* * *

"Wind Release!" Bolt cried. "Thousand Wingbeats!"

He clapped his hands together. A pitiful gust of wind rushed forward, rustling a tumbleweed. Takasuke descended into raucous squawking, flailing in the sand. Bolt scowled. Stupid bird. Couldn't even laugh like a human.

"I think you're teaching me incorrectly," Bolt remarked, kicking sand on the laughing bird.

Takasuke squawked indignantly, flapping his wings and taking to the sky. He circled for a moment, then came back down and landed on his shoulder. "You're a genius, true, but even you can't learn an entire element in a single day," the hawk advised him sagely. "Wind is your third element, and your weakest. Not only that, it directly clashes with your primary affinity; Lightning. It's no wonder you have trouble using Wind Release."

Bolt scowled, and went through the hand seals again. He felt his chakra billow like fire in his belly as he inhaled. Then, he slapped his palms together. A gust of wind blew forth and uprooted a small cactus.

Progress. It was acceptable. "Much better," Takasuke complimented, taking flight again.

There was a round of applause. Bolt's cheeks grew red as Shūichi gave him a standing ovation. He joined his three companions under the shade of a towering cactus that was as large as a tree. It was high noon, and deathly hot. "A most impressive display, my lord," Tetsu said with a bow.

Bolt scoffed. "That was a pitiful display, Tetsu, and you know it," he countered. Tetsu said nothing, confirming Bolt's thoughts. Compared to his Lightning and Water Release, his prowess in Wind was a disgrace.

"You'll get it, eventually," Hikari told him.

Yes, he would, but Bolt would prefer he mastered it sooner rather than later. He blamed his lack of progress on the sweltering, oppressive heat. The sun was high in the sky, and the desert was at its hottest. The sand, had Bolt been touching it, would have burned him. He was thankful for the shade of the cactus. Sitting down, he made sure to avoid leaning against the pricks of the cactus that were as large as a dagger. Hikari handed him a canteen, and Bolt drank. The water, predictably, was warm. Probably near the point of boiling, if it had been given a minute or two in the sun.

Bolt handed the canteen back and wove hand seals. A slight gust of wind, just enough to cool them, blew around the four of them. Bolt sighed in relief as the wind licked at his sweaty skin. Truly, he hated the desert. If he was lucky, this would be the last time he ever visited the Land of Wind.

Takasuke landed in one of the branching arms of the cactus above, and Bolt looked away as the hawk devoured a small lizard. He sighed. It would still be many more hours before the temperature cooled enough to continue travelling. He would spend that time brooding over his own ineptitude, and his past failures. It was a vicious, self-destructive cycle that he couldn't help but fall into.

Luckily, Shūichi proved himself invaluable with his wealth of stories that never failed to distract Bolt from his dark thoughts. "And so, there I was," Shūichi began, resuming his tale of how he and his band of thieves had broken into the crypts of the kings from a time immemorial. "With naught but a torch in my hand, staring down the mummified remains. My friends screamed like little girls, and one turned and fled in a bout of cowardice."

Bolt couldn't help but smile at how enthusiastically he told the tale. Shūichi talked with his hands, gesturing wildly and painting a picture for all his words fell upon. He weaved his tale so well that the characters came to life. Bolt could practically see Mouse; the little street rat who went from picking pockets to raiding tombs. Genji, a famed swordsman of renown whose skill with dual wielding scimitars was near legendary in the criminal underworld. He got his start, ironically, by swallowing flaming swords in the circus.

"My heart was beating out of my chest," Shūichi declared, thumping his chest twice, loudly. "I steeled my nerves, and moved forward. Then, just as I strode into the darkness, the mummy comes alive!"

Shūichi jumped forward, and Bolt had to remind himself not to let his instincts take hold and retaliate. He giggled under his breath as he saw that Tetsu had his hand on the hilt of his katana and Hikari was clenching and unclenching her fist. "I can still feel the dead king's mummified hands on my skin, even now," Shūichi said, shivering. "Like paper, but as cold as ice. The creature opens its maw and screeches, and my friends turn and flee like the cowards they were. I grapple with it, using its bindings to throw it from me. Then, as it shambles to its feet, I shove my torch into its maw and flee as it burns!"

Shūichi punctuated his tale by acting out the fight, ending with a flourish of an invisible blade that felled a great beast. Bolt liked his tales, truly. Even the ones that were slightly silly, like the time he swore that he had a foreign princess fall for him. They never failed to bring a small smile to Bolt. "What about the gold?" Bolt asked.

The swarthy man sighed forlornly. Bolt had learned he, like many a thief, had a love for gold. A love that, as Shūichi so eloquently put, was so frequently spurned. "Alas, fate saw fit to tease me one final time. Lady Luck smiled down upon me, and as I fled back through the antechamber of the crypts, my foot caught but a small pock in the stone. I fell, sprawled on the floor like a fool. Behind me, I can hear the shuffling feet of the dead," he said, stomping his feet in the sand.

"I stumble to my feet, but a single ray of sunlight pierces the darkness from a crack in the stone above. Sand trickled through, like an hourglass. I follow the light, and it illuminates a single pedestal of stone with a necklace of the purest gold, set with a ruby as red as blood, resting atop it," Shūichi sighed, as if remembering a lost lover. "So, I dash over to it and snatch the fair lady from her bed. The dead shamble into the antechamber, surrounding me on all sides. Then, my Lady Luck smiles upon me a second time."

Shūichi threw his hands up, nearly smacking a low-hanging limb of the cactus they rested under. "A mighty boulder, a booby trap, falls upon me. I dash out of the way, and the boulder crushes the dead. I then dashed from the tomb, climbed atop my faithful steed, and rode into the sunset."

Bolt gave him a light round of applause, which was mirrored reluctantly by his friends. Shūichi bowed like a true actor. "Quite the tale," Hikari stated.

"Ah, yes. It is indeed. I find myself dreaming of it, even now," Shūichi said, pulling forth a necklace from beneath the folds of his tunic. It sparkled in the sunlight, its gold a pure, warm amber color. Set in the center was a ruby that was cut by expert hands, whose color was truly that of blood. Shūichi planted a loving kiss on the gem's surface, and returned it beneath his chest.

"It was real?" Hikari asked, with thinly veiled disbelief.

"Of course!" Shūichi declared loudly, with a broad smile. "All my tales are real!"

Bolt smiled inwardly at that. What a tale it would be, if it truly were truth. Perhaps the mummies were the reanimated corpses of the kings of the Land of Wind in the far, far distant past? A precursor to ninjutsu, perhaps? Maybe they weren't the mummies of the kings at all, and instead were guards that the royalty had kept—even in death. Or, perhaps, given the history of the land, they were puppets?

Bolt would have very much liked to visit the tomb that Shūichi spoke of. He had no doubt that there would be something he could learn there. Looking up, Bolt noticed the sun was beginning its descent in the afternoon sky. They would begin travelling again soon. Before that, he wanted to get in another bout of training.

"Takasuke," Bolt called, the hawk nimbly descending from the cactus and landing on Bolt's shoulder. "I'd like to show you a technique, and then I want you to tell me if there is a way to add Wind Release to it."

"Certainly, sir," Takasuke squawked respectfully, taking to the air.

Bolt inhaled deeply, his chakra surging through his body once more. He slipped into a neutral Gentle Fist stance. He felt the pressure build in his pathways as he began to systematically halt the flow of chakra in certain points of his body. Eventually, the pressure became too great to contain safely. Bolt threw his palm forward, expelling the pent up chakra all at once. "Eight Trigrams: Air Palm!"

His chakra met air in a concussive blast, and then kept going. It threw the air in front of it forward violently. Bolt grinned as his target, a cactus some fifty feet away, was obliterated by the technique. It was one of the few techniques his grandfather had taught him, as it didn't strictly _need_ the Byakugan to use effectively. It certainly helped, but all he needed was the preternatural chakra control of a Hyūga—which he had in spades.

"Hoh," Takasuke squawked, landing on Bolt's shoulder once again. "I believe we shall make a Wind Release master of you yet."

Their training continued for another hour. Then, it resumed itself during their travels, and then again that night.

As the sun sat, and the moon rose, the cold and darkness reigned supreme. Bolt felt a pleasant burn in his muscles that he always found after a harsh session of training. His chakra reserves were waning, though not so much that he couldn't defend himself.

He still had so much to learn.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Little shorter, this time. Next chapter is a biggy. Question of the Chapter — GoT watchers, how are you surviving until season 7? I honestly don't think I can handle the wait. I'm so excited to see how things wrap up.

So, this chapter we got to see a couple reader wishes checked off. Bolt is learning Wind Release, finally, and we see a little bit more of the hawks.

I know some people didn't like that I had Bolt focus on Lightning and Water Release, but they will continue to be Bolt's main arsenal. In my mind, each chakra nature someone develops would be weaker than those that came before it. For example, Kakashi's Lightning Release would be his most powerful, followed by Earth, then Water, then Fire, then Wind. Primary, secondary, tertiary, and so on. This is only exemplified if your primary attribute conflicts with a secondary one. For example, I imagine it would be hard for a Fire Release user to learn Water Release, with the notable exception of Boil Release users. Wind conflicts greatly with Bolt's primary element, Lightning, which is why he finds it hard to learn. It also doesn't help that Naruto would train Bolt with shadow clones (as depicted in the manga, I think).

They—the hawks, that is—actually have their own arc, later on in the story. I actually chose them with a bit of a purpose planned. Eagle-eyed readers might be able to guess at the conflict if they re-read the chapter in which they were introduced.

I also enjoyed writing the Kakashi POV, and I hope I managed to capture the "horror," I guess, of the moment.

Back up on my soapbox, again. I think I should just make this an every chapter thing... I was asked last chapter why Bolt got injured so much. Basically, combat would boil down to thus: either you're so good, or you catch an enemy by surprise, that you completely overwhelm and dominate them to such a degree that they can't even touch you. Think Pain vs. Kakashi. Pain had that fight in the bag the entire time. There was absolutely nothing Kakashi could have done. Or, two opponents are even in strength and skill and they fight for a time until one emerges victorious, or they kill each other. The victor is usually injured, sometimes heavily. Think Orochimaru vs. Hiruzen. Two opponents, even in strength and skill and knowledge (if evened a bit by age). Neither could defeat the other, and in the end, Hiruzen ended up using a suicide technique to cripple Orochimaru.

To me, any fight in the Narutoverse would end in one of those two ways. Most, but not all, anyways. There will be some notable exceptions. And, because Bolt doesn't have Kurama in his belly to patch him up after each fight, he goes through the normal recovery process.

Guest Reviews (you guys should totally make accounts!):

Guest — Naruto and Sasuke are, objectively, "bad" fathers. Naruto is too busy with his work to spend time with his family, and Sasuke is "atoning" for his sins by wandering the world and protecting them from threats they don't know exist yet. True, their duties are noble, but that doesn't take away from the fact that they are poor parents. It doesn't make them bad characters, either. It's simply one facet of their character. If Naruto and Sasuke were perfect in every way, they would be boring. I don't know why you keep linking me the things you do, or what you expect to change because of them, but that is where I stand on the issue.

Guest — You're right. In my defense, it was like 4 in the morning when I wrote my Author's Note. 180 degrees is indeed correct!

Thoughtful — Temari is, as far as I know, living in the Leaf with Shikamaru. So Bolt won't be finding her in the desert, unfortunately.

Ryouji — I think Bolt "reads" stronger than he actually is. He's about similar in power to Taka/Hebi Sasuke or pre-Mangekyō Kakashi. That puts him squarely in high jōnin territory. There are much more powerful characters in the universe, them being the other high jōnin, village leaders, minor Kage, Five Great Kage, the Tailed Beasts, and characters who have counters to his strengths. Regarding his "genius," I've simply based that off canon. At age 12 (same as Naruto in part 1), he is able to use 3 elements, knows how to make shadow clones, and learns Rasengan in only a handful of days. It's pretty hard to argue against his status as a genius. That's just who Kishi made him to be. Regarding use copying of the Twin Lions, that was made exponentially easier thanks to the Byakugan and his Hyūga blood. I hope that addresses your concerns.


	41. Chapter 41

Bolt hissed as the needle pierced the sensitive pad of his thumb. Shaking his hand to numb the pain, he lamented his lot in life. The second level of activation for the Lightning Armor was powerful; none could argue that. But, when spoken of, nobody ever brought up the drawbacks of the technique. Freakish reserves of chakra? Check. Inhuman chakra control? Check. An iron will to risk life and limb channeling raw lightning through your veins? Check.

Pants that could handle the friction of your legs moving that fast? Not so much. He carefully threaded the small needle back and forth, sewing the dark fabric of his desert slacks back together. He had worn them so thin from running that they had begun to fray and tear. He had discovered, one day, that he was wearing chaps instead of pants.

Not to mention the wear and tear on his shoes. He'd gone through no less than two dozen pairs since he began learning the technique. They weren't cheap pairs, either. Designer, of course, but also made for ninja. The material was designed to hold up to rugged use. Still, he went through more pairs of shoes than he could carry.

"You are hopeless," Hikari huffed. She emerged from the darkness of the night, her mask shining by the light of the moon. "You can't even sew and you expect to save the world?"

Bolt smiled awkwardly, shuffling to cover himself with the desert trousers. He was dressed only in a thin shirt and his boxers. "For a genius like me, it won't take too long to learn," he quipped back.

Hikari rolled her head in exasperation. She held out a hand, gesturing with her fingers to hand them over. Bolt did so, his cheeks breaking out in crimson. He was glad it was so dark that night. It was only a few days after the full moon, leaving only a sliver of the moon hanging high in the sky.

Bolt blinked, and she handed his pants back to him. "I don't believe it," he uttered, seeing that Hikari had sewn his pants back into wearable condition in mere seconds. "This is a genjutsu," he deduced. He meant it as a joke, but he flushed his system with chakra—just in case.

Hikari laughed a short giggle under her breath. "I'm talented with a needle, remember?"

"Right," Bolt muttered, quickly dressing with a burst of his true celerity. "So, where'd you learn to sew? Doesn't strike me as a skill you'd learn."

Hikari smiled a small, sad smile. "It's one of my first memories. My mother would sew my father's shirts, and I'd try to help her. I don't remember much else, truthfully. I was too young," she said.

"Ah," Bolt said, not sure of what he could say. He always regretted bringing up how the Mist had killed her parents. He might hate his father, but he'd never wish death upon him. Bolt could only imagine the pain that would come from losing his family. If someone murdered Himawari, he was sure he would go insane with vengeance.

Hikari removed a needle hidden in her sleeve. "Time for your next dose," she said, changing the topic and taking a step forward.

Bolt felt his heart flutter in his chest as he held out his arm. She pricked him gently, and he felt his skin grow warm as heat ran up and down the limb, blossoming across his chest. For a moment, Bolt thought that she had actually poisoned him. There was a moment of terror that caused his heart to hammer. Thud, thud, thud. A few moments passed. When he didn't drop dead, Bolt let a ragged sigh escape his lips.

There was something so very thrilling about putting your life in another's hands. Trusting them not to snuff it out, and then the gratification when they didn't. It was a destructive form of pleasure that he couldn't quite convince himself to shake. Hikari hadn't hurt him, yet, and Bolt didn't think she would. So he would continue to submit to her regimen of self-inflicted poisonings, building up his resistance to them one at a time.

Hikari nodded. "Come on," she said. "It's getting cold."

It was. With the night came the desert cold. Bolt could never understand the dichotomy of the Land of Wind; hot as fire and cold as ice. It was amazing that people had settled in the desert in the first place. Bolt shivered as he followed Hikari back to their small camp. He sighed in relief as the warmth of their campfire chased the chill from his bones.

Tetsu was staring at Shūichi with an unnatural intensity as he sharpened his katana. His whetstone grated against the steel with an echoing ring that rang through the silence of the night. It was a nightly ritual, at this point. Bolt didn't know why Tetsu took such offense to Shūichi's existence. He thought it might've been because he was a thief, but couldn't be sure.

Either way, the sight of the mountain of a man sharpening his blade was one that inspired fear. Even in Bolt. Tetsu was the image of intimidation. There was just something primal and instinctual about fearing someone as large as him.

"We should get some sleep," Bolt remarked. "We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow."

Everyone nodded and murmured their agreement as they made their way to their sleeping bags.

* * *

Bolt travelled north for what seemed like months, but was closer to seven days. A full week of torturous heat and unbearable cold, mixed with grueling training and conditioning as he recovered from the wounds Shinki had dealt him.

His training advanced with leaps and bounds.

"Wind Release!" Bolt intoned, breathing in a great breath of air. Then, he began to spin—an easy feat, thanks to his use of the Revolving Heaven. "Vacuum Blast!"

His voice was lost to the wind as he spun, exhaling wave after wave of concussive blasts of air. The technique kicked up a sandstorm that was visible for miles in every direction. It was dispelled a moment later, courtesy of a Flash that momentarily blot out of the sun. Then, it was gone, along with the sandstorm. "I do believe you've mastered the technique, my lord," Tetsu congratulated him.

Bolt smiled. It felt good to succeed at something, again, for what seemed like the first time in a long time. He forgot how rewarding training could be. "An excellent show, my friend!" Shūichi told him, clapping him on the back.

Hikari just dipped her head in congratulations. It was a gesture he was used to seeing after all the time they had spent together. "Thank you," Bolt muttered to all of them.

"I do believe I've taught you all the basics, sir!" Takasuke squawked. "I have little else to teach you, though some of the others may have techniques they may wish to impart to you!"

"Thank you, Takasuke," Bolt said. "I'll work on mastering what you've taught me. You can go back now. Tell Lord Suzaku I'll visit in a few days and finish the seals around the southern peaks."

"Certainly, sir!" Takasuke squawked, bowing low. The hawk disappeared in a wisp of smoke, returning to the ancestral mountain of the hawk clan.

Bolt sighed and stretched his tired muscles. The pleasant burn of exertion and chakra exhaustion sweeping through him. They had stopped for a break; a few hours' rest at most. Bolt, never one to waste time, slipped in some more training. For once, the heat wasn't as oppressing as it normally was. A cold southeastern breeze swept over the dunes, keeping the desert people cool. Bolt watched as Tetsu went through some elegant swordsmanship stances, battling a shadow opponent. Hikari was doing a chakra control exercise; manipulating a handful of sand into ever more intricate shapes. It was an impressive display, as she had to latch onto each grain individually.

The sun began its descent, and the temperature became cool enough to travel once more. Bolt heaved his pack onto his back and set forth, following after Shūichi. According to him, they still had many miles to go and there would be little in the way of civilization between them and the northern mountains. Hikari trailed next to him, idly continuing her chakra exercises. Bolt passed the time by watching her work. Tetsu trailed behind them, keeping an ever watchful eye on the horizon.

By the time the sun began to set and the moon began to rise, they had reached an outcropping of rock spires that burst from beneath the sand like fingers. They were small, but would provide cover from the wind and solid ground to sleep on. The area looked familiar, but Bolt couldn't be sure. Everything looked familiar in the desert. Especially in the heat. The first time he saw a mirage of his sister in the desert, he nearly lost his mind.

Bolt stilled as he heard the footfalls of Tetsu's boots stop. Turning, the samurai was glaring at the rocks and Shūichi. "Tetsu?" Bolt called. "Something wrong?"

Tetsu shook his head. "No, my lord," he said, wading forward.

Bolt shrugged and made his way up to the base of spires. He found a comfortable crevice that kept him out of the wind and away from the sand, but also close to their firepit.

That was when he heard the sound of metal being drawn. Instinct took hold, and Bolt spun whilst divesting himself of his pack and sleeping bag. He had slipped into a defensive Gentle Fist stance, ready to slap away any attack or spin into a Revolving Heaven.

It was just Tetsu. He had his katana brandished threateningly at Shūichi. "Tetsu!" Bolt called, easing forward. He didn't know what the crimson-haired man's problem was with their guide, but without him they would be lost in the desert wastes. Killing him was not an option. Plus, he kind of liked Shūichi—unnatural pleasantness aside.

"What are you doing?" Bolt hissed. Shūichi backed away, hands held in the air and a shaky smile on his lips.

"This man has led us astray. He never intended to lead us north," Tetsu spoke, rising his sword.

Bolt's eyes flickered between Shūichi and Tetsu. Of the two, he trusted Tetsu far above and beyond the swarthy thief. Tetsu had proved himself in battle to be a loyal friend. Shūichi was their guide; he was there for coin, and little else. "Do you have proof?" Bolt asked. He wouldn't consider Tetsu a liar, but he also wouldn't take his word without a grain of salt.

Tetsu pointed his sword at one of the spires of rock. "At the base of that rock, there is a mark. We have camped here before," he said.

The all-seeing eyes of the Hyūga revealed that, indeed, there was a long scratch in the stone; Tetsu's handiwork. Bolt did think that the their camp looked familiar, but he couldn't be sure if they had been there before.

Bolt turned his glare on Shūichi. He watched as the look of fear and caution faded and gave way to weariness and apprehension. "I am sorry, my friends," he spoke. "But I cannot allow you to find my Father."

The air grew heavy and tense. Shūichi backed away slowly, hands held aloft. Bolt lunged forward and as Shūichi turned and ran. He sprinted off into the desert wastes, moving faster than Bolt had ever seen the man move before.

But he was a far cry from being as fast as Bolt. His boots kicked up clouds of sand as he sprinted after their wayward guide. There was a flicker of movement at his feet, so quick and fleeting that without his Byakugan he would have never seen it. Bolt skidded to a stop, sand rising to his knees, as an earthen wall of brown-red stone erupted in his path. Then, a moment later, great spikes erupted from the flat of the wall and lunged at him.

Bolt dodged and weaved, avoiding the spikes, and using one as a foothold to catapult himself over the wall. At the top, he braced himself and leapt forward, using the wall as a springboard. There was an audible crack as a bolt of lightning was hurled over his head. Hikari was chasing after Shūichi, her lithe form moving swiftly over the sand, and shooting bolts of lightning from her fingertips. Tetsu was following behind, his bulk not allowing for quick, precise movements needed to cross the desert.

Shūichi had picked up his pace. He was scampering up a sand dune at a speed most ninja would find difficult to match. Making his decision, a cloud of chakra formed around him. One small spark was all it took for the chakra to be set ablaze in a storm of electricity. Bolt appeared next to Hikari in a flash of blue, grabbing her by the waist. His chakra leapt over her body, insulating her, and then he sped forward.

He had learned his lesson. Even if he was strong, even the strongest could fall in battle. He would never fight a fair battle again. He was not afraid to stack the deck in his favor. Bolt set Hikari down a few paces behind Shūichi, and she instantly began to weave hand seals. Then, he sprinted forward. Bolt appeared before Shūichi, whose hands were contorted in a hand seal. Bolt didn't even have time to identify the seal before he felt the wind shift.

Instinct took over as he leapt backwards. Shūichi exhaled a great gust of wind that buffeted the dunes and sent a cloud of sand high into the air. He heard Hikari curse and hurl needles into the sand blindly.

But not even the sand could hide him from the Byakugan. Bolt waded back into the fray, slipping into the whirling sandstorm. He kept a tight rein over his Lightning Armor; limiting the amount of chakra it emitted, and keeping its glow as dim as possible. Shūichi was weaving hand seals; an Earth jutsu of some kind. "Chidori," Bolt intoned as he appeared behind him.

Shūichi whirled around, clear surprise and fear written on his features. Bolt thrust his fist forward. His arm arced with chirping electricity that sang only songs of death. Bolt's eyes widened as Shūichi leaned backwards, far more than a mere man should ever be able to, and avoided the strike. He grunted as the man's boot connected with his chest, kicking him backwards.

"Wind Release!" Bolt heard Shūichi's voice call out through the storm. His last words were ripped from his lips by a gust of wind that dwarfed all others. It struck everywhere as the man spun, slamming into the dunes and sandstorm. Bolt retreated, not eager to reacquaint himself with his natural enemy so soon. Shūichi's technique kicked up enough sand to blot out the sun, darkening the sky.

Bolt had to leap out of the way as a colossal wave of raw chakra cut through the wall of falling sand. Tetsu sent a Flash forward, the likes of which Bolt had not seen or heard of before. It parted and dissipated the growing sandstorm like a fire being stamped out of existence. There was a cry of pain that made Bolt's ears twitch.

Turning his gaze towards a wayward dune, he saw Shūichi scrambling up it and clutching at his shoulder. Nothing but a stump remained. His keen eyesight found the limb, where it lay discarded next to a terrible gash in the desert sands. "Well done, Tetsu!" Bolt barked, ready to chase after their prey.

A hand on his shoulder stalled him. "No," Hikari said, pulling him backwards. "Let him go."

"Why?" Bolt demanded angrily. His heart was hammering and more adrenaline flowed through his veins than blood.

"Because," Hikari enunciated. "He is injured and fleeing. He will lead us to Tsuchigumo, thinking he will lose us in the desert. He won't," she assured him.

Bolt grit his teeth and focussed on not letting his armor electrocute Hikari. "Fine," he agreed, letting his armor dissipate. Bolt swatted at his sleeve, which had begun smouldering from a stray arc of electricity. He wrinkled his nose as it began to smoke.

Frowning, he strode over to where Tetsu was standing. The samurai peered down at Shūichi's severed arm, eying it with disdain and prodding it with his sword. Bolt thought it was odd until he got closer. At first, he didn't believe his eyes. Then, it became more clear. Bolt kicked the arm to get a better angle.

He was rewarded with staring down into a hollow cavity where the bicep normally would have been. Bolt felt a chill crawl up his spine.

Shūichi was a human puppet.

Kneeling, Bolt activated his Byakugan and examined the limb with greater scrutiny. It looked and functioned precisely as a human limb would. Warily, he prodded the skin with a single finger. It was soft and supple, giving way to his touch. Exactly mirroring the texture and feeling of real flesh. A minor application of wind chakra produced a small cut. It did not bleed. Bolt made a note of that.

He frowned as he noticed something that had escaped him earlier, but should not have. His eyes couldn't see the false arm for what it truly was. To the Byakugan, it appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a human arm. It had muscles and bones, tiny joints and ligaments in the fingers and elbow. There was, even, a rudimentary chakra pathway in the limb. It was underdeveloped, appearing to be that of someone who had never trained to use chakra, but it was there all the same.

And yet, Bolt could clearly see that the arm was hollow when he peered down at it from the shoulder. Frowning, he ran a burst of chakra through his system that caused the sand at his feet to be kicked up. Nothing changed. So it wasn't a genjutsu, then. Bolt brought his face down to the hole and peered inside.

At first, there wasn't anything obvious. It was strangely dark and difficult to see, especially in the dying light of the sun. But, the longer he stared, the clearer he saw. Eventually, he found something that made his stomach sink into his boots. There was a set of wavy, scribbled lines that ran the length and breadth of the arm's interior.

Sealing arrays.

Bolt swore under his breath.

"What?" Hikari asked breathily, having stood next to his shoulder. Bolt hadn't even heard her approach.

"It's a fūinjutsu of some kind," Bolt told her and Tetsu. "I don't know what it's purpose is, but it appears to mask the puppet's insides from viewing techniques, like the Byakugan."

Hikari frowned and offered him a hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. "Is it dangerous?"

Bolt quirked his head. "Possibly," he answered. "I don't want to risk taking it apart, in case it's boobytrapped. Wouldn't be the first time a seal master has set traps for those trying to undo or replicate his work."

Hikari gave Tetsu a nod, and the samurai unleashed a blindingly quick Flash that obliterated the limb.

"We should rest," Hikari told him as Bolt stared out across the dunes. Even with his Byakugan, he could no longer see any trace of their former guide's presence. "I'll pick up his trail tomorrow. We'll need to be well rested to keep pace with him. If he's truly a human puppet, he has no need to eat, drink, or sleep. That puts as at a disadvantage."

Bolt nodded. "Right," he agreed.

It was a short walk back to their camp. Bolt created a single shadow clone to watch over them for the night, as was customary. Even at half his full strength, the clone was stronger than most chūnin. And, if it was killed, the influx of memories would wake Bolt from his slumber.

With a weary sigh, Bolt closed his eyes.

* * *

"Bolt!"

His eyes snapped open, his body going rigid. Bolt blinked once, then twice. Then, he held up a hand to slap away a powerful right hook from Sarada. The air rushed past him with an audible gust as he avoided the punch.

"Shit," Bolt swore, dodging a kick. Sarada's shin connected with a stone pillar he had rolled his sleeping bag before. It obliterated the stone, reducing it to nothing more than gravel and dust.

"Fire Release!" Sarada barked, weaving hand seals. Bolt cursed. Whilst he may not worry about Fire Release normally, he was in the one place on the planet where he couldn't use his full arsenal of Water Release techniques. "Grand Fireball Jutsu!"

Sarada exhaled and breathed a roaring inferno that could hardly be dubbed a fireball. It lit up the night sky for hundreds of feet and turned the sand a pretty cherry-red color. Bolt leapt backwards and fumbled for a scroll he kept in one of the pouches at his waist. He grasped it firmly, drawing and unfurling it with a single motion. The parchment fluttered in the wind as the technique descended upon him.

Bolt held the scroll with one hand, and made a half-Ram seal in the other. He didn't even have time to intone the words before the raging inferno consumed him. Bolt breathed an audible sigh of relief as the flames were devoured by the scroll. When there was nothing left, the character for "Fire" glowed red in the center of the parchment.

"Bolt! Help!" he heard Hikari call.

Bolt snapped his head to the side, and saw that Hikari was trapped between a downed pillar of stone and the approaching forms of Mitsuki and Himawari. His sister was in an aggressive Gentle Fist stance, and Mitsuki had Kusanagi brandished threateningly. A few dozen feet away, Tetsu lay in the sand convulsing. Bolt could see a large gash that cut through his forearm.

Before he could even blink, Himawari darted forward and lashed out at Hikari. Her Gentle Fist caused the stone to shatter under her touch, but fortunately, Hikari leapt sideways and avoided it. She avoided his sister, but leapt right into the path of Mitsuki's sword. The blade pierced her belly and Hikari let a gasp of agony escape her lips.

Bolt prided himself on his vision. It was odd, then, that he saw nothing but red. It felt like the fire he had sealed earlier had been sealed in his very veins. Bolt couldn't remember being this angry. Even his fight with his father had been nothing more than a childish tantrum in the face of this raw, unbridled rage.

He didn't even remember moving. He was only dimly aware of a pain in his legs as they moved so quickly that the muscle simply tore from his bones. Bolt brought his arm down upon Mitsuki with such force that it unleashed an audible clap of thunder. He hadn't even realized his Lightning Armor had been activated.

Mitsuki died in an instant as he was cut from shoulder to hip. He didn't even have time to scream before his blood stained the sand. There was an angry roar behind him, and Bolt turned and caught Sarada's fist as she threw it at him. He felt the bones in his arm groan under the strain of matching her titanic strength, but his anger fueled his Lightning Armor to new heights.

He squeezed. Bolt didn't even flinch as the sound of bones snapping echoed across the dunes. Sarada cried out in pain, whimpering pitifully. In an act of mercy, he raised his free hand and, before he knew what he was doing, sent a bolt of lightning searing through her chest.

Bolt flinched back as her blood splattered across his face. His heart beat erratically and with no rhythm or purpose. In the back of his mind, there was a voice screaming about something. But he couldn't hear it; it was warbled and muffled, like a drunk trying to give a rousing speech.

There was a scream of fury. The hairs on Bolt's neck stood on end as his sister rushed at him with tears running down her cheeks. She leapt off the ground, passing over Hikari's unnaturally still body, and threw her fist at him.

The fire returned with reinforcements. He felt his mind go white with anger. The fire in his veins was scorching him from the inside out. At first, Bolt had felt powerful. Now, he felt empty. Like a candle that had been burnt for far too long. He blinked, coming to, and found his hand wrapped around his sister's throat as he pinned her to a stone wall. Her head lolled as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Bolt was choking her so tightly that she spasmed uncontrollably.

With horror, he released her. Bolt collapsed to his knees, running shaky hands of his sister's chest. He could see that his neck was mangled and wrecked beyond all salvation. The only person who could have saved her was lying dead or dying in the sand only a few feet away.

Bolt felt hot tears spill out his eyes as he sobbed.

"Bolt!"

He sat up, violently kicking at whatever had pinned his legs. It was just his sleeping bag. Blinking rapidly, he saw that Hikari was wearily standing a few feet away. Tetsu had his sword drawn and was gazing out into the night, looking for a threat that wasn't there.

Bolt gasped in relief. It had been a dream. Just a dream. "—'M fine," Bolt croaked. He looked around. His clone was nowhere to be seen. His nightmare must have disturbed his chakra and caused the clone to dissipate.

"Are you okay?" Hikari asked warily.

"Yeah," Bolt said, a little out of breath. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Go back to sleep. I'll take the watch."

He had a feeling he wouldn't be getting much sleep, anyway. He silently cursed his weak mind. Bolt hated that he still had such tortured dreams and fitful sleep. Ever since the battle of Fort Sugawara, he hadn't gone for more than a few days without having a nightmare of one sort or the other. He told himself that, yes, war was terrible, but it was also a part of human nature. He told himself that, yes, he had done terrible things and killed many men and women. He accepted it. He owned it. It was a part of him.

But it didn't make the dreams go away. All that bullshit he heard veterans whisper over the rims of their mugs was nothing more than delusional lies that old men told themselves. No amount of acceptance kept the dreams at bay. No amount of rational thought kept him from seeing their faces at night.

Bolt sent a scathing look at his friends. They hadn't moved, simply content to stare at him like he was a skittish dog. "Go back to sleep," he hissed. Bolt could tell they weren't happy, but they followed his command anyway.

He waited for nearly an hour before letting his muscles relax. Sighing in relief, Bolt reached for that small partition of chakra he kept reserved. Weaving hand seals, he activated it. He felt it pull at him, dragging him with great strength to the east. Bolt closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Good. His sister and Sarada were both in the Leaf, or at least, the Land of Fire. Far away from the harsh desert sands and his bloody hands.

* * *

Hikari's skillset never ceased to amaze him. Bolt considered his eyesight to be one of his defining strengths. Yet even the Byakugan could see neither hair nor hide of Shūichi. But hikari led them through the sprawling dunes, discerning footprints from poorly coalesced sand and unnatural gravel patterns. One time, even, she had discovered that the needles of a cactus has been disturbed by being struck and were now facing the unnatural direction.

All these clues and more led them on a wild chase through the desert wastes that Bolt wasn't sure would lead them any closer to Shūichi, and thus, Tsuchigumo.

It wasn't until they came across real evidence that Bolt breathed a sigh of relief. Hikari had unearthed a scrap of fabric that closely resembled the same color and make as the tunic that Shūichi had been wearing. It was caught on a low-hanging cactus, waving in the wind.

From there, the sand turned from golden to an earthy brown color. Dirt was mixed in with the coarse sand, and the desert gave way to sparse vegetation. In the distance, Bolt could see the looming mountains that bordered the Land of Wind and Earth. According to rumor, Tsuchigumo operated somewhere in the northern reaches. Now, they just had to find him.

Hikari led them farther and farther north. The mountains, once a shadow in the distance, were now clearly visible. Bolt could see the snow capping their peaks, and the crags that stretched over the land. Between the mountains, Bolt could see rough trails and hardy trees.

"Are you sure we're on the right track?" Bolt asked when it became apparent they were leaving the Land of Wind.

"Yes," Hikari snapped back, kicking some rocks out of her way as she scoured the ground. He didn't say anything after that. She hadn't led him astray yet, so he would trust her.

It was only an hour later, just as the sun began its descent, that they found their prey. It was a cave, so well hidden that had they not been—quite literally—looking under every rock, they never would have found it. It was hidden in a small, crescent moon-shaped crevice. In the crevice, a gaping cavern maw bared its fangs; two great stalactites that hung from the ceiling.

"This is it?" Tetsu questioned, his sword drawn and at the ready.

Hikari nodded. Bolt activated his clan's dōjutsu, feeling the uncomfortable feeling of disembodiment as he gazed down into the earth. The cave went deeper than he thought, splitting into winding tunnels and sprawling antechambers. A small underground creek ran through one, coming from somewhere high in the mountains.

But that was all. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary," Bolt said, blinking as his dōjutsu faded. He felt his stomach protest violently as his brain reconnected with the rest of his bodily senses.

"Everything points to here," Hikari told them. "There is no other place Shūichi could be. We've checked the entire area—twice."

"Perhaps this Tsuchigumo can hide himself from your eyes, my lord?" Tetsu suggested.

Bolt frowned. The seal work on the puppet arm he had seen didn't overtly speak for any great skill in the sealing arts, but Bolt didn't want to be overconfident. His own clan had seals that blocked the sight of the Byakugan, but they used it for privacy in their own homes. It was difficult to bathe knowing your entire clan could see through walls, after all. To think that someone other than a Hyūga had such knowledge was a dangerous thing.

"Be on your guard, then," Bolt said, slipping into a defensive Gentle Fist stance and stalking forward. He kept his eyes trained on the darkness, looking for any hint of movement or traps. The tunnels were dark and damp, and had no signs that any life had ever walked their halls. Lichen and moss clung to the walls, and small rivulets of water trickled down the center of the tunnels more often than not.

Together, the three of them delved deeper and deeper into the depths. The air grew warm and stale, as if it had not moved in many years. In truth, they were probably the first living people to ever venture into the tunnels. Bolt grew ever more skeptical the farther they went without signs of inhabitation.

The markings on the wall were so obscure that had he not been trained in fūinjutsu he would have never seen them. Bolt stopped, peering through the darkness of the tunnel and examining the wall. He had to scrape some lichen from the rock with a kunai to reveal a circular set of interlocking sealing script. It was different from what he had studied. The Whirlpool's script was flowing and elegant; almost calligraphic in its beauty. Whatever language this was reminded Bolt of how the sand settled after a strong wind, or the way a snake slithered across the dunes. It was wavy and simple, almost natural in its execution.

Bolt hummed in thought. "Is it safe?" Hikari asked.

"No way to know," Bolt answered. He didn't have the time nor experience to decrypt this foreign fūinjutsu. "I don't think it's a trap, but there's no way to be sure," he said. Usually, traps had a more lengthy and complicated seal. It was difficult to fit so many ways to kill someone in so little words and space.

Shrugging, he walked past the seal. Bolt could hear the sound of his friends gasping in shock behind him. Looking around, nothing happened. "Guess it's not a trap," Bolt commented, slipping back into a defensive stance and continuing down the tunnel.

That was when the clicking started. It was a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the distance. Bolt recognized it nearly immediately—the sound puppet joints clicking as they moved. He didn't even have to turn back to know that his friends were already prepared to fight. Bolt began to build chakra in his right arm.

They didn't have to wait long. A minute later, a swarm of crude puppets spilled into the tunnel. Bolt raised his arm, pointing his palm forward. His fingers splayed, he unleashed the chakra that had been building up. A powerful Air Palm, augmented by true Wind Release chakra, tore through the first ranks of the puppets. There was nothing left of them but shredded fabric and shattered plastic and warped metal. Those that survived were quickly cut down by a quick lightning jutsu from Hikari and a small, controlled Flash from Tetsu.

A quick look with his Byakugan revealed that all the puppets were well and truly destroyed. He saw no latent chakra in their bodies or chakra strings controlling them. "Let's go," Bolt said, now eager to finish up their quest in the Land of Wind. He had definitive proof that someone was down here, and that someone knew puppetry.

The three of them continued to wander through the tunnels. At some point, the tunnels stopped going down, and started going north. Then, they started going toward the surface once more. "I think we're getting close," Bolt commented. His arms were shaking from adrenaline. It had been awhile since he had been in a fight that truly got his blood boiling. He was eager to test himself again.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel. It was a soft blue-white glow. The barest whisper of wind blew forth from the light ahead, and Bolt sighed in blissful relief. It had been unbearably hot for quite some time.

When Bolt entered the largest antechamber of the cavern system, he had been expecting some kind of subterranean fortress manned by an army of puppets. What he found was nearly as awe inspiring. The roof of the cavern had been eroded away by time, exposing it to the sky. Light filtered in through large holes in the stone, and through them, a gentle breeze blew. Bolt could see the snowy mountain peaks in the distance.

But it was what was in the center of the cavern that drew his fascination. It was hard to fathom. A massive pillar of stone stood, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. Wrapped around it where an uncountable number of chakra strings, so numerous that they were visible to the naked eye and emitted a blinding glow. There had to be millions, if not tens of millions, of strings wrapped around the pillar. It was almost as if it was acting as a titanic spool of thread. The threads were concentrated around the pillar, but webs of them were sprawling across the cavern roof and its walls.

"You shouldn't have come here," Bolt heard a voice say. Shūichi dropped down from the web of chakra thread clinging to the ceiling. Bolt frowned, not seeing any strings connecting to him. He heard the sound of joints clicking and metal being drawn against metal as more and more puppets fell from the cavern ceiling. Some were human puppets, like Shūichi, but others were the more common variety.

The veins in Bolt's temples and cheeks writhed under his skin as his Byakugan manifested itself fully. For the first time, he knew why the people of the Land of Wind called this man Tsuchigumo; the Spider of the Sand. This entire cavern was one giant web of chakra threads. It was, quite literally, a spider's nest.

"We're here to stop the mindless killing," Bolt said boldly, his own chakra flaring within himself. He had made a tactical error by venturing into the lion's den. They were at a disadvantage in the enemy's stronghold.

Shūichi shook his head mechanically. "We have done nothing wrong. None of my brothers or sisters have killed unless it was in self-defense," he said.

"I don't believe that," Bolt countered. There were plenty of horror stories told about the mass graves in the very mountains they were now in. Countless bodies that had been dumped there that had been attributed to Tsuchigumo. Even more chilling were the tales that the human puppets murdered their living counterparts for their brethren to take their place.

"Believe it or not, it is true. We have nothing but try to save this country from itself," Shūichi said, steel in the puppet's voice.

"You've killed hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent people. How is that saving the Land of Wind?" Bolt questioned. He began to exude chakra from his chakra points ever so slightly. With the faintest thought, he could summon his armor into existence and strike Shūichi down before the puppet could even react.

"That is a lie. Neither I, my brothers and sister, or our Father have murdered a single man, woman, or child to bolster our ranks," Shūichi countered.

"Regardless," Bolt said, casting his eyes around the cavern for the puppeteer. He had to be here somewhere.

"You are blinded, my friend. You cannot see the forest for the trees," Shūichi exclaimed passionately.

"Enough, Shūichi," a voice echoed through the cavern. It was a fluty soprano, almost boyish. Bolt tensed, looking for the source. A puppet came forward, shuffling along the ground with a visible haunch in his shoulders. He appeared young, perhaps only a handful of years older than Bolt himself, but his hair was as white as snow and he could see the man's gaunt cheeks and exposed ribs. He was deathly thin, and the ragged white lab coat he wore did nothing to hide that fact.

Bolt frowned as his Byakugan took the puppet in. He narrowed his eyes, and gasped as he beheld a shimmer of white-blue light all around the puppet. That was when he realized that the man wasn't a puppet—he was the puppeteer. Countless hundreds of chakra threads, so miniscule that even with the Byakugan they were nigh invisible, extended from the man's back and connected to the spool in the center of the cavern.

Bolt hadn't imagined their foe would be so... normal. He wanted to think of Tsuchigumo as a monstrous, twisted, and evil man. An old war hawk from a bygone age who dabbled in the forbidden art of human puppetry. But Tsuchigumo was anything but that. He could have been an upperclassman in the Academy, and no ninja worth his salt would ever allow their body to fall into such disrepair. Tsuchigumo was nearly as thin as his puppets.

"Who are you?" Bolt asked, his heart hammering in his chest in preparation for what was to come.

Tsuchigumo flinched, rocking back and forth on his feet methodically. He twitched and dropped his gaze, and refused to meet Bolt's own. "Name doesn't matter," Tsuchigumo rasped, reaching up and idly stroking his hair in a distinctly mechanical fashion. Bolt thought it might have been a nervous tick.

"You are Tsuchigumo, though," Bolt accused him. "The puppeteer controlling these things."

"Not things," Tsuchigumo jerked his head jarringly, shrugging one shoulder. Bolt began to realize there was something profoundly wrong with the man. "People," he stated with purpose, meeting Bolt's gaze for only a moment before looking away nervously and flinching again.

"You're creating abominations," Bolt enunciated slowly, bringing his hands up to form seals. The air had enough water in it to use Water Release without completely draining himself. It would drastically speed up the battle. "You have to be stopped."

"Wait!" Tsuchigumo cried, grimacing and tugging at his coat's sleeve furiously. "Listen," he requested. His head jerked again, his mouth parting as if to speak only to close again. "We don't hurt anyone," Tsuchigumo tried.

Bolt formed another hand seal. "Please, my friend!" Shūichi begged. "Listen to our Father."

"Don't kill them," Tsuchigumo muttered, his nose twitching. "Only bring them back."

Bolt paused. As much as he wanted to get the battle over with, a curious part of him wondered how, exactly, one could twist puppetry to such extremes. He kept the technique he had been about to unleash ready, but quirked his head as if to signal Tsuchigumo to continue.

He did. "One-Tail kills, I bring back," Tsuchigumo stated nervously, once again trying to form his shaggy snow-white hair into something civilized with mechanical strokes. "Sand came for my village. Killed everyone. Mother. Father. Sister. Neighbor. Friends. Only I survived."

Bolt could see the fog in Tsuchigumo's eyes recede ever so slightly. As it did, his speech became clearer and clearer. "Was a full moon," he said. "Only ten years old. No home. No family. Had to survive. Father was a puppeteer. Taught me how to use chakra. Years I spent to bring them back."

As if on cue, two more puppets descended from the web of chakra threads. A tall man with bronzed skin and a mane of brown hair and a lithe woman with jade-colored eyes and blonde hair. "Mother, Father," Tsuchigumo said, gently hugging the both of them. The puppets returned the embrace in a lifeless, mechanical fashion.

"But the One-Tail didn't stop there," Tsuchigumo intoned, his voice growing clear. The fluty sound turned dark with a haunting sadness. "Kept killing. Every full moon. More people dead. More children without homes, without families. Had to help them. Had to save them. Just like me."

A roiling sickness boiled up within Bolt as the pieces of the tale came together. "Never hurt anyone," Tsuchigumo repeated. "Never hurt anyone. Just trying to help."

He seemed to retreat into himself, a haunted look passing over his features as his eyes grew wide with terror. Tsuchigumo tugged at his hair harshly. Bolt could see strands of white fall to the ground, coated with blood. "Father, please," Shūichi said, taking Tsuchigumo's arm by the wrist and lowering it gently.

Bolt cast a quick, curious glance at his friends. Tetsu was as stony-faced as ever, his grip on his katana tight. Hikari had her eyes narrowed and her body was rigid. Bolt supposed that Tsuchigumo's story resonated with her, on some level. She too had lost her parents, though not quite in as horrible of way as Tsuchigumo if the man's story was to be believed.

Tsuchigumo made a frantic moaning noise, his head snapping up and jerking side-to-side violently as his wide eyes peered around the cavern. Bolt could see the clear signs of madness in the man's eyes clearly, now. Whether his story was true or not, at the very least, Tsuchigumo believed it. It made sense, too. What else could break a man so wholly? The list was short. Chiefly among those, an attack by the monstrous chakra demon.

The One-Tail was notorious for its insanity. It was a well-known fact that Gaara of the Sand was missing more than a few marbles during his childhood as a jinchūriki. Nagato's writings told that the One-Tail was a living mass of sand and hate and madness whose rage knew no bounds and who delighted in the wholesale slaughter of humans. Of all the Tailed Beasts, Nagato noted that the One-Tail was the most mad of them all on nights of the full moon.

That was the only reason he gave Tsuchigumo's story and weight. Not only was it plausible, but it was likely. The Tailed Beasts roamed the land unchecked and unchallenged thanks to Union legislation. The only ones still caged were the Eight and Nine-Tails. The other seven did as they pleased, and there wasn't anyone who could stop them. If the One-Tail wanted to wander the desert and slaughter humans in droves, who would stop it?

"Please, my friend," Shūichi begged. "We mean no harm. Leave us in peace and allow us to continue our mission."

Bolt was torn. On one hand, what Tsuchigumo was doing was both... wrong, and right. Human puppetry was vile, but he was doing it for reasons of which he could not object. He was giving people their family back. On the other, if his story was true, then Bolt could not in good faith kill Tsuchigumo and his puppets without dealing with the One-Tail. His goal was to bring peace, and it was meaningless to kill the only person who had been trying to maintain the peace.

"What do we do, my lord?" Tetsu asked, stepping forward.

"What can we do?" Hikari scoffed.

Bolt clenched his draw as he pondered it for a moment. What could they do? He peered through the darkness and his eyes flicked between Tsuchigumo, Shūichi, and the other assembled puppets. If it truly came to a fight, Bolt felt he and his friends could defeat them. But, part of him wanted to believe. Wanted to believe that there were more people like him in the world. People who wanted to bring a fragile peace to their war-torn world.

He dropped his hands, allowing his chakra to settle. "I won't kill you," Bolt said. "But if you betray me, or if I discover that you've lied to me, you won't even know Death has come for you."

Shūichi broke into his familiar, irritatingly happy grin. Tsuchigumo seemed to calm himself, somewhat, now that Bolt wasn't about to kill him. He supposed that the stress of impending death would do that to a person, especially one who wasn't all there in the head.

"In fact," Bolt said, almost conversationally. "If your story is true, we'll even help you defeat the One-Tail."

Tsuchigumo snapped his head up at those words, and for a moment, Bolt could see the sadness and insanity fade away completely. He stood slightly taller, his back straight and his shoulders held high. The man bobbed his head once in both a gesture of agreement and thanks. "I would like that very much," Tsuchigumo said, his manner of speech belying a keen intelligence that hadn't been present in his earlier words.

"What are we going to do?" Hikari asked tersely. "What _can_ we do?"

Bolt felt a grin overtake him that made his cheeks hurt.

"We can make a jinchūriki," he answered.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I didn't realize how late this chapter was until I answered my PMs yesterday... sorry! Been busy lately with life. To make up for it, this chapter is extra long. As promised!

I quite liked this chapter, as it introduces one of my favorite planned characters. Tsuchigumo is an interesting character, and one that I enjoyed writing. I hoped I managed to convey how disturbed and tortured he was, but that will be expanded upon as the Land of Wind arc progresses. There's also a couple teasers for future plotlines.

Thoughtful — It's been stated multiple times, canonically, that Kakashi has "average" chakra reserves for someone of his standing and talent. That's just the way the cookie crumbles, I guess. I imagine his reserves would have dwindled further in his increasingly old age. He would be in his fifties by now, and undoubtedly begin trending downward in power. He's no Jiraiya or Hiruzen, whom inspire fear because of their vast power even at such an old age.

Maho — The Tenseigan is the equivalent of the Rinnegan, rather than the Mangekyō. It's nearly an entirely different dōjutsu completely, in both scope of power and activation. There is no second level of the Byakugan; no Mangekyō or Eternal. That is what I meant.


	42. Chapter 42

" _We can make a jinchūriki."_

Hikari regretted asking the question immediately. Bolt's answer echoed through her mind as she stalked through the dark halls of the mountain. She felt sympathy for Tsuchigumo. She really did. But this was far above and beyond anything she had ever imagined she would undertake. The Tailed Beasts were demonic monstrosities; chakra given physical form with a healthy helping of hate and a taste for destruction.

That Bolt wanted to fight one was insanity. That he wanted to seal it in one of them was beyond madness. The only small measure of sanity was that she had posed that very question. _"Who will volunteer to seal the One-Tail inside themselves?"_

They answered her with a resounding silence.

Jinchūriki were infamous for their revulsion. Hikari couldn't blame the people for their hate. It was simply natural. They feared death. Jinchūriki _were_ death. They, invariably, die at the hands of their demons. The seal holding the beast at bay could break at any moment. The jinchūriki could take too much of the demon's power into themselves, and become the beast itself. Hell, it was more common for two jinchūriki from rival nations to battle to the death. Entire armies perished underfoot as the demons' full power was unleashed. And, even if they didn't die in war and lived to reach old age, the demon was extracted from them, killing them.

Nobody wanted to be a jinchūriki. Nobody, especially, wanted to be the jinchūriki of the One-Tail. Hikari noted that Bolt, especially, shied away from the duty. No doubt he remembers stories that his father told him about the Kazekage in his boyhood. The history books would explain, if not.

Hikari rounded the corner, nearly running into a shambling puppet. She nearly smashed it to pieces, but reined in her desire to do so. The puppets that Tsuchigumo had created were an aberration of nature that she thought she would never see. Some are cold and lifeless; nothing more than tools of war. Others, like Shūichi, are so lifelike that she has to remind herself that they are not human. They speak, as if they have a mind of their own with which to compose words. They look human. Not just their bodies, but their faces. The subtle expressions that convey emotion and thought.

It disturbed Hikari greatly. Not that she would ever mention such a thing aloud. She stalked past the puppet, allowing it to shamble along its way. Patrol, she thinks. Tsuchigumo has his puppets patrolling the mountain at all hours of the day.

She found herself before a much smaller cavern. It's larger than most houses, and it had been repurposed to house humans rather than puppets. Desks line the walls with tools hanging above them. A thin sheen of sawdust coated the floor. A workshop, maybe, Hikari thinks. Now, it serves as their group's unofficial meeting place. Bolt and Tsuchigumo are already there. Tetsu lingers in the shadows, a hand on the hilt of his katana.

Hikari nodded to herself, pleased. Tetsu took his duty seriously. But, even more than that, she recognizes the tension in Bolt's shoulders. The way he keeps his weight balanced, as if ready to break into a sprint at any moment. The way his shirt's sleeves stretch whenever Tsuchigumo moves and he tenses.

He has allied himself with the puppeteer, but he hasn't let his guard down. Good. A valuable lesson learned. It assuages some of her worries. "What have I missed?" Hikari asks as she approaches the table that Bolt and Tsuchigumo loom over.

The two of them were an odd pair. So different, yet so similar. Both geniuses, both users of fūinjutsu. She heard them speaking when they thought no one was listening, discussing fūinjutsu and its applications. There was an unspoken threat in how they spoke of their arrays and vectors, casts and calls, classes and objects. As if the words they write could stab her as sure as any dagger.

Bolt turned to face her. "We were discussing what to seal the One-Tail in," he says. "Naturally, since we have no human vessel, we will need an artificial one. A puppet won't work. The materials are too weak. It would require a special human puppet, one with a unique body and a powerful chakra."

Hikari nodded. Good. Such a thing would leave a bad taste in her mouth. Human puppetry was a vile art. "Do you have a solution, then?"

Bolt glances away nervously. "In a way," he answers. Hikari already knows she isn't going to like what he has to say. "The first jinchūriki of the One-Tail was a man named Bunpuku. He was universally hated and feared, so the Sand obtained a prison for the man. He lived there until his dying day."

Hikari's brows narrow. How does he know this? "How do you know this?"

Bolt doesn't answer her. The answer is in his eyes. _Akatsuki,_ he all but says. Hikari doesn't like that he puts so much faith in the intelligence of an organization that tried to destroy the world. "And?" Hikari prompts.

Bolt clears his throat. "The prison they used is an ancient artifact. It's a giant tea kettle, made of sandstone. The people of the Land of Wind say it was created by the Sage of Six Paths himself. It's imbued with a powerful chakra that should help contain the demon."

"Should?" Hikari says with disbelief. They cannot possibly fight a Tailed Beast on faith and prayer and a _maybe._

Bolt shrugged. "It's an old object. I'll inspect it and make some modifications with fūinjutsu. It won't be the first time the One-Tail was sealed in it. Hopefully, this will be its last."

Hikari nodded. If nothing else, she had seen him do things with a brush and paper that she would have thought impossible. If anyone can fashion a prison for a demon, it's him. "So, where is this tea kettle?"

Bolt shared a nervous glance with Tsuchigumo. The puppeteer met his gaze, only to swiftly glance away and nervously tug at his sleeves. "Don't know," he says, in that deceptively innocent boyish voice. "Children looking. Will know soon."

At least he can speak to her. Hikari chastises herself for thinking ill of the man. He's clearly not in his right mind, but she finds him infuriating all the same.

Bolt nodded. Tsuchigumo takes it as a clear dismissal. The puppeteer all but flees from the room, a handful of puppets shambling after him that Hikari hadn't noticed. She shivered. "What do we do in the meantime?" Tetsu asks, speaking up for the first time.

Hikari notices his grip has not relaxed from his sword, and his eyes peer into the darkness of the cavern; alert for danger.

Bolt shrugged. "We train," he says, simply.

* * *

Hikari was greeted by a most interesting sight upon entering Bolt's room. It looked as if a desert storm had blown through the room, knocking books and scrolls from their shelves and rolling them across the floor. There were numerous crystal vials of ink, some empty, others only half full. Bolt himself was seated on a small wooden chair that lay only a few feet from a wall of solid rock. He was staring into it with an unnerving intensity. So intense, even, that he did not notice her approach.

"What are you doing?" Hikari asked.

To his credit, Bolt didn't even flinch. He shushed her, holding a single finger to his lips. Her brow arched upwards as she noticed the veins in his temple were engorged and clearly visible beneath his skin. He was using the Byakugan to spy on _something._ Looking at the wall, she could see a small circle of inky, swirling patterns that had been painted on the stone. Hikari watched as Bolt squinted and his brows narrowed in thought.

Shrugging, she turned and eyed the disaster that was his living quarters. At random, she plucked a scroll from its place of honor at the low table next to Bolt. Most of what was written on the scroll was written in some kind of dead language, but several passages were written in common. "Sealing Technique: Nine Phantom Dragons?" Hikari read aloud. Below the words were ten diagrams of similar, but slightly differing, rings.

That snapped Bolt out of his reverie. He snatched the scroll from her hands with blinding speed. Hikari could have tightened her grip on the scroll, but she imagined he would be furious if it tore. Bolt was very protective of his fūinjutsu scrolls. "Nothing!" Bolt stammered. "It's nothing," he said, returning to staring at the wall.

Hikari tilted her head as she glanced at his hands. The scroll was gone. A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. He _was_ getting better at fūinjutsu. There wasn't even a wisp of smoke from chakra discharge when he sealed an object anymore. "Are you going to tell me what you're doing now?" Hikari questioned.

"Watching Tsuchigumo," Bolt grumbled in answer. "He's talented. Very talented. Remember that seal in the tunnel? It was designed as an all-purpose seal to prevent unwanted eyes and ears from prying. It interferes with my Byakugan. This," he gestured at the seal work on the wall. "Is a temporary counter-measure."

Hikari nodded. "So, what is our mad scientist up to?"

Bolt frowned and paled all at once. "I... don't know," he said. "It's hard to explain. His puppets are different. You've seen it, too, haven't you? They're too intelligent; too human."

"Yes," Hikari agreed, taking a step closer and peering at the stone as if it would allow her the same view.

"A puppet wheeled a mangled corpse in this morning," Bolt told her. "I thought it was a wheelbarrow of ground beef at first. It was only after he pulled out shards of bone that I realized what it was."

Hikari grimaced at the image. She thought back to the sandstorm the four of them had survived in the badlands. If Tsuchigumo told the truth, then that pile of ground beef could have been them. It unsettled her how truly powerless they were before a Tailed Beast. Mere men were not supposed to battle forces of nature. "And?"

"And... he does human puppetry with their remains," Bolt summarized with a shrug. "It's fascinating, if gruesome. He's somehow able to siphon residual chakra from the corpse and transfer it into a puppet body. I've been watching him perform the seal work that, I think, emulates the consciousness of the person while they were alive based on that residual chakra. It's not perfect, of course, but it's still a miracle."

Hikari prayed to whatever gods may be that such an aberration of nature was not being performed below her feet. The thought that someone could desecrate her corpse and raise a mockery of herself as a mindless slave made a chill crawl up her spine. She swallowed. "Are you sure?"

Bolt nodded. "Pretty sure," he answered. "I can't make heads or tails of the script he writes with, but that's the short version."

Hikari sighed, resting her back against the wall. Sometimes, she longed for the days where the most dangerous thing prowling about was a rogue Mist ninja or a rival mercenary. Now, she was the hunted, not the hunter, more often than not. She was out of her element. Bolt stood, rubbing at his eyes in a futile attempt to assuage the tension she knew built behind his eyes after prolonged usage.

"So," Bolt asked, blinking away his pain. "What did you need?"

Hikari parted her lips to speak, but quickly closed them in a bout of hesitation. Did she really want to stoop so low? Did the wolf crawl before the deer and beg its assistance? No, it didn't. She was the hunter, not the prey. She was not some bleating sheep that needed to be herded in the proper direction. Hikari spared a fleeting glance at Bolt. He was watching her, waiting. Patiently.

But, then again, Bolt was no deer; no shepherd. He had proven that. If anything, he was a fellow hunter. And wolves hunted in packs, didn't they? She decided to take a chance. He was her closest, perhaps only, friend. No one knew her better, except perhaps Eiji—and maybe not even him. But he was dead. Hikari pushed her adoptive father from her mind.

"Bolt," she started, not sure how to phrase her thoughts. "Are you sure we can defeat the One-Tail?"

Instantly, Hikari regretted asking the question. Her voice quivered as she uttered the demon's title; not even its name. Her fear bled through. She despised, hated, how weak she sounded. How pathetic she sounded.

Bolt blinked owlishly at her. "Of course," he said, not a hint of hesitation or fear in his tone.

She felt the acidic burn of jealousy in her heart. "How? How can you be so confident? Is there some seal or jutsu that you're hiding? Some trick to taming the Tailed Beasts, like a dog?" Hikari asked.

His cheeks colored ever so slightly. Hikari instantly felt worse for having asked the questions she was not prepared to receive answers to. He was hiding something from her. "Well," Bolt began. "I've got a few techniques, ideas really, that I'm working on that I didn't mention to you or Tsuchigumo."

She certainly hoped he hadn't shared anything with the mad scientist before sharing with her. That would have been an unforgivable betrayal. "And? What are they?" Hikari demanded.

"It's hard to explain," Bolt said, scratching at his neck nervously. "But, if I can master the technique, there's no way we can lose. It's the most powerful jutsu my clan possesses. We can kind of—make chains, with our chakra," he supplied lamely.

Hikari stared at him incredulously. Bolt let an exasperated sigh past his lips. "Make me a kunai," he demanded.

She blinked. "Bolt, I'm not a smith," Hikari stated.

"I know," Bolt said. "Make me one anyway."

Hikari said nothing, did nothing. After a few moments, Bolt spoke. "Not so easy, is it?"

Hikari shrugged. "You mean to tell me your clan's greatest technique is creating chains out of thin air?"

Bolt smiled boyishly. "Yeah, that's about it," he said with a shrug.

"You'll forgive me if that doesn't inspire the confidence to march into battle against a demon," Hikari quipped.

Bolt sighed. "I don't even know if I am capable of using the technique, to be honest," he admitted. "But that doesn't matter. We'll take every precaution. The people of the Land of Wind used the Tea Kettle to seal the One-Tail since before the founding of the Hidden Sand. If we can get our hands on it, I'm certain I can create a prison for it."

Hikari groaned. That didn't come out like she thought it would. She sighed. "I—Bolt, I don't know if I'm going to be able to help you with this. I'm not as powerful as you or Tetsu. I don't know fūinjutsu like you or Tsuchigumo. I have nothing to contribute."

Bolt looked at her strangely, as if she were playing some sort of elaborate joke on him. Then, she saw realization dawn in his eyes. He shook his head back and forth. "No, no, no. You're plenty strong! I've seen you defeat ninja twice as powerful and experienced than you! Don't think like that. We're not even going to fight the One-Tail. We lure it into our trap, seal it in Bunpuku's Tea Kettle, and that's the end of that."

"And if something goes wrong? If, against all odds, against all your preparations, the demon breaks free of its prison? What then?" Hikari asked.

Bolt hesitated and frowned. That was one of his few true faults; he never thought he would fail. "If it fails, then we run," he said simply.

Hikari laughed; a short, mirthless chuckle. "Bolt, I know you. You won't run," she said. "You'll stay and fight because you think you have to prove yourself. Tetsu will die with you because you're his master. I'm not going to be left out of the party."

The flash of genuine doubt and apprehension that flashed across his face was gratifying. "I—that won't happen," Bolt said with conviction. He paused. Hesitated. Made a decision. "I—when I left the Leaf, I learned something," he began. "Power cannot be given. It has to be taken. I was young and stupid and thought I could cheat my way through the exams without having to train or try."

Hikari listened. She knew how and why he left the Leaf, but Bolt never liked talking about it. He sighed. "There's a technique I can teach you, maybe. It'll be up to you if you can master it. If you do, you'll be as strong as Tetsu and I. Maybe even more so. And, even if you can't, you'll still be a powerful ninja in my eyes," he said.

Ah, there it was. Absolution. Funny how a few muttered words made the weight of her worries lighten. It felt nice to have someone believe in you; someone willing to help you overcome your weaknesses, your flaws. Hikari felt the fear she felt at baring her weakness to Bolt fade away. "Thank you," she murmured.

Bolt nodded, then smiled. "Want to hear something funny? The wife of the first Hokage, Mito Uzumaki. She was hailed as one of the most talented seal masters that had ever been born into the clan. Everyone knows her as the woman-behind-the-man that helped build the Leaf. What they don't know is that her chakra reserves were pitifully average—before the Nine-Tails was sealed in her, that is, " he said with a boyish giggle.

"But you need a monstrous level of chakra to make those magic chains I told you about," Bolt teased. "Naturally, Mito was furious she couldn't use the technique. So she set out to devise a way to increase her chakra reserves. A special seal, one that is quite famous—even today," he said, tapping his forehead with his index finger.

"The Strength of a Hundred Seal," he enunciated, drawing a diamond with the tip of his finger. "Ironically, it was her granddaughter who mastered and modernized the seal."

Hikari almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You mean," she said, ever so slowly. "You want me to learn a technique of _the_ Tsunade Senju?"

Bolt chuckled nervously. "Well, as I said. Grandma Tsunade mastered the seal, but Mito created it. Her early work was included in the scroll the Uzukage gave me. It's mainly just plans and theories. Only a few paragraphs of the proper seal were recorded before the scroll was sealed. We have weeks—months, even—before we're ready to confront the One-Tail. I'll split my time between training to use my clan's secret technique, the Strength of a Hundred seal, and the One-Tail's prison," he said.

Bolt coughed. "If, that is, you'd be willing to learn," he added sheepishly.

Well, there was only one thing she could say.

"Yes."

* * *

Bolt stared at the scroll before him with pure, unadulterated frustration. A throbbing pain pulsed through his skull in time with the beat of his heart. He'd been "training" for nearly five hours, and had developed a headache of unparalleled pain.

It was such a simple thing. Three little characters written in his neat handwriting. _Fūinjutsu,_ they read. All he had to do was give birth to the words; shape them into chains. Let them feed upon his Yang chakra; to go from mere words, to spectral steel that could bind anything in existence. To give physical form to the very antithesis of freedom. To forge links of steel whose very touch caused chakra to wither and fade.

Easier said than done.

His reserve of Yang chakra was staggering. In a normal ninja, the imbalance between Yin and Yang would have alarmed any medical professional. Hikari herself had nearly had an aneurysm the first time she discovered his metaphysical war chest. An unnaturally strong Yang chakra could indicate the body was afflicted by a cancer, or that the Yin chakra was being leeched by a sickness of the mind. But his Yin was still there. Small, dwarfed by the virility of the Yang chakra that the Uzumaki clan were infamous for. But still in perfect balance. It bubbled furiously, like a pot of water brought to boil.

His Yang chakra wanted to go somewhere; do something. Bolt just couldn't figure out how to get it to do what he wanted. There were no hand seals, no instructions on how to form his chakra within his body. Not for the first time, the words of the Uzukage echoed in his mind. _"In good, there is evil. In light, there is darkness. In life, there is death. When you truly understand, give your Yang chakra to the technique freely and it will manifest itself and bow to your will."_

Yeah, lot of good that mystic riddle did. Bolt would have much preferred a simple list of steps from which to mold his Yang chakra into the Adamantine Sealing Chains. Perhaps he needed to return to the Hidden Whirlpool. He had learned everything the scroll contained, save for his clan's secret technique. He could go back, get true instruction from the Uzukage—or, even, Kohaku. He had only been able to make a single chain, but Bolt remembered the sheer intensity of the man's concentration when he had used the technique on him.

He was missing something. Some lesson or realization that he couldn't fathom. Something that prevented him from forming the chains. Bolt sighed, standing and shaking out his numb limbs. He stilled as there was a knock at his door.

"Yes?" Bolt called, slipping into a defensive Gentle Fist stance.

The door to his quarters opened, revealing Shūichi. Bolt couldn't meet the puppet's eyes. Not after he knew how, exactly, Shūichi came to be. He was both truth and fiction simultaneously; the ghost of a man long dead. Shūichi gave him a shadow of a smile. "We've found it," the puppet told him.

Bolt quickly abandoned his fruitless training, slipping into his boots and trailed after Shūichi as the two of them left his quarters. It was only a short jog to one of Tsuchigumo's older workshops that they used as a neutral meeting ground for their group. Bolt cast a sideways glance at Shūichi. It made sense, now, after learning how the puppets were created. The way Shūichi always seemed to smile, how infectious his happiness was. Perhaps it was a flaw in the programming, as it were. He simply didn't know any better, _couldn't_ know any better. He was a puppet, after all, not a man.

Hikari and Tetsu were already there, milling about a table near the far side of the room. Tsuchigumo was nervously pacing and tugging at his sleeves. "Well?" Bolt asked immediately, eager to act.

Another puppet, a girl of perhaps thirteen or fourteen, stepped forward from her place at the left of Tsuchigumo. Bolt couldn't even tell that she was a puppet. Her eyes were a pretty sky blue color and glistened with some unnamed emotion. Her lips were pursed and her brows were narrowed in concentration. It was the puppet's faces that unsettled him the most. They were simply too perfect. He was constantly reminding himself they were nothing but metal and ink under their faux skin. She dressed in a sandy colored military uniform with a veil of white fabric shielding her face and hair from the sun. Perhaps a soldier for the Wind Lord, or a ninja from the Sand?

"One of our brothers in the Wind Temple has reported that the artefact his being kept under guard by the monks, sir," she reported in a terse, respectful tone.

Bolt frowned. That wasn't what he had been expecting. He thought that such an object would either be kept within the Hidden Sand itself, or perhaps in some long forgotten ancient ruins from a time before the founding of the hidden villages. And, in its own way, challenging. The monks of the various temples, whilst not as militant or powerful as their ninja cousins, were a force to be reckoned with in their own right. The abbots of the temples were more powerful than most jōnin. Grand Abbot Sentoki of the Thousand Fists was hailed as the most powerful monk since the birth of the faith. Luckily, he resided at the Fire Temple.

"According to him," the puppet continued her report. "It is kept under heavy guard in the bowels of the temple."

"We can lay siege to the temple," Tetsu spoke. "I fear no monk."

Bolt shook his head. "No, that won't work," he stated. "The monks are a powerful, multinational brotherhood. Attack one temple, you attack them all. Not even the hidden villages bother them. Starting a war with a group that powerful isn't to our advantage. Even if— _if_ —we are able to defeat them and steal the Tea Kettle."

"What do we do, then?" Tetsu asked.

"We can infiltrate the temple," Hikari suggested. "Pretend to join their ranks; become initiates."

Bolt nodded slowly. That could work. "Yes, that would work. It would give us time to scout. Find out where the Kettle is being kept. What defenses it has; who is guarding it. Assess the strength of the Wind Temple. The temples open their doors for prayer every day, and welcome initiates for as long as they give themselves to the order. It would be simple to slip in during prayer."

"Just one problem: we're wanted," Hikari pointed out.

Yes, that was indeed a problem. No doubt the monks would have received their own bingo book by now. His name and face were featured quite prominently under the Leaf's section.

"No doubt the monks would check their initiates for transformation jutsu or genjutsu that mask appearances," Hikari thought aloud. "It would be difficult."

"S—shave your heads," Tsuchigumo stammered. "Monks are bald. Hair draws attention. Don't give them a reason to look into you further."

Bolt idly ran a hand through his blond hair. He had a point. He would look completely different without his father's iconic hair color. If he dressed in rags like a commoner, perhaps dirtied himself a bit... yes, that could work. Give the monks every reason not to give him more than a cursory glance.

"That might work," Bolt said.

"And if it doesn't?" Tetsu questioned.

"And if it doesn't, well," Bolt shrugged. "We'll be inside their gates. That's half the battle."

Tetsu nodded sagely.

"Then it's settled?" Bolt asked.

"Can't go. Can't leave," Tsuchigumo muttered, tugging at the collar of his white lab coat. "Children go. Shūichi go."

Bolt nodded. "Fine," he said. He had his own theories about the massive spool of chakra threads in the mountain's main antechamber, chiefly among which, Tsuchigumo was tethered to it for as long as he wanted his puppets to remain active. "It's no more likely that the monks will recognize a puppet than they will recognize me."

Muttered agreements all around. Good. "When should we leave?" Hikari asked.

"The sooner, the better. I'll need all the time I can get to work on overhauling the Kettle," Bolt answered.

"Today, then," Tetsu suggested. Bolt felt the ghost of a smile tug at his lips. Tetsu was deeply disturbed by Tsuchigumo. Perhaps disturbed wasn't the right word. Distrusted, maybe. Tsuchigumo certainly didn't conform to the samurai's code of honor.

"Let's go."

* * *

The Wind Temple was a wonder of architecture. Of all the places he had been, Bolt had yet to see anything quite like it. The journey had taken them nearly a eleven days of tireless marching through blistering heat and freezing cold, but it had been worth it.

Far to the south, near the edge of the southern border of the Land of Wind, stood a single, lone mountain of beautiful, brown-red stone. Laked a jagged tooth, it erupted from the desert sands. The mountain had been withered away over the eons by wind and by sand, until its stone was as smooth as silk. Patterns were carved into the stone, entirely unnatural in appearance, but chiseled by nature's hand.

At the base of the mountain sat the Wind Temple. It had been hewn into the very bone of the mountain, an elegant structure of pillars and towering doors. A courtyard sprawled forth, walled by bricks of sandstone. It was here that the common man journeyed to offer prayer. Bald men with bronzed skin dressed in robes of white and gold hummed with their deep, baritone voices. Great pyres of incense burned, filling the air with the scent of herbs and flowers.

But, most of all, it was the _sound_. The monks had set to carving great, monolithic stalactites from the peak of the mountain that hung like low-bearing fruits on a tree. The howling wind of the desert blew through them, eliciting a beautiful, haunting tone that could be heard for miles and miles into the wasteland. As if the temple itself called to the faithful, beckoning them closer.

Bolt blinked, willing his dōjutsu to fade. He turned back to his companions and let a ragged sigh escape his lips. "It appears that mass has just begun," he informed them.

Hikari nodded. "Let's begin," she said.

Bolt watched with some apprehension as she removed her hunter ninja mask, baring her true face to Tetsu and Shūichi. It was an illogical feeling, but he felt sad that their game had come to an end. It was no longer as thrilling as it had been now that they knew her true appearance. Neither man paid her much attention, and Bolt couldn't tell if Hikari was saddened or glad at their reaction.

"Tetsu," Bolt spoke. The samurai nodded, drawing a dagger from the folds of his robe. He quickly, with expert precision, shaved his own crimson hair from his head. Bolt turned his back to the samurai and shivered as he felt the cold steel press against his scalp. He could see locks of blond hair fall to the sand where they were carried off by a gust of wind. Hikari was next, her own strands of inky black hair following his. Shūichi let Tetsu shear him with a smile on his face as he eyed him and Hikari.

Bolt undid his belt, allowing it and his pouches of ninja tools to fall to the sand. He quickly stowed them in his pack, which he nestled between a crevice in the rocky crag they hid behind. Hopefully, none would think to look for supplies here. If they did, well... Bolt shrugged as he began painting a few seals on the stone. They'd be in for quite the literal shock.

Next he withdrew his clothes. They were ragged and threadbare, stolen from the workers of a banana plantation a few hundred miles to the north. Bolt left them a few handfuls of ryō—more money than they had probably ever held in their lives. He turned his back, to give himself and his friends some small measure of privacy. He could hear the rustle of fabric as they disrobed and dressed.

Bolt let a nervous cough out, signaling that he had finished changing. A few moments later he turned, and everyone was ready. Hikari scratched at the rough woolen fabric of the dress they had stolen for her. She had a scowl on her face. Bolt had never seen her wear anything other than military fatigues or combat clothes. Her disgust was plain on her unnaturally pale face. "Alright," Bolt said. "Make sure you appear unclean, but not too filthy. The people of the Land of Wind are poor, not savages. They have a humble honor."

Nods all around. Bolt flopped to the sand, rolling and dirtying himself. He made sure to make his face appear windswept and weathered. The sand was pleasantly warm on his skin. When he stood, the three people before him were nearly unrecognizable. Tetsu was still a giant of a man, but his clothing spoke that he was a powerfully built farmhand, not a warrior. Hikari looked of a beautiful village girl, but nothing more. Shūichi was the picturesque example of a man from the Land of Wind. He felt his confidence that their infiltration would succeed rise.

"Your sword, Tetsu," Bolt said, holding out a hand. He gave it over without hesitation. Bolt quickly sealed it within the whirling seal on his forearm. Hopefully the monks wouldn't look into that too much. The sleeves of Hikari's dress were long enough to cover her palms where her own seals were inked into her skin.

"Alright," Bolt said. "Here's the plan. We go, follow the example of the crowd and join them in prayer. Then, when the commoners leave, we each approach a monk and express our interest in joining the brotherhood. You all remember your covers?"

"I am a farmhand," Tetsu spoke.

"A tailor's daughter," Hikari said, meeting his gaze.

"A bard," Shūichi said with a charming, rogue smile. Bolt worried about him the most.

"Good," Bolt nodded. "If a monk discovers your true identity, kill him immediately. The ensuing chaos will be our signal to attack. Tetsu, find me and take your sword. Hikari and Shūichi, head to the temple's gates and ensure the monks don't lock us out."

Nods all around. "Right," Bolt grunted, emerging from behind the rocky outcropping.

"Move out," he said.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Sorry for how late this chapter was... not losing my drive for this story or anything like that. I got absorbed into Witcher 3. It's really good. Really, really good. If you're into RPGs, I highly recommend you give it a shot. There is so much content. Definitely worth the pricetag. So, yeah. My bad!

We also passed 500 fucking reviews! How crazy is that? You guys are awesome. I'll be honest, I didn't expect this story to be as semi-popular as it is. I probably would have dropped it if not for all the awesome reviewers.

This chapter has lots of what I like to call "shoe filling." Characters stepping into their future roles ever so gradually. Also a hint here and there for future plot bunnies. In particular...

Tsuchigumo's Human Puppetry — I was partially inspired by the Institute and Father from Fallout 4. Human puppetry was already pretty advanced stuff, even pre-series. Now, techniques have been refined, and technology has advanced. Tsuchigumo's technique is the natural evolution of human puppetry taken to the most extreme, until the line between human and puppet is so blurred that it ceases to exist. Think of his creations as less of puppets, and more of quasi-sentient androids. His backstory will be revealed more in the future as the arc progresses.

Adamantine Sealing Chains — It took me awhile to figure out exactly what I wanted them to be, while also keeping to Naruto lore. In the end, I settled upon thus: the greatest of the Uzumaki clan, whom live long lives due to their naturally powerful Yang chakra, are able to breathe that Yang chakra into "seals" directly, giving them a tangible, physical form—an idea taken from Obito's Demonic Statue Chains, which were themselves imbued with a cursed seal. Not every Uzumaki clansmen can do this, as it was noted that Kushina was specially chosen to be the Nine-Tails' container because of her "special chakra." This technique could, perhaps, be a derivation of the Sage of Six Path's Creation of All Things—both in nature of the technique, and that the Uzumaki clan descends from his blood.

Strength of a Hundred seal — Mito Uzumaki appears to have the seal on her forehead, making her the earliest known user and possible (probable) creator. Whilst the technique came to fame under Tsunade Senju, I've taken creative liberties and given Mito the credit for its creation. My personal headcanon is that, prior to becoming the first jinchūriki of Kurama, she used it to augment her already unnaturally powerful Uzumaki chakra to truly monstrous levels. She wasn't chosen as Hashirama's wife for her looks... though that probably helped. **It's important to note:** there is a difference between the Strength of a Hundred seal, and its child techniques: Creation Rebirth, and Creation Rebirth: Strength of a Hundred. The latter two deal with healing; the former is simply a massive battery of chakra waiting to be tapped into.

A reader asked why Naruto hasn't used Sage Mode to locate Bolt. I felt like this was a good question to answer in an author's note because Sage Mode will be invariably introduced later in the story. By default, Sage Mode has quite a range of sensory perception. Naruto, during the Invasion of Pain, is able to sense (approximately) the entire breadth and width of the Leaf. This is how he knows Kakashi is either dead, or on a mission (outside his range). However, his range is not so far in that he can sense Nagato (though he does, eventually, using his clever trick to "trace" the connection). This establishes a rough maximum distance in which SM can sense chakra, though if the user knows approximately where they want to look it is possible to focus and extend their range.

Much later, after subduing Kurama, Naruto is able to "sense" the Fourth War brewing on the main continent as far away as Turtle Island (chapter 535). I believe this has more to do with his subjugation of Kurama than Sage Mode, and is a possible mix between his empathy sensing and SM's sensing. It is unlikely that SM would be powerful enough to accurately sense individual chakras from literally entire nations away; thousands of miles. And, even if it was, the ability to pinpoint individual, specific chakras (his friends) from such a distance amid the chaos of war is a power that borders upon omniscience. Even more unlikely is the possibility that Naruto, of all characters, could master such an ability with zero training.

Or, of course, it could simply be bad writing on Kishi's part. However, I've chosen to take creative liberties and interpret it as the former. Sage Mode, whilst powerful, does not make one omniscient. There should exist a system of checks and balances to all powers, and Sage Mode is not above that.


	43. Chapter 43

Breathe in. Breathe out. That was the key, Bolt told himself. He focussed his mind, ignoring his friends as they went their separate ways and mingled with the crowd of the faithful. Men and women from all walks of life journeyed to pray at the Wind Temple. Bolt saw merchants and farmers, fishermen from the coast and masons from inland.

The gravel crunched beneath his boots, an old worn pair of tanned lizard hide that he had looted from the farm they had robbed. The closer he came to the gates of the courtyard, the clearer he could see the faces of the monks; two at the gates, an additional two on the walls. He could still hear the lilting humming from inside. The urge to count them with his Byakugan was strong.

Yet for all his fears the monks' eyes passed over him without lingering. The courtyard consisted of a brick path made of sandstone that led to the gates of the Wind Temple. On either side, sand was raked into intricate patterns and adorned with rounded boulders; an elegant rock garden. Incense burned in great piles at the gates of the temple, filling the courtyard with the pungent scent of burning herbs.

The people knelt before an altar of stone at the fore of the courtyard, above which, an elderly monk with a gray beard stood. He hummed a lilting, haunting tune. A handful of monks to his left and right joined him, their voices deep and baritone. Before Bolt knew it, he had reached the rear of the crowd. He kneeled, mirroring the actions of the faithful. Behind him, he heard others follow his example.

The bearded monk led a chant in words Bolt did not understand. A few people repeated them aloud, and even more whispered them silently. Bolt said no prayers. He took his time, eying each monk in turn. As his eyes ghosted over the crowd, he noted the location of his allies. Tetsu was kneeling amongst a throng of burly, barrel-chested men; farmers, miners, and smiths, Bolt thought. Even among them, he loomed a full head taller than the largest man. Hikari had a scowl on her face as she knelt amongst a group of women with a visible, rapturous piety. Shūichi—Sage of Six Paths help him—was standing at the rear of the group, smiling broadly, and casting excited glances at everyone in the courtyard.

Bolt cursed him. He was going to get them caught. Bolt breathed in deeply. Focus. Calm. The chanting and humming was drawing to a close. People began to stand. They shuffled forward in an orderly manner. Those who had coin gave a few alms, those who didn't offered a muttered prayer. Then they began to retreat back the way they had come, returning to their homes, wherever they may be.

Bolt lingered. He idly walked the rock gardens, trying to find meaning in their patterns. He saw none. When the throngs of the faithful finally dwindled, he steeled his nerves and approached the altar of stone at the fore of the courtyard. He could feel the eyes of the monks on him, judging him. He forced his body to relax; to walk as a commoner would; without the silent footsteps, the perfect balance, the tension. As if he were not a trained killer. He stood before the abbot and raised his head.

His heart stopped beating.

The abbot gazed upon him with wide eyes, eyes that spoke of recognition. Bolt swore and felt a weight settle on his shoulders. He would have to kill this man. Then, as swiftly as it came, the recognition was gone. Bolt waited for the other foot to fall. For the abbot to attack, for him to signal the others to attack. The order never came.

"How may I serve you, my child?" the abbot asked.

Bolt had to remind himself to breathe. Had he imagined it? His nerves had made him quick to act, and slow to think. He had nearly slaughtered the old monk because of a delusion.

"I wish to become a monk, sir," Bolt said, unsure of how to broach the subject.

"Do you, now?" the abbot hummed. Bolt wasn't sure if it was a question, or the old man was thinking aloud. Instead, he just nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Nagato Takahashi," Bolt lied smoothly.

The abbot nodded. "What skills do you bring to the brotherhood?"

"My father was an innkeep, sir. I helped him with the books," Bolt lied, again, allowing his narrative to flow seamlessly. If they asked him to help with the finances of the temple, he could easily perform the task. Years of mercenary worked had prepared him for the task better than a lifetime of work at an inn; you could cheat an innkeep of his ryō, but only the very foolish cheated a mercenary.

The abbot shared a look with two other elderly looking monks. "And why do you wish to join the Wind Temple?"

Bolt took a small, steady breath. He felt his abs cramp and his heart race. "I've grown weary of the family business, sir. I am looking for something more in my life, some greater meaning," he answered, appealing to the monk's religious sensibilities. That was what religion was made for, wasn't it? To give meaning where none was?

He was rewarded with the abbot smiling and nodding to his two fellows. "Very well," he said. "I am Benkei, abbot of the Wind Temple."

Bolt had to suppress the urge to turn as he heard footsteps approach from behind. Eight, no, ten people. When the group was close enough that a normal person would have been able to sense them, only then did he turn. Hikari, Tetsu, and Shūichi were there, along with a monk walking next to each of them. Good. They had succeeded in their tasks. Joining them were two other hopefuls, as well as the monks they had spoken to. That was good, too. It would cast less doubt upon the four of them if they were not the only new recruits.

"It seems we have many new brothers and sisters," Benkei chuckled. "Come, this way."

The monks herded them forward, towards the gates of the Wind Temple. Bolt did not dare to look at his companions for fear of alerting the monks of their ruse. The gates, towering monoliths of sandstone, swung open with the grating screech of stone-on-stone. Bolt's heart beat faster the closer he drew to the Wind Temple. Once they were inside, there was no stopping them.

The Wind Temple was different than Bolt thought it would be. It was... antiquated. There were torches lighting the halls, and he hadn't seen a single modern device that indicated the temple had electricity. Odd, considering that major ninja villages were one of the few places where technology could be afforded. There was a distinct humbleness to the temple. Monks garbed in white robes trimmed in a pleasant green color walked the halls, giving their group speculative looks. Once or twice, he saw younger monks hurrying through the halls with sticks lashed across their shoulders, two large buckets of sloshing water on either end. No running water, either, then.

The abbot brought their group to a set of wooden doors that towered over Bolt for ten or twenty feet. They must have weighed several hundred pounds, but the monk pushed them aside as if they weighed no more than a feather.

The humbleness of the temple was forgotten was Bolt laid eyes upon the inner sanctum of the temple. The room they were in had a ceiling so tall that the light of the torches could not illuminate it, held aloft by pillars of stone. Bolt knew that even if the temple had modern lightning, the vaulted ceilings would have stretched skyward. Pews of worn wood lined either side of a pathway that led to an altar at the fore of the room. The pathway was a stone of a lighter color than its surroundings; worn down from centuries of walking. The altar was a humble thing, a simple hunk of beautiful, white stone that lay on its side. Smoke wafted upwards to the darkness from incense.

And, above all, looming over the altar was a mural of such skill and beauty that even Bolt had to admire it. It was a painting of, who he assumed, was the Sage of Six Paths. A man with skin as white as snow and startling gray hair. His features were cast in shadow, save for two eyes of rippled purple. Two horns sprouted from his skull. In his right hand, he held a flame of blue fire, and in his left, one of crimson.

The abbot cleared his throat, and Bolt felt a flush burn his ears as he jogged forward to reach the group that had left him behind. His actions earned him a fatherly smile from the abbot and wry smirks from the other monks. Their group stood before the mural of the Sage of Six Paths and Bolt felt restless and unsure of himself. The abbot turned to face them, smiling. He gestured for a younger, but still elderly, monk to approach. "This is Senior Monk Kazuhiro," he said. "He is responsible for the initiation of all new recruits and will assist you in joining our ranks."

Kazuhiro bowed, ever so slightly, to them. The abbot and the other monks strode off, deeper into the temple, no doubt to see to their duties—whatever they were. "Welcome, brothers and sisters," he greeted them. "I must admit, this is the largest group of initiates I have seen in many years."

Yes, Bolt thought, because only two of the six are here to join you. "I know the transition may be hard for you," Kazuhiro continued on, his tone understanding. "I myself joined when I was a boy of twelve. I left my family to join the brotherhood, and I imagine some of you have done the same. Here, we are all family. You may address each other as brother or sister, if you wish, or be called by your chosen name."

"Here, each of us has a duty. What skills you had in life before joining us will influence your duties. You will be placed into already established groups where you will help your brothers and sisters in their tasks. We wake at five for morning prayer. You are given an hour, from eight to nine, for your morning meal. From nine until noon, you will attend to your given tasks. You are given two hours, from noon until two, for an afternoon meal and a brief rest. From two until five, you will receive martial instruction," Kazuhiro rattled off. Bolt was starting to dread their infiltration.

"Ah, yes," the monk paused. "Are there any among you whom can use chakra?"

Bolt felt his heart flutter in his chest. He forcibly stilled the power thrumming through his veins. Though all but another Hyūga would fail to realize the truth of his and his companions' abilities, the risk was still great. He shook his head, as did all the others.

"Very well. We shall test you for aptitude during your first session, fear not," the monk said, before straightening and resuming his speech. "From five until seven, you will read scripture in the teachings of the Sage of Six Paths. You are given one hour, from seven until eight, for an evening meal. From eight until eleven, you shall review your day's lessons and prepare for your duties come the morrow," Kazuhiro finished.

Bolt hated the man already. The life of a monk was not a life he wanted to live. They got a measly six hours of sleep and a day full of hardship? Not even his training at the Academy had been so harsh. "Any questions?" Kazuhiro asked, with a smile.

None spoke up. "Good," he said, with a nod of his head. "This way, please, and I shall lead you to your rooms and you shall recieve your robes."

The Wind Temple was larger than Bolt thought. It was hewn from the very mountain, a maze of natural caverns and tunnels that had been repurposed for human habitation. All the while, Bolt could hear the faint, lilting tune that the wind sung. It echoed through the tunnels, a constant companion. They were lead below ground, to a series of tunnels that had been made level and square from hundreds, if not thousands, of years of steps. Every ten feet, an opening in the stone led to a small room with nought but a crude bed of straw, a shelf of stone for books and scrolls, and a door of hanging beads that offered the smallest modicum of privacy.

It was cold, and dark, and Bolt hated it. The straw beds were something that had been pulled straight from the warring clans era, and were decidedly uncomfortable. Even in his self-imposed exile, he had grown accustomed to a level of comfort that most people outside of the hidden villages only dreamed of. Just another startling example of the inequality in wealth and technology between those that had power, and those that did not.

The sheer size of the Wind Temple added another level of complexity to their task. The spy had said only that the Tea Kettle was kept in the bowels of the temple. He, it, did not specify how to find it nor how to get there. The first thing Bolt was going to do was explore the temple, when he got the chance. Kazuhiro left them alone for a meager half an hour before returning, a stack of white robes trimmed with green in his arms. He handed out a set to each of them. Bolt quickly changed, frowning at the material as it scratched at him. Made of simple, rough wool and dyed with natural pigments.

This would take some adjustment, indeed.

"You may have the rest of the day to settle yourselves," the monk said. "But, first, if you would give me your names and your trade prior to joining the temple."

Tetsu straightened and took a single step forward. Bolt bit his tongue to keep from grinning as the monk took a step away from the giant of a man. "I am Tetsuya," he spoke. "My father was a farmer."

"My name is Hiromi," Hikari said. "My family were tailors." Her story would be the most believable, given her skill with a needle. Tetsu knew nothing of farming, and luckily, the Wind Temple did not farm as they had no land upon which to grow crops. They sustained purely upon alms and what they could buy from the ryō earned for services rendered.

Shūichi nodded, smiling happily. "They call me Shūichi!" he declared boldly, and Bolt grit his teeth as he gave his true name and not an alias. "Alas, I never knew my family. I made coin by travelling and telling stories and playing music."

Bolt was going to throttle the puppet. "I am Kuro, sir," one of the two peasants to join them introduced himself. "My family are—were shepherds. The sandstorms of late have ravaged our flocks, put us out of business."

" _Don't worry,"_ Bolt wanted to say. _"Your troubles will be over soon."_ Once they had the Kettle, the One-Tail would never harm the Land of Wind again.

"Mamoru," the other boy mumbled. "I have no family, or trade."

An orphan, then. Bolt felt a pang of pity for the boy. "Nagato," he lied smoothly. "My family owns an inn. I helped with the books."

Introductions aside, Kazuhiro nodded, committing them seemingly to memory, and fled back into the temple. Bolt shared a sly look with his companions, more words spoken in a single look than most people could manage with their lips. _We wait_ , they said. _Gain the monks' trust, learn their ways, find their weaknesses._

Bolt lay on his bed that night, cold and restless, and cursing not simply laying siege to the temple and taking the Kettle by force.

* * *

Morning came all too early. Bolt was awoken, a mere handful of hours after falling asleep, by an ungodly howl of the wind that echoed through the tunnels and shook the stone beneath his feet. For a moment, he feared that the One-Tail had learned of their plot and had come to put an end to it. Then, the howl faded. A moment later, a monk parted the hanging beads that served as his door, peering in. "Morning, brother," the monk said, smiling pleasantly. "It is time for morning prayer."

Bolt grumbled. He still felt tired and sore, as the desert never truly allowed one enough rest. He stood, dressed in his robes, scowling at the material once more, before stepping into the dimly lit tunnels. The others were similarly awoken and dressed, scowls or cold stares following the monk who had woken them.

They were lead above, to the main antechamber of the temple where the mural of the Sage of Six Paths loomed over them. Already, monks were humming in prayer, reading from old, leather-bound books, and setting incense aflame. Bolt found, thankfully, that the scent of the burning herbs drove sleep from his mind.

The monk who had awoken him—Bolt forgot the man's name, lost in his thoughts during the walk—led them to the fore of the room and kneeled before the altar of white stone. Bolt glanced down, seeing that the worn stone was even more worn in several places; two dots, roughly a shoulders' breadth between them. Someone's knees. Marks worn into the stone by innumerable prayers offered. Bolt kneeled, aligning his own knees with the marks on the stone.

He looked to his left and right, wondering what to do. Hikari kneeled to his right, whilst one of the other initiates—the orphan, Bolt forgot his name, too—kneeled to his left. He spied a handful of other, younger monks kneeling and praying, hands held together with the flat of their palms and their fingers upwards. He repeated the gesture, bowing his head, and closing his eyes.

He felt vulnerable. More than that, he felt silly. What was he supposed to do? He hadn't actually prayed—really prayed—before. It felt like a waste of time to simply sit and stare at the darkness behind his eyelids. Then cold, harsh reality set in. Morning prayer lasted from five until eight, when they ate breakfast. Three full hours of kneeling before a mural of a man who may or may not have existed, asking for that which he could not achieve on his own. _"If you're real, if you're listening, do me a favor. Give a vision to the abbot and have him reduce the duration of this torture,"_ Bolt prayed.

As he expected, nothing came of his prayer. He stopped shortly after. Instead, he let his mind wander. There were other, more important things he could ponder. How to manifest his clan's secret technique, the Adamantine Sealing Chains. How to recreate Mito Uzumaki's Strength of a Hundred seal for Hikari. How, exactly, he was going to seal the One-Tail in Bunpuku's Kettle. How he was going to find time to slip away from the monks' watchful eyes to search the temple for said artifact.

When Bolt thought of morning prayer as time to plan and scheme, it didn't seem all that bad.

The humming of the monks started to die down, and Bolt let a ragged sigh escape his lips as he heard robes shuffle as monks filtered out of the room. His knees ached something fierce, and he hoped that a hot meal would make him feel better.

It didn't. They were served a small bowl of rice gruel. It wasn't even that hot by the time he had gotten his bowl. And it wasn't filling at all, and it tasted bland; like water in the form of food. The brief hour for which they were given was quickly spent waiting in line. Then, before he had finished pushing around the rice with his chopsticks, an older monk approached him. He was tall and gangly; bookish, in a way, with large, round spectacles. "Nagato, correct?"

Bolt nodded his head slowly. "Good," the monk said. "Come with me."

Bolt followed him back into the temple. "I am Hideo," the monk introduced himself. "My duty is to see to the management of the contracts our brothers and sisters take. Which contract has been taken by who, how much ryō they earn for the temple, and who is paying that ryō. You said you helped your family manage their inn's finances, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Bolt lied dutifully.

Hideo bobbed his head. "Excellent," he said. "We haven't had an initiate with a lick of numbers in his head for some years. Your help will be invaluable."

Bolt felt like he had made a mistake already. When he was ushered into a large room with desks lining the walls and mounds of papers, books, and scrolls reaching skyward, he knew he had made a mistake. In the room, three other people sat, furiously going through leaves of parchment and flipping through pages of books. "That there is Nobuo," Hideo introduced, gesturing at a short, portly boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen who was unfurling scrolls and calling out numbers.

"The girl he is rattling numbers to is Akemi," he said, pointing to a thin, older girl who furiously scribbled what Nobuo yelled into a large ledger that was as wide as Bolt's shoulders.

"And last we have Shinji, there, in the corner," Hideo said, pointing to a young boy of no more than ten who was organizing and shelving pile after pile of parchment.

All three turned, briefly nodded, then returned to their work. Bolt sighed, sat at an empty desk, and began to go through the mountain of paperwork that sat before him. It wasn't really that different from managing the contracts he received during his stint with the Crimson Tide, but the sheer bulk made it tedious and intimidating.

* * *

Lunch was a gift that Bolt would never take for granted again. His arms were stained with ink up to his elbows, and his fingers were covered in paper cuts. It was almost like he was back at the Hidden Whirlpool, laboring over storage scrolls with the Uzukage berating him. At least the food was better. They were each given a hunk of bread and a bowl of soup. They had enough time to rest from their morning duties.

Tetsu had been assigned to the kitchens as a cook. Not so surprising, since Bolt had tasted what he cooked when they camped. Hikari, sitting at a table not so far from him, wore a grim expression that bordered on madness and rage. Shūichi ate at the table to his right, one arm shovelling soup into his mouth and the other flipping through the pages of a book.

It ended all too soon.

The initiates, as well as some of the younger monks, were shepherded out of the temple and into the courtyard. Bolt blinked, his eyes smarting from not seeing the sun in so many hours. He didn't know what passed as "martial instruction," but the ninja temples were as militant as any hidden village. He expected the regiment to be much the same. The only difference was that hidden villages were more stringent in their requirements. Anyone could learn to use chakra, but, like any muscle, it was strengthened by use. Children of ninja were often trained in its use before even enrolling in the Academy, and thus, were stronger. Civilian families did not have the knowledge to teach their children, nor did they have the genetic pedigree that the clans did.

So, at the very least, it would be interesting to see how the monks who came from civilian families fared.

One of the monks whom Bolt thought would "teach" them began to pass a single, small pebble to each of them. He stood before the group, pacing, meeting the eyes of each initiate. "Good afternoon," he greeted them. "For our new brothers and sisters, I shall state the purpose of this exercise. You are to find your chakra, channel it, and hold the pebble to the palm of your hand like so," the monk spoke, holding his palm facing the ground. The stone did not fall, held to his skin by the chakra.

"You are to do this exercise until you can hold the pebble for one minute. Then, you will be moved to the more advanced group," the monk told them, gesturing to a smaller group of older monks in their twenties. They were drilling over more advanced chakra exercises, and a few were attempting low-level jutsu.

"Begin," the monk commanded.

"Yes, sir," most of the initiates echoed.

Bolt sighed, staring at the pebble. It was a variant of an exercise he had long since mastered in the Academy. The only difference was that the Hidden Leaf used leaves, not pebbles, for their chakra control exercise. It was child's play to perform the task set before him, the only question was when, or if, he should succeed. How quickly should he complete it to draw the least suspicion?

Definitely not the first day. Being recognized as a genius would earn him no points for stealth. Best to be the second, or third, person to complete the exercise, many days after it had been given to him. Bolt looked to his left and right, at the faces of the monks that were warped with concentration.

It did give him one opportunity. He drew the characters in his mind, as familiar as any in writing. Then his Yang chakra bubbled forth as he tried to force the physical aspect of his chakra and the concept of fūinjutsu together. It had the added effect of being incredibly taxing on his concentration; he would look like any other initiate struggling to use their chakra for the first time.

Of course, nothing came of it. Three hours gone in the blink of an eye with naught but a headache and robes drenched in sweat to show for it. Bolt noted that none of the initiates had succeeded in their task, including his companions. Good. Best not to draw attention to themselves.

Their group, along with the other, was shepherded to the main hall of the temple. There, the entirety of the brotherhood had assembled. Small tables had been set down, upon which many books were stacked. Already, many of the monks had kneeled before them and begun to read.

Bolt took a knee before a random table, hidden behind one of the stone pillars that held the mountain aloft. It hid him from the watchful eyes of the abbot and the senior monks at the fore of the hall. He took a book from the top of the stack and thumbed through a few pages. It was some sort of text that spoke in an old dialect, like the author had been from the warring clans era.

" _... in the beginning, there was no such thing as jutsu. The people of the land could command the elements as easy as we draw breath. Chakra was a gift from the great Sage, a way for people to understand one another whether they be brother and sister, or bitter enemies..."_

Bolt skimmed the rest of the text, letting his eyes read but allowing his mind to wander. He had no intention of learning the drivel that the Wind Temple preached. Whoever had written the text had been an idealist, of that he was sure. How the author had come to such a conclusion that chakra was a tool of peace, not war, during the period of time in which war was the most prosperous was beyond Bolt.

Dinner was a subdued affair. The physical and mental drain was plainly visible on the initiates faces. Even some of the younger, ordained monks appeared tired. They were given a simple curry served over rice, after which, most shuffled towards the lower levels and their rooms for a night of rest.

But not Bolt. He sent a sly glance at each of his companions. They began tonight, as planned. Bolt returned to his room, biting his wrist as he entered. He wet his finger with his blood and began to quickly scrawl on the stone walls. In mere minutes, he had placed a single seal array on each wall, the floor, and the ceiling. They glowed a soft blue before fading entirely, absorbed into the rock.

Then he waited.

Hours crawled by. Bolt stilled as he lay on his bed when he heard the rustle of fabric as someone entered his room. A fleeting glance confirmed it to be Hikari, not another monk. Tetsu appeared shortly after her, and then Shūichi after that.

"Good," Bolt whispered, sitting up. "You're all here. Any problems?"

They shook their heads. "Excellent. I've placed seals on my room that will mask our chakra signatures and fool prying ears and eyes into hearing and seeing nothing out of the ordinary. This is the only place in the temple we are safe to speak freely. Under no circumstances should we approach one another as more than initiates outside of these four walls," Bolt said. As he spoke, his eyes faded from blue to white. Bolt peered downwards, biting his lip as the familiar sense of vertigo assailed him whenever he used his dōjutsu underground.

A quick peek revealed what he had already suspected. "The Kettle is hidden well. My Byakugan cannot find it or any chamber in which it would be hidden. They must have a jutsu or seal that hides it," he informed them.

Shūichi went still, his back unnaturally straight and his features slack. "Yes," he spoke, only his voice was that of Tsuchigumo; boyish and fluty. "Hidden. Deep. Senior monks only," the puppeteer rattled. "Guard rotation among senior monks suggest—"

They all stilled as a hand parted the beads that masqueraded as a "door" to Bolt's room. A monk stepped in, his face clearly betraying that he had heard what they had been speaking of. His eyes were wide, and his lips parted. Bolt cursed his lack of forethought. Yes, they were not excused for the night after dinner—they were expected to self-study. It only made sense that a monk would check on them before lights out.

His chakra bubbled up, ready to unleash a barrage of Gentle Fist strikes that would kill any man. Before he could so much as twitch, Shūichi—or, rather, Tsuchigumo—lashed out with a single hand. From the tips of his fingers, five threads of blue-white light shot forward and sunk into the man's neck. The merest twitch of the puppeteer's fingers caused the monk's head to spin at blinding speeds in a one hundred-eighty degree rotation.

The monk's neck snapped with an audible crack, his body going limp as Tsuchigumo reeled the corpse into the room. Bolt pressed a finger to the seal on his arm—which had blissfully gone unnoticed—and withdrew a scroll wrapped in a black ribbon. He unfurled it and sealed the corpse in moments. To his pleasure, the act of sealing did not emit a wisp of smoke from chakra discharge as usual. Bolt had been trying to eliminate it all together, and had been succeeding.

The entire exchange took no more than five seconds, but none dared to move, to breathe. They waited for another monk to discover them, but none ever came. Bolt sighed in relief. "Guard rotation among senior monks suggest that no fewer than four at present at any one time," Tsuchigumo reported.

"But your spy doesn't know where, exactly, the Kettle is being kept?" Bolt asked.

Tsuchigumo shook his head. "No," he said. "Only that it is below."

Bolt nodded. "Pick a senior monk and shadow him. If he is ever missing for an extended period of time, we can assume he is one of the guards. We'll take turns watching over the lower tunnels every night and hope we see them entering or leaving the entrance to where the Kettle is being kept. If nothing comes of the investigation in two weeks, we'll meet and try something else. If there's an emergency, come to my room at midnight," he said.

The four of them shared a single nod. "We should return to our rooms," Hikari said. "It would be suspicious if we were noted missing the night a monk died."

Bolt watched as the three of them stealthily crept back into the dark tunnels. They would have to be careful to avoid drawing suspicion upon themselves for the death of the monk.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Question of the Chapter — Anyone got recommendations for fantasy series in the same vein as Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings? Fan-fiction is okay, too.

I just realized how long this story is getting after reading a similar length fic. It's scary to think I was considering _in medias res_. It'll probably be ~400k words before we get to the real meat of the story. That's a lot of content to skip.

So, this chapter starts to expand more upon religion in the Naruto world. I touched on it briefly with Jashinism in the Land of Water arc, but now we'll see it a bit more. Whilst I expect the Wind Temple mini-arc won't last for more than a handful of chapters, we will revisit religion in a more general sense sometime down the line. In my mind, the religion of the Naruto world is (roughly) a mix between Hinduism and Buddhism, where Buddha is replaced by the Sage of Six Paths.

I'm considering writing a one-shot for Bleach, now that it's confirmed to end next chapter. I'd like to try my hand at a suitable ending that diverges from canon at chapter 423 (what I believe was meant to be the last chapter). As much as I loved the series growing up, it quickly turned into a massive train wreck with no clear end in sight nor any planning on the author's part. It's actually quite sad, as I believe Kubo intended to end the series after Aizen's defeat, but was pushed by his publishers to continue the series and milk it for all it was worth. Anyways, if you're a fan of Bleach and my writing, be on the lookout for it.

Thoughtful — Hair will regrow. Luckily, Bolt is the most vain among them so it will only really bother him.


	44. Chapter 44

"Name?"

Kakashi sighed. "Kakashi Hatake," he said.

The guard looked up. There was a flash of recognition, as he had expected, before it faded into protocol. "Ninja registration number?"

"Double-o ninety-seven twenty," Kakashi rattled off. He'd remember that number on his deathbed. It had been burned into his mind. He still had nightmares about his ANBU captain waking them up in the middle of the night after a mission with a bark of _"Registration number!"_

The guard nodded. "Purpose of visit?"

"Classified," Kakashi lied smoothly. The guard just nodded. He probably wasn't paid enough to care to double-check the former Hokage.

"Everything is in order. Welcome to the Hidden Sand," the guard said, handing him a pass. A quick earth jutsu moved stone and allowed him access to the village.

It had changed since the last time he had been there. Kakashi supposed it should have, must have. It'd been... twenty years, give or take, since he'd been to the Sand last. There wasn't much of a reason to make the trek, these days. Phones and computers had replaced that need, and the transcontinental rail that Gaara and Naruto had funded made travel by foot redundant.

Gone were the crude houses of stone and sand. Replaced by towers of steel and glass. The streets were made of sandstone, not sand. In the center, where the Kazekage's tower had resided, was a towering monolith of steel that stood above all others. At the top of the tower, a raging storm of wind kept the desert sand at bay.

Kakashi made his way towards the tower. People skittered out of his way when they saw his hair and mask. At least the layout of the city made it hard to get lost. He pushed open the doors and stepped into a large foyer. A receptionist at the desk looked up from her computer once, twice, a third time. She stood abruptly, face red and stuttering. "Mr. Hatake!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't aware you had an appointment with the Kazekage."

"I don't," Kakashi shrugged, making his way to the elevator on the far side of the room. Two Sand ninja stood guard at either side. Wisely, none moved to stop him. "Tell Gaara I need to speak with him. Immediately."

The secretary nodded quickly, picking up the phone and speaking rapidly to whoever was on the other end. The doors closed with a ding and Kakashi felt his body grow heavy as the lift ascended. The tower was taller than he thought. It took nearly a full minute to reach its apex. The ding sounded and the doors opened. As he expected, Gaara's personal secretary was in a frenzy over his arrival. She was cute. Petite. Brown hair. Curves in all the right places. He did tend to have that effect on people, especially when he dropped in unannounced.

Kakashi waltzed into the Kazekage's office. Gaara lifted his head as he entered, not a hint of surprise or displeasure coloring his features. "Yo," Kakashi greeted, plopping down in one of the two plush chairs opposite of the Kazekage.

"Hello, Kakashi," Gaara greeted him, not looking up from the paperwork he was signing. It reminded him eerily of Naruto.

"I'm afraid I'm here on business, not pleasure," Kakashi announced. "A little bird told me that Kankurō and his team had a run in with a mutual acquaintance of ours."

Gaara looked up, his hand stilling, before he set his pen down and casually flicked his hand at the door. Kakashi heard it shut. Interesting trick. "How did you know?" Gaara asked him.

"Ran into a village. Stayed there for a night, apparently Kankurō and his team passed through on their way here. Villagers overheard them talking about the fight," Kakashi answered with a shrug.

Gaara sighed. "Naruto asked me to station a team on the border, in case Bolt ventured south from the Land of Rain. He did. He and his companions were more powerful than my brother expected," he explained.

Kakashi nodded. "I'd like to speak to Kankurō, if he's feeling up to it," he requested.

Gaara nodded, pressing a button on his phone. "Ai, please have my brother report to my office immediately," he said, before pushing the button again.

It didn't take long for Kankurō to appear. When he did, it was with a pronounced limp. Kakashi could see the lumps underneath his clothes where bandages protruded. He frowned. Kankurō seemed to take his appearance in stride, not even blinking. He settled into the chair next to him with an audible sigh of relief. "If you weren't well, you didn't have to come," Kakashi offered.

Kankurō scoffed. "Please," he said, a little out of breath.

"Kakashi is here—" Gaara started.

"About Bolt. Yeah, I guessed that," Kankurō finished. Gaara nodded.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Kakashi asked.

Kankurō sighed and nodded his head. Kakashi frowned as the tale concluded. "You'll need to get yourself checked over by Sakura or Lady Tsunade," he said. The effects of the Lightning Armor and Gentle Fist weren't known by many—only the Kage, and those they chose to share it with. Naruto had managed to fudge the wanted posters, kept most of the damaging intel out.

"I know, I know," Kankurō said, waving him off. "Gaara has been bugging him constantly. I'm leaving in a few days. Gives me an excuse to visit Temari, anyway."

"Do you have any idea where they might have gone? What their goal was in the Land of Wind?" Kakashi asked.

Kankurō frowned in thought. "No. It all happened so fast. Bolt didn't inherit his father's talent for talking his enemies down, that's for sure. Once he started using the Lightning Armor, well, things went downhill from there. It took everything Shinki and I had just to stay alive. We didn't exactly have much time to chat," he said.

Kakashi was afraid of that. Bolt was arrogant, but he wasn't stupid. Kakashi really hated geniuses. "But—" Kankurō said, pausing.

"But what?" Kakashi pushed.

"Bolt—he mentioned Sasori. His puppet, that is. By name," Kankurō rattled off. "He stole it during the fight. I know Akatsuki isn't exactly top secret intel now, but it felt odd."

Kakashi hummed in thought. Akatsuki _wasn't_ top secret. It wasn't even intel, anymore. Any history book in the Leaf had an expansive chapter on them. The ANBU had an entire dossier on the group, just in case any copycats got any ideas. That Bolt knew who Sasori was wasn't surprising. That he had recognized the puppet for the _real_ Sasori, however, was. But, still, that wasn't anything to go off of.

"Noted," Kakashi said. "But, unfortunately, not helpful."

"Sorry," Kankurō said with a shrug.

"I can have my ANBU—" Gaara hunched over, coughing violently. Kankurō was on his feet and at his brother's side in the blink of an eye. Kakashi stood, dread settling over him as he saw blood run down Gaara's arm from his fist.

The fit continued for what seemed like an hour, but was only a minute. Gaara sagged against his chair, gasping for breath. That wasn't good. "Have you seen a doctor recently?" Kakashi asked.

"No," Kankurō answered for his brother. "He just pushes himself too hard. The doctors say he should be resting, but he's too stubborn to pass the Hat on."

"Perhaps you should visit the Leaf. I'm sure Naruto would love to see you again," Kakashi stated. "Sakura and Lady Tsunade would keep your condition a secret."

Gaara shook his head. "I am needed here," he said weakly.

Kakashi hesitated, then nodded. He could only hope that Gaara would pull through.

* * *

Bolt awoke to the sound of the reverberating howl of wind, as he did every morning. He didn't know if the monks had carved the mountain so that the wind played tricks, or if it was natural, but either way, he hated it. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, stood, ducked out his door and looked both ways down the hall.

There was no monk in sight. He must've awoken earlier than he thought, then. He slipped back inside, looking at his reflection in a small wooden bowl filled with shimmering water. The beginnings of his chakra scars were showing again. He swore, pressing a finger to the seal on his forearm. A small metal canister appeared. He uncapped it, dabbing his finger in the paste within.

Bolt worked the paste into his cheeks, watching as it changed from a white color to the tone of his skin. It was a gift from Hikari, one of her tricks learned from her time with the Mist hunter corps. More practical than using a transformation jutsu all day, everyday. Satisfied that his most distinguishing facial feature was hidden, Bolt sighed and dressed in the robes he had been given.

With great reluctance, he made his way out of his room and through the winding halls beneath the mountain. It had been nearly two weeks since they began their mission, and they were no closer to finding the Kettle than they had been at the start.

And he was fucking tired of pretending to be a monk. It was exhausting and dull, not at all conforming to the style of living he had grown accustomed to. He stalked through the halls, muttering under his breath. When he ducked through an archway and into the main chamber of the temple, there were already, at least, one hundred monks praying. His eyes flickered to each person. Tetsu was missing, which was normal, considering he had been conscripted to the kitchens. The cooks had their prayer in the evening. Bolt was, admittedly, thankful. Tetsu was a talented cook, especially when he was given the proper ingredients and tools to perform his trade.

He found Hikari, shoulders tense, knelt near the outskirts of the mass near the archway that led to her room. She was probably more frustrated than him. The monks adhered to an archaic gender role. The fact that her cover had been a daughter of a tailor probably hadn't helped her when she was assigned the task of sewing and repairing robes, and doing laundry for the entire temple.

Bolt took a knee in his usual place, hiding behind a pillar so that his mind could wander without fear of being caught by the senior monks. He kept creating list in his mind of all the reasons he hated the Wind Temple. The humming of the monks reverberated in his skull. He couldn't take it any longer.

With a quick glance around, seeing that no one was watching him, he slipped back into the underground hallways. It had become clear now that the more passive approach would take them much longer than he was willing to wait. He'd go to the tunnels deeper in the temple and find the Kettle himself.

Bolt got no farther than a few paces before he heard a gentle cough echo from behind him. He went still, slowly, but calmly, turning. Of all people, the abbot stood at the archway separating the main chamber and the hallways.

"Forgive me, sir," Bolt apologized. "I'm not feeling well."

The abbot chuckled and smiled, his beard swaying back and forth as he stepped into the hall. "I've seen many young initiates in my years," he spoke. "And nearly every single one, myself included, have gone through what you are."

Bolt paused. Fine, then. If the abbot wished to give him an acceptable excuse to step out, then he would take it. He could play the lost black sheep. He had plenty of experience. Bolt nodded.

Benkei nodded sagely, stepping forward. "Today's text was _The Cycle of Life, Death, and Rebirth,_ was it not?"

"Yes, sir," Bolt answered, standing aside to allow the abbot to walk with him. He lagged behind, ever so slightly, to pay respect, and more importantly, have the man's back if a fight broke out.

The abbot hummed a haunting tune as they walked, reminiscent of the prayer hymn the monks hummed. "A difficult lesson, that one," he commented.

"I agree," Bolt said, unsure of what to say.

"Tell me, what is it that you disagree with?"

Bolt assumed he was speaking of the book. He had read only a few pages. _The Cycle of Life, Death, and Rebirth_ was an ancient text, written from the time before even the warring clans era. Naturally, it dealt with one thing: reincarnation. "I don't like the idea itself, sir," he answered.

"How so?" Benkei asked, turning down one hallway towards the senior monks' quarters.

Bolt frowned. "I don't like the idea that I'm not in control of my life. That I'm just the second version of someone who's already had a chance at life," he said.

"I thought much the same in my youth," the abbot said.

"Really?" Bolt asked, pausing.

The abbot chuckled. "Of course. I was not always as devout as I am now," he said.

The two of them came to a stop. One hall led back to the rooms where he and the other initiates slept. The other led to the senior monks' quarters. The abbot's eyes lingered on him for more time than Bolt was comfortable with. "I trust you shall feel better this afternoon," he said.

Bolt nodded. He felt like the old monk's words were more than a reminder to attend to his duties, but he didn't know what or why. The abbot nodded and went his separate way. Bolt watched the old man go. He slipped into the shadows, silent as the wind, and crept forward.

There was one place neither of them had looked: the senior monks' quarters. Too risky. But he had grown tired of the daily toil with no results. It was time to take a risk. The veins in his temple bulged and writhed as he manifested his Byakugan for the first time in weeks.

He found an alcove, a mere crack in the stonework from an earthquake, perhaps, and watched. The abbot returned to his personal quarters, sitting before a desk and reading through scrolls. There were two other senior monks in their rooms whom Bolt did not know. An older monk with graying hair, and a younger one with a grizzly scar running from his right temple to his left jaw.

Bolt stilled his chakra and waited. Patience was one of the greatest skills a ninja could possess. One that he knew many failed to master. His father was the textbook example. Always rushing in headfirst, never pausing to think. He had been like that, too, until he had left the Leaf. The minutes crawled by. Then an hour. His legs began to cramp. Then two.

Bolt realized he had failed to return for his duties helping the temple manage their contracts. He pushed the thought from his mind. This was more important. The grizzled monk left his quarters and made his way to the courtyard to spar with another monk—their teacher who drilled them on the use of chakra.

Bolt let his eyes wander until they settled on the abbot once more. The old man was writing upon scroll after scroll, no doubt accepting or declining contracts or communicating with the other temples. He bit his thumb and weaved several hand seals before pressing the digit to the desk. An owl emerged from a wisp of smoke, hooted once, and then disappeared with two scrolls in each of its claws. Another reason to dislike the temple. The hawk clan were natural enemies of the owl clan.

It was so sudden that Bolt nearly missed it. He had been focussed on the abbot. There were only two monks in the section of the temple he was hidden in. Then, there were three. A third had appeared, quite literally, out of thin air. It wasn't the scarred monk; he was still sparring in the courtyard. That could mean several things, chiefly among which: a secret entrance to, perhaps, the Kettle.

Bolt trained his eyes on the monk. He didn't see where he had appeared form, but it was from somewhere in the far left side of the hallway. Nearly opposite from where he had been standing, separated only by several handfuls of rooms. He was young, perhaps in his middle twenties, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. His brow brow was even and his eyes sharp, and he walked with a strict militaristic march. All telltale signs of rigorous combat training; something he recognized in Hikari.

He was definitely a guard for the Kettle. Of that, Bolt was certain.

And the monk was marching towards him. Bolt quickly slipped back into the hallways that led towards the initiates' quarters, deactivating his dōjutsu. He smirked as he quietly snuck into his own room, pressing his hand against one of the seals on the wall. It would ward away any but the most disciplined from his room, suggesting that they had pressing business elsewhere. Only the abbot and a handful of the senior monks had enough chakra that he couldn't fool them. It would keep him from being annoyed by the other monks.

Then, he waited.

* * *

"Are you okay, sister?"

Hikari felt her temper flare nearly to the breaking point. The little girl who was her senior within the temple was the singularly most annoying individual she had had the displeasure of knowing.

"Your face is red. Are you not feeling well?"

Hikari took a deep breath, resisting the urge to strangle the girl. "I'm fine," she replied. Her voice was shaky and uneven, but it seemed to convey the message: leave me alone. Hikari returned to sewing the hem of a robe. It was mundane work, but it kept her hands busy and her mind occupied.

Her thoughts drifted to what Bolt was doing. She had seen him slip out of morning prayer, and he hadn't appeared since. Not for his daily duties—she had checked—nor for lunch. It would be time for their training soon and he hadn't returned. So she had to play it careful. The distinction between a good spy and a great spy was that good spies abandoned their cover when things went south. Great spies played their roles even harder.

Their two hours for lunch ended and Hikari stowed away the robe she had been working on to keep herself busy. She quickly left behind her "sister" and made her way to the courtyard. Still no sign of Bolt.

As she entered the courtyard, a grizzled looking senior monk passed her on the way back into the temple. She could feel the intensity of his chakra. One of the more powerful members of the order. Likely one of the feared warrior monks who took on contracts.

Hikari was handed a pebble as she took her place in the line. With a sigh, she began the same act she always performed: stare intensely at the stone, grunt, then turn her hand and allow it to fall before repeating the entire process again and again.

It was one the tenth repetition that something changed. "Very good!" their instructor's voice echoed. Hikari looked down the line. Of all the people who were performing the exercise, she had expected Tetsu the least to be the first to complete their task. Evidently, the swordsman had grown tired of the tedium. She swore. She was not going to be the only one doing the stupid pebble exercise. Shūichi didn't even count, the dunce.

Their instructor shepherded Tetsu to the advanced group. He was walking back when, on her seventeenth repetition, she decided to succeed as well. Hikari grunted with effort as the monk passed her. He hesitated, nearly tripping over his own feet, before his head swivelled to examine her. Hikari allowed the pebble to fall as she sagged with relief. "Well done, well done!" the instructor exclaimed, patting her on the back.

She was ferried over to join the advanced group where she stood next to Tetsu at the end of the line. Their new instructor, an aging man in his late sixties or early seventies, approached them. He had a long, white beard that fell to his knees. From the folds of his robes, he handed them two small pieces of parchment. "Congratulations," he greeted them. "Channel your chakra into the paper, if you would, please."

Hikari hesitated. Her primary affinity was Water. It was an extreme rarity for any born in the Land of Wind to have an affinity for Water. There simply wasn't enough moisture in the air or in the land for it to be common. Wind, followed by Earth, was most common. Then Lightning and Fire, equally, followed by Water. "Yes, sir," she echoed Tetsu.

She watched out of the corner of her eyes as Tetsu concentrated on the piece of paper. Truth be told, she was interested. The samurai were almost esoteric in their teachings and way of life. They didn't utilize chakra in the traditional manner that ninja and monks did. They learned no jutsu, no hand signs.

There was a slight flex of the man's hands before the paper erupted into a ball of flame and was turned to ash. Hikari flinched, and in the same moment, quickly sent a small spark of electricity at the paper held in her own hand. It crinkled, just as it should. No one was the wiser.

So, Tetsu had a primary affinity for Fire? Interesting. She imagined that if he cultivated his talent for the element of destruction, he would be a force to be reckoned with. More than he already was.

"Fire and Lightning! Quite uncommon," their instructor spoke. "But you'll make fine additions to the brotherhood!"

The rest of the lesson was fairly basic. Explaining how each element was weaker than or stronger than another. Bloodlines that combined two elements into one. A few minor applications of their element that couldn't even be called jutsu. Hikari felt a smirk building on her lips as she watched Tetsu struggle with using even the most basic of Fire Release jutsu. He was actually trying, and knowing what monstrous chakra lay within him made it all the sweeter when he failed.

But, if he was anything like the other Uzumaki she knew, that wouldn't last long.

The rest of the day passed in similar toil. When evening rolled around, Hikari made her way towards Bolt's quarters. She had seen Tetsu following her, albeit at a much slower, inconspicuous pace.

She found him, though not as she expected to. Bolt sat upon his cot, dressed in charcoal gray outfit. His ninja tools were fastened to his belt in plain view, and he held Tetsu's katana.

And he was not alone.

Shūichi was there—no, it was Tsuchigumo, she reminded herself. Shūichi was a bumbling fool, where Tsuchigumo tried to be both as small and as large as possible at once. He shied away from people, but he stood straight. The puppetmaster was working his craft, attaching chakra threads to the body of the monk that he had killed some weeks ago. Hikari had breathed a sigh of relief when the temple had not cast their suspicion on them. In the end, his disappearance had been chalked up to cold feet.

"My lord?" Tetsu questioned.

Bolt handed him his sword. "I found it," he said. There was no need to explain what he had found. Inwardly, Hikari was excited. They would finally be leaving the temple. Tonight, if all went as planned. They would be back on the hunt. She would be back on the hunt. Where she belonged.

The dead monk stood, nearly lifelike in his mannerisms. Tsuchigumo twitched his fingers and the puppet smiled with an eerily human expression. "Leave the bodies intact," he requested. More puppets to add to his army, Hikari deduced. Fine.

Bolt spoke in whispered, hushed tones. "The entrance is in the senior monks' quarters," he said. "I don't know where, exactly. I think it's hidden by some sort of jutsu or seal."

"What do we do when we find the entrance, then?" Hikari asked.

Bolt spared a glance at Tsuchigumo. "If it's a seal, between the two of us," he nodded at the puppeteer. "We should be able to devise a way to break it. If not, between my eyes and your tracking skills we will find a way inside."

Hikari nodded. It was as good of plan as any. There were murmured agreements and last minute suggestions all around before they ventured into the hall. The temple was quiet, so late at night. Most monks were in bed, tired after a long day's work and study. The only people that still stirred were stragglers reviewing the day's "lessons," and a few of the older, senior monks who took care of their administrative duties. There _was_ a night's watch, but they only patrolled the temple gates.

It took them no less than a single minute to make their way to the senior monks' quarters. They were as silent as the grave, sticking to the shadows. Tsuchigumo's puppet led the way, in case they ran into any night owls. Bolt was close behind, creeping forward in a stance that screamed "Gentle Fist" to her. If someone had the misfortune to stumble across their group, they would not live long enough to regret it.

Luckily, they did not. Bolt led them to a far side of the hall, near the end of the tunnel where the monks had yet to excavate more rooms. "Somewhere around here," his voice sounded in the night, a ghost of a whisper. "I didn't see where, exactly. Spread out."

They did. Hikari popped a soldier pill, grimacing at the bitter taste. In a matter of moments, the darkness thinned and her vision improved. She set about scouring the hallway, looking for clues of a secret entrance or a mechanism that would open one.

Floors were always telling. If the construction was shoddy, scrapes were easily visible. Even if repaired, the difference in material or pain shown. Carpet was annoying, because you had to look underneath. Objects, if moved, left imprints or shadows where they had lain. Like a painting that had long since hung on the wall, suddenly moved. The wood behind it was always lighter than its surroundings.

Hikari saw nothing. Walls next, then. There were murals painted along the walls of the hallway. Clever, if one wanted to hide the switch in plain sight. It could be that a single petal of a flower or a blade of grass needed to be pushed to unlock the door. There was always wear and tear from the body's oils that eroded the paint. Made it seem worn. The subtle differences between new and aged paint were difficult to spot, but long years of training had honed her eyes.

Still nothing. Hikari paused. Ceiling, perhaps? A drop down stairway, like an attic? No, that seemed unlikely. Still, her eyes passed over the rock of the mountain as she looked for anything that would give it away. There were no traces of dust on the floor, which all but the most perfect of craftsmanship would produce if the stairs saw any use—which they did.

Tetsu tapped her on the shoulder, appearing from thin air. Hikari started, nearly attacking him. He nodded down the hall. Bolt and Tsuchigumo stood before one part of the mural. Their posture was almost comically mirrored; both had their hands resting on their chins, their brows narrow as their eyes flicked back and forth. Hikari glanced at the mural. It was a depiction of the Sage of Six Paths, standing tall and proud with a staff in one hand and a small earthen jar in the other. The sun rose behind him, waves of yellows, oranges, and reds spilling outward across the wall.

"It has to be," Bolt whispered.

Tsuchigumo nodded, and the two of them went to work. They gingerly patted the wall, their fingers tracing the wavy lines of the sun's rays. Hikari stilled with the sudden recognition. The waves, they were fūinjutsu. Like patterns in the sand dunes. She had seen similar markings on the seal arrays Tsuchigumo used to guard his lair.

Bolt stilled, blinked, then leaned forward. He sniffed the wall. "Blood," he whispered. The four of them crowded in the darkness to see. It was a section of the mural where the sun's rays were as red as blood. In the gloom, it was near impossible to see the difference between the blood and the paint. But, yes, her nose wrinkled with the faint scent of copper and iron.

"Tsuchigumo?" Bolt asked.

The puppeteer nodded, taking a step back. His fingers twitched, and the monk strode forward. The corpse weaved a number of hand signs before biting its thumb and dragging it across the stone. The blood was thick and purple, sticking to the stone like a jam. There was a whispered name, but it was lost to the oppressive darkness.

Nothing happened.

Hikari sighed, her shoulders falling as the tension left her.

Then the mural of the Sage of Six Paths spun, and a monk stood before them. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird trying to crawl its way up her throat. Tetsu had his sword drawn and brandished, but Bolt was faster. He snapped forward and struck the monk in the forehead. There was a wet sloshing sound that echoed in the silence of the night as the monk's brains were scrambled like an egg in his skull by the Gentle Fist.

Bolt caught the corpse, laid it at Tsuchigumo's feet, and turned to peer back into the tunnel. The stone moved, but he stopped it with his foot. In a matter of moments, a second corpse rose to join the puppeteer's army. Tetsu had his sword raised above his head, a faint light running up and down the blade as he, too, watched for a sign of a new foe. None came. "Quickly," Bolt whispered. "There must be a shift in the guard soon."

The four of them—six, if you counted the corpses—arranged into formation without word. The two puppets lead the way, in case they encountered any more guards. Tetsu was next, sword gripped tightly in his fists. Bolt followed in a half-crouch that she recognized as an offensive Gentle Fist stance; it allowed him to break into an easy, lunging sprint. Hikari followed last. The stairs allowed her the high ground as they descended, so she could rain needles down upon their enemies without fear of hitting her allies.

Her hands twitched, and two fistfuls of throwing needles appeared. It was difficult to get used to the seals Bolt had placed on her palms. They were useful, incredibly so. A nigh infinite armory of ninja tools, one for each arm. But selecting and summoning specific tools, without a word or gesture, took a level of concentration that Hikari didn't expect. Still, she was near mastering it. The needles in her hands now were coated in a rare poison made from a paste of ground salamanders' tails—only found in the Land of Rain. One of her spoils of war.

The stairs wound down and down, into the deep. There was no light, and her augmented vision was struggling to keep her from tripping and falling down the stairs. How the monks navigated the darkness, she didn't know. In front of her, Bolt moved with measured, easy steps. The Byakugan was not so limited in its visual acuity. Day or night meant little to it.

What quirked her interest was how, exactly, Tsuchigumo was navigating the dark. His puppets moved without shambling or stumbling. Then again, the puppeteer was controlling a puppet body—which was a feat in itself, considering there were many hundreds of miles between Shūichi and Tsuchigumo. Maybe the puppet's eyes weren't as poor as a human's?

The stairs ended abruptly. Hikari could see the two monk puppets walk into the—whatever was at the bottom of the stairs? Room? Cavern? Cavern. There was voices. The other guards, asking their comrade why he had returned.

No sooner had they asked the question did they shout in alarm as Tsuchigumo entered the cavern. Tetsu was next. Hikari was right behind Bolt as the two of them entered the cavern. It was dark as night; not a single torch. Pitch darkness.

"Bolt!" Hikari shouted. He was already on it. Lightning danced across his form, lighting up the cavern. In the twilight, her pill allowed her near perfect vision.

The two puppets sprinted forward with surprising speed. They met a tall, burly monk in a dervish of fists and kicks. Hikari spied a monk standing atop an outcropping of rock fifteen feet above and opposite them. She hurled a fistful of needles at him. He dodged, leaping to the ground, but one caught him in the arm as he fell. He collapsed in a tangle of limbs as he hit the ground and the poison did its work. Tetsu slaughtered a pair of monks who charged him; one, no older than sixteen or seventeen, and an older man who wielded a wooden staff. Bolt dueled the remaining guard. The fight was over in an instant as he overwhelmed him with sheer speed.

All was quiet. "Tetsu, watch the stairs. Kill anyone who comes down," Bolt commanded.

"Yes, my lord," Tetsu spoke, moving to stand guard.

Tsuchigumo was waving his hands, like the conductor of an orchestra. The bodies of all the monks who had been slain rose, except for the two whom Tetsu had cut down. Of the monks, two of them breathed balls of fire into existence, holding them in their hands. Bolt nodded and allowed his armor to fade.

With the fire, Hikari could see. She felt her lips part in a silent gasp. When Bolt had told her their goal was the tea kettle that the people of the Land of Wind used to combat the One-Tail since times of yore, she had imagined an old, crude ceramic pot. But this, this was something else.

The Tea Kettle stood fifteen, perhaps twenty feet, in height, nearly double the length. It was made of a sand-colored stone or ceramic, perhaps clay, and was ornate in its creation. The body was perfectly smooth and symmetric in its shape, with an elegant neck and handle that were engraved with floral patterns. Across the body, a mural of the desert was etched; sand dunes as far as the eye could see, wispy clouds floating lazily by, sparse palms and a winding river from which needly blades of grass grew.

"Shit," Bolt swore. "How are we going to get it out of here?"

Hikari glanced back at the stairs. Good question. It was obvious that it would be impossible to bring it back the way they came. No doubt he had expected something smaller and less grand as well. "Can you seal it?" Hikari asked.

"No," he answered. Obvious question. "It's made of some kind of chakra. The entire thing. It would take a scroll the size of a mountain to seal it."

"No," Tsuchigumo said, walking around the kettle. "It's a seal."

"The entire thing?" Bolt sounded surprised. The puppeteer nodded. "Think we can insert a new line into it? Have it shrink, maybe?"

Tsuchigumo shook his head. "Dangerous. Old seal. Very old," he whispered. His fingers twitched, and his cadavers shambled towards the far side of the cavern and fumbled about. Hikari assumed they were looking for an alternate exit. The monks got the Kettle down here _somehow._

"Hey! What are you guys—" a single monk appeared from the stairs. Before Hikari could even blink, Tetsu had cut him in twain from chin to crotch. It was as impressive as it was frightening.

"That should be the replacement guard," Bolt pointed out. Right. Hopefully he was the only one. "I'm going to try altering the seal on the kettle. Make it smaller, easier to carry. I would've done it later, anyway. Better for something to go wrong here than at base."

Tsuchigumo looked uneasy, but agreed. Hikari moved to help the puppets look for the hidden passageway. She kept one wary eye on Bolt as he worked, slowly moving round the Kettle and painting seals on it as he moved. It took nearly ten full minutes to complete the circle, and when he did, everyone in the chamber held their breaths. Tsuchigumo was cowering behind his wall of cadavers. Tetsu looked prepared to leap in to defend his lord should anything happen. Hikari prepared herself to use medical ninjutsu.

Thankfully, mercifully, the kettle began to shrink. It was slow, and the stone glowed with the visible glow of white-blue chakra as it dwindled down to a more manageable size. Hikari hadn't found a secret entrance or exit, so she assumed that the monks—or someone else—must've been able to perform a similar feat to get the Kettle below the temple in the first place.

In the end, what was once as large as a house was now little larger than Tetsu. Large and unwieldy, but manageable. "Tetsu, can you carry it?" Bolt asked.

"Puppets can carry," Tsuchigumo interjected, and with a twitch of his fingers, sent his army of cadavers forth. Together, the five of them managed to carry it; two pairs at the front and back of the body, and a single man shouldering the handle. They carried the Kettle to the stairs, carefully angling it to see if they could safely transport it.

They could. It was slow going, at first, as Tsuchigumo carefully managed his creations. They picked up speed as the puppeteer learned how to navigate the narrow passageway. Their group exited the secret chamber, the wall spinning to allow them to step out into the temple. Ahead of her, Bolt and Tetsu abruptly stopped.

Arrayed in front of them were no less than thirty monks, among which, the abbot and five senior monks stood. Behind them, a handful of warrior monks were waiting with bated breath, weapons clutched tightly in their hands.

The abbot looked saddened. He sighed, ragged, and was about to speak when Bolt twitched his arm, showing the seal that she had tattooed. Smoke billowed forth, plunging them back into darkness once more. Immediately, she flung two fistfuls of needles forward. There were screams, then a deafening roar as Tetsu unleashed a Flash point blank into their ranks. Hikari could hear the audible, wet splash as blood was spilled. "Tetsu, guard the Kettle! Hikari, with me!" Bolt barked.

She found him in the smoke, weaving hand signs. She joined him. It didn't take more than an instant to realize what he was doing. The chain of hand signs was long, almost unnecessarily so. Hikari knew he had better control than that. When she saw chains of signs for Water Release, she realized why, and started forming signs for a Lightning Release jutsu.

He spat a wave of water forth, generated entirely by internal chakra. There were cries of surprise that echoed out as water struck flesh and stone. It didn't carry much pressure, but it inundated the hallway. Lightning leapt from the tips of her fingers, arcing across the surface. There were screams, and her nose wrinkled as the scent of burning flesh overpowered the tang of smoke. "Go, go!" Bolt yelled.

There were more cries of alarm as Hikari heard Tetsu stomping down the hall, the telltale whoosh of air echoing as he swung his sword. She could see the bulk of Tsuchigumo's puppets carrying the Kettle as the puppeteer directed his army to follow the swordsman. She saw a flash of blue eyes and followed them as Bolt brought up the rearguard to defend their retreat.

From the smoke, a monk charged them with a wooden staff. He swung it high, intending to bash their skulls in. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the haft, and then punched the man in the chest with as much strength as she could muster. The monk flew a few feet backwards and the sound of bones snapping echoed through the smoke.

"Wind Release: Desert Winds!"

A gust of wind so powerful it swept her off her feet and carried her backwards blew forth. The smoke was dissipated in an instant, blown to a farflung corner of the temple. There were dead bodies scattered, more in pieces than not, that formed a macabre obstacle course. Of the thirty who confronted them, no more than fifteen remained.

Behind them, Hikari could hear the sound of pounding feet as Tsuchigumo and Tetsu made their escape. Bolt was backing away, slowly, and she mirrored him. The abbot led the fourteen other monks as they moved into formation. All at once, they moved. Of the fourteen, eight exhaled gusts and blades of wind. Six erected earthen pillars, spears, and blades from the surrounding stone. Hikari leapt backwards, leaping from foothold to foothold and ducking out of the way of the deadly gusts of wind that swept forward. Bolt followed her, pausing to send a Vacuum Palm augmented with wind chakra backwards. It blasted apart a pillar of stone, sending shards of stone flying like shrapnel. Hikari added to the barrage of projectiles by throwing four handfuls of needles at the rushing monks.

Bolt hurled another smoke bomb into their midst and sprinted to catch up with Tetsu and Tsuchigumo. Hikari dropped two smoke bombs as she ran; one, a thick purple smog used to obscure—another, a purple colored toxic gas that induced near total paralysis of the major muscle groups.

A massive gust of wind caught her in the back, sending her flying. The smoke and gas rushed over them, causing her to cough. Thankfully, she was immune to the gas. Bolt was, too, thanks to the immunizations she had been giving him. He gripped her by the forearm and dragged her forward. She threw a single fistful of needles backwards as they continued their retreat.

They reached the end of the hall, and a quick backwards glance revealed that no less than ten monks were right on their heels. Bolt dragged her forward, annoying, but she could deal. He held his free hand in front of him, cupping the palm. A sphere of whirring white-blue chakra formed, no larger than a fingernail. With nary a backwards glance, he turned and hurled it.

Hikari knew there was no point in looking back. The sphere would dissolve into thin air in a matter of moments and be rendered invisible to all but sensors and those with dōjutsu. There was an awful _crack_ that resounded through the whole of the temple. Hikari could feel it in her bones. The sound of stone crumbling and breaking followed by the whoosh of wind—not any jutsu, a mere side effect of the Rasengan detonating.

The two of them spilled out into the main chamber of the temple, where Tetsu was doing battle with twenty or twenty-five monks ranging from initiates to the ordained. Tsuchigumo was doing his level best to fight his own opponents whilst maneuvering his puppets to carry the Kettle to the front gate.

The problem: the gate was not opening. Tsuchigumo was using one hand to attach chakra threads to the gate, and the other to battle the surrounding monks. His puppets carried the Kettle and struck out at any comers with their free arms and legs. The monks seemed hesitant to attack their brethren. "Hikari, help him!" Bolt barked, pointing at the puppeteer as he rained down Gentle Fist strikes upon a helpless monk.

She sprinted forward, giving him a terse nod. Hikari brought her hands up, coating them in chakra and then honing that chakra to a razor's edge. She struck at one of the pillars of stone as she ran, and was rewarded as her fingers drew a deep scar in the stone. She had been honing her skill with the Chakra Scalpel technique in her spare time. It was a technique that few outside of the medical field knew of, and even those that did would never expect it to be used in battle. But, when honed to a fine edge, it was sharper than any dagger.

She cut the first monk in the shoulder, separating the ligaments that allowed him to move his right arm and his neck. He dropped to the ground in pain, unable to move. She kicked him in the face, blood from his broken nose staining her boot. Spinning, Hikari mirrored some of the stances she had seen Bolt perform from the Gentle Fist. A subtle prod in the chest that severed the bronchus from the trachea. It was difficult to fight when you couldn't breathe. A chop to the back, separating the T12 vertebrae from the L1; paralyzed for life, unless he could find a medical ninja of great skill.

In the chaos, it seemed to take half an hour to defeat all the monks. In reality, it could've only been forty-five seconds. A minute, max. Silence reigned in the chamber as the combat dwindled, only to be interrupted as the abbot and his monks spilled forth. Bolt took one look at them, one look at her, then flashed through several hand signs. Not for any jutsu, but for communication; a crude system they set up for the final days of battle in the Land of Rain. _Move. Gate. Me. Attack._

" _Move away from the gate, I'll handle it,"_ Hikari translated. _"Attack the monks."_

She did. She rained needles down upon them as they erupted from the hallway and spilled into the main chamber. Most dodged, a few erected earthen barriers or blew them away with a gust of wind. Tsuchigumo was moving the Kettle along the wall, opposite where the monks emerged. As he moved, he raised more of the monks as his puppets. In the span of a minute, he had five carrying the Kettle, and five armed and ready to fight; one for each finger.

Tetsu dueled two monks who wielded a strange sickle-and-chain weapon. It was more a farmer's tool than a tool of war, but they swung it with speed and precision promised they would sever heads as easily as grain.

Bolt was trying to make his way to the center of the chamber, more towards the gate than the fore where the mural of the Sage of Six Paths stood. He was bogged down on all sides by the abbot and a handful of senior monks that had survived the fighting. Hikari leapt into the fray, hit two with her chakra-enhanced strength, and struck a third down with two well-placed needles. Bolt disabled two more with the Gentle Fist.

That left the abbot and two senior monks with graying beards. The latter looked furious, and the former looked saddened. Bolt was edging backwards, towards the gate, moving to cup his hands. Hikari stepped forward to cover for him.

"Do you remember our conversation this morning, young one?" the abbot asked. "No matter," he said with a shake of his head. "I was not always as devout as I am now, I told you. Let me tell you why."

The abbot slipped into a strange stance. His back rigid and straight, his shoulders squared, with his arms at his side and his palms facing us. "My path is the path of enlightenment. I sat and I meditated, for years upon years. I, like you, did not like to think that I was not in control of my life; that my destiny was set in stone. Then, one day, the Sage came to me in a vision, and I reached enlightenment."

Hikari scoffed under her breath. She heard Bolt do the same. "And with my enlightenment, I achieved true peace. With who I am, and more importantly, who I was," the abbot spoke. His skin began to glow with a thin sheen of chakra, as golden and radiant as the sun. "The Gift of the Sage," he intoned. "Welcoming Approach: Thousand-Armed Kannon."

Hikari felt her eyes go wide as the monk's chakra flared and erupted skyward, taking the form of a giant, golden woman. She kneeled in prayer, sitting atop a lotus, her hands clasped together. Her dress moved as ten arms sprouted forth. With a sharp gesture, the abbot brought one hand forward with an open palm. The golden woman mirrored his action with such speed that Hikari barely had time to move. A massive golden palm, as tall as she was, slammed into her as she braced herself with her arms.

The air rushed around her until she fell to the ground, tumbling ass-over-end down the length of the chamber. Bolt fared better, she saw. He was a blur of blue-white as he darted in and out of the golden woman's range of attack. Each golden palm struck stone, cracking and shattering it. Hikari winced as she moved her arms, feeling them groan and protest the movement. Fractures, probably. She ran soothing healing chakra through them, then carefully moved forward.

Bolt leapt at the abbot, Lightning Armor augmenting his Gentle Fist. The golden woman met his attack with a single palm, stopping him in his tracks. Another palm forced him to leap out of the way, and another still struck him as he jumped. He flew backwards, landing on the balls of his feet and skidding along the stone floor.

Bolt swore. "Distract him," he half whispered, half hissed. Chakra flared brilliantly in his right hand, so many arcs of electricity that they began to chirp. Then, they doubled in intensity, until the technique was so blinding that it burned her eyes. Hikari nodded, breaking into a sprint and reinforcing her body with chakra.

The abbot watched them with a calm, almost disinterested expression. Hikari leapt forward, expecting a palm to meet her. It did. She swung her fist forward, letting her chakra rise from her feet, swell in her chest, course through her arm, and be released, explosively, from her fist. A concussive blast of wind roared into existence from their clash. Neither budged. But Hikari did not have the luxury of extra limbs. Two golden palms fell upon her, forcing her to defend herself.

Bolt came rushing in. "Raikiri!"

He struck a golden palm that was meant for her. The palm halted, immediately, and he pushed forward. The construct began to crack, like stone under great weight. Another palm came in to squash him, like an insect. Hikari lashed out with a kick, putting more chakra into it. The leg was stronger, more durable, than the arm. It could handle more. Another concussive blast of wind.

Then the other eight palms rained down upon them. Bolt was sent flying, smacking into a stone pillar. She prayed he had remembered the defensive aspect of his armor. The thought was struck from her mind as she narrowly avoided being clamped between two palms, a third striking her as she leapt backwards. Hikari grunted as she felt her bones protest the monstrous strength. Chakra surged through her palms as she produced a kunai with a smoke bomb tied to its pommel. She hurled it as she flew.

It was filled with a neurotoxin, extracted from a pufferfish from her homeland. A single, small prick and you'd be dead in minutes. In a gaseous form? Nearly impossible to avoid. The kunai clambered at the abbot's feet, shrouding him in a cloud of white smoke.

The smoke cleared, and Hikari didn't feel better about their odds. The golden woman stood an additional ten feet higher, towering above them, now sporting fifteen arms instead of ten. The abbot was safely encased in her belly.

She spared a glance at Bolt. He had his hands cupped, an orb of stormy gray chakra gathering between the palms of his hands. It glowed with blacks, blues, whites, and grays. Golden palms lashed out at him. Hikari huffed, gritted her teeth, and put herself between him and the monk's technique. She batted away three oncoming fists, her arm that had been broken sending lances of pain through her body. She kicked away two more.

"Rasenshinsei!"

There was a pause. A mere moment; an instant. Then a sound so loud that it reverberated through the stone, shaking the entire mountain. Hikari felt her vision blur, going black, before clearing. She couldn't hear. At all. She raised two fingers to her ears and found them warm and wet. When she looked, the fingers came away bloody.

A cursory glance around the room told the tale. Bolt had hurled his ultimate technique at the door. There was, quite literally, nothing left. A gaping hole that the night sky shone through. The two senior monks were dead. Their eyes were nothing but bloody, empty sockets. They had been too close to the door. Likely their organs were scrambled like an egg. The abbot was on his knees, struggling for breath. Tetsu had blood streaming from his ears and nose, but otherwise was unharmed. Tsuchigumo was, as she predicted, unharmed. He did not have the body of a mere man. The Kettle, thankfully, was in one piece.

Bolt pulled her to her feet. Blood streamed from his nose and ears, too, and he was gesturing wildly to the door, Tetsu, and Tsuchigumo as he pulled her forward. Right. They got what they came for.

Retreat.

Hikari felt the mountain rumble beneath her feet. Cracks snaked through the ceiling as stone pillars began to fall. She broke into a sprint with Bolt. Great boulders of stone began to fall, forcing them to look up and dodge. Tsuchigumo reached the ruined gate as the temple began to cave in. Five of his puppets dropped, lifeless, and he lashed out with his free hand. A boulder, so large she couldn't estimate its size, was hurled out of the way as it threatened to block their path. He shepherded the Kettle out into the night, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she, Bolt, and Tetsu left the Wind Temple behind.

She cast her gaze backwards, catching the saddened eyes of the abbot as the temple came down around him.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Question of the Chapter — What are your thoughts on the Ōtsutsuki clan? Aliens from another world, or inter-dimensional farmers on the lookout for that next juicy chakra fruit?

Decided to speed up a bit. It's been awhile since we've had some action, so here we go. From here, the Land of Wind arc has maybe a handful (2-3) chapters until its conclusion. Then we move on to the penultimate arc, which is slightly shorter but deals with an important subject that I felt wasn't touched upon in the manga. From _there_ , there is a time-skip. Then we're into the real action.

I really liked the ninja monk techniques, but sadly, they were anime-only (and thus, non-canon). I decided I'd throw them in. For those who forgot, or are only manga readers, the ninja monks can train to use a special chakra known as The Gift of the Sages (alt: "Hermit Group"). This is similar to natural energy, and allows them to create an avatar of golden chakra (Welcoming Approach: Thousand-Armed Murder, alt: Thousand-Armed Kannon). Little creative liberties with how they achieve such, and the benefits of doing so.

Likewise, I really felt like Sasori got the short end of the stick. We barely get to see him, and he's defeated by an old woman well beyond her prime and a fresh, inexperienced medic who was, by far, the weakest link of the assault team. I think if he had been killed later in the story, he would have been much more intimidating than the manga let on.

I have discovered the joy that is the Worm web serial by Wildbow. If you haven't read it, give it a go. It's nearly 1.7m words (holy shit...), but crazy good. Especially once you get passed the first arc or two, then it really picks up.


	45. Chapter 45

Bolt groaned.

He'd done a lot of difficult things in his life. Waking up _today_ was one of the most difficult yet. His joints audibly popped as he stood. Looking in the mirror, he could see ugly splotches of skin that had turned blue, purple, and black, laced with yellows and greens. He was a living bruise. From chin to toes. His chest was the worst. Probably from being hit by one of the golden palms fighting the abbot.

That was the price he paid when you detonated a technique like the Rasenshinsei indoors at such close range.

He ran a hand through his nonexistent hair. It had begun growing back quickly now that he had no need to shave daily to avoid having his identity discovered. He looked odd. Not ugly, just odd. It irritated him. He was thankful the monks didn't have a mirror, or he'd have been doubly angered by being there. Short hair didn't fit the image he had going for himself. Plus, it reminded him of his dad. Maybe he'd try something different? Nagato had long hair. Too long for him, maybe. It would make him look feminine. Hyūga men were not known for being burly. Maybe something like his master's? Sarada's dad always had the cool look.

More bad memories. He shivered. A few hand signs and he activated the tracking seal he placed on his sister and Sarada. He hadn't had the chance to use it since he had infiltrated the Wind Temple. Now, it reassured him. They were safe. Sarada was in the Leaf, if he estimated correctly. Himawari was somewhere to the southeast; still in the Land of Fire, but not the Leaf. Perhaps one of the Hyūga's holdings? Possible. He'd only ever been to the summer home on the coast with his mother and grandfather once.

Dressing as the human bruise was an ordeal. The faint touch of cloth against his skin sent pain dancing across his chest. Shambling into the dark tunnels of Tsuchigumo's lair, he felt each step with a painful jar.

It took Bolt longer than he had liked to reach the workshop where their group met. Tsuchigumo and Shūichi were already present. It was odd, knowing that although he hadn't seen the puppeteer in person for many weeks, they had spoken through Shūichi on several occasions in the Wind Temple and during the mission to secure the Kettle.

A ray of sunlight lit the room through one of the many porous holes in the ceiling of the mountain. Bolt could hear birds singing in the distance. It was far too early in the morning to be awake, especially after their mad sprint through the desert. He had only gotten a few hours of fitful sleep. But they needed to decide on a course of action. The sooner the better.

Tetsu arrived shortly after. He was dressed in a formal robe, his sword at his hip. He looked different without hair; no ceremonial topknot. Hikari entered right behind him. She had immediately gone to her room and fetched her mask and changed into her familiar fatigues. She burned the robes from the Wind Temple with seemingly great pleasure.

"So," Bolt began. "Game plan?"

He didn't like being defaulted to as the organiser of their little strategy sessions, but if he didn't do it then nobody would. Tsuchigumo, outside of battle, was far too shy and nervous to do so. Hikari didn't trust the puppeteer, and Tetsu would follow him no matter what was decided.

Bolt sighed. "Obviously, Tsuchigumo and I begin tinkering with the Kettle and see about creating a prison for the One-Tail," he said. "After that?"

A pause. "We need intel," Hikari stated. "Detailed information on the One-Tail. Size, intelligence, behavioral patterns, and abilities."

Bolt nodded. "I can answer a few of those questions. My—" he hesitated. "My dad told me stories when I was little. Just names and descriptions, nothing more. He said Shukaku, the One-Tail, was a giant made of living sand. He was as large as the toad boss, towering over even the tallest trees in the Leaf. All Tailed Beasts are intelligent, though perhaps not a _human_ intelligence. He said they were affected by their bestial instincts, maybe."

"Can you expand on how smart they are?" Hikari pressed.

Bolt shrugged. "I don't know, really. Dad said that the Nine-Tails was smart, nearly as smart as him. Though that isn't saying much. He told me, once, that the Tailed Beasts were both at their strongest and weakest when they were sealed. The power of the beast, with the brain of a human. They're strong, but they don't know what to do with that power."

Everyone nodded. "Abilities, I can explain," Tsuchigumo offered, nervously tugging at his hair. "Controls sand. Like breathing, for us. Wind and Earth Release jutsu. Not fast, but tough. Takes hits. Heals after."

"If the beast is made of sand, it can draw sand from the desert to heal itself," Tetsu spoke.

"Then it will be crucial to limit the amount of sand it has access too," Hikari added.

Bolt nodded. "If at all possible, we should lure it to a location with more rock. It'll be able to use it for Earth jutsu, but that's better than healing itself. Two of us can use Lightning Release to counter it, anyway," he pointed out.

"Puppets can use Fire jutsu," Tsuchigumo added. Right. Turn the sand to glass. Good counter to Wind Release, too.

Bolt saw Hikari look at Tetsu. The swordsman hesitated, then spoke. "I learned that my chakra nature is Fire. I shall endeavor to master it."

"Good," Bolt said, glad that Tetsu was making strides to improve his abilities. "Tsuchigumo, can one of your puppets teach him the basics? Samurai do not use jutsu in the sense that we do, but the fundamentals should help him."

The puppeteer nodded in agreement. "Anything else?" Bolt asked. Heads were shook. "Good. We'll meet again once Tsuchigumo and I know more about the Kettle. Until then, train."

* * *

"Ha!" Himawari grunted as she sent a flurry of strikes at her.

Hinata kept her base strong, holding her ground, slapping away each palm as they came at her. Her daughter's face contorted with equal parts frustration, effort, and admiration. In battle, the lingering traces of pain—both physical, and emotional—left her. It was one of the few times Hinata allowed herself to forget how much her family had crumbled.

The sixty-fourth palm came at her, and she knocked it away. Himawari fell backwards, collapsing to her back and sprawling her arms and legs. Hinata smiled as her chest heaved up and down from exertion. "Well done, Hima," she said, sitting down next to her daughter. It was a nice day. Warm. The sprawling grassy knolls and sparse woods of the Hyūga summer estate were beautiful this time of year. It was good to get away from the Leaf; the memories and the pain. The reminder of what they had lost, how much they stood at risk to still lose.

She ran a hand over her daughter's bangs to clear them from her eyes. "Any pain?"

Himawari shook her head ever so slightly. "Good," Hinata said, withdrawing her hand. "Sakura and Lady Tsunade are the best doctors in the world. I knew they could help you."

Himawari pursed her lips. "It's not enough, though, mom," she said. "I'm still not fully healed. Lady Tsunade says I may never recover."

Hinata sighed. "She said your recovery would be slow, and you would experience a slight dip in power before a period of rapid growth when you're older," she said. She had talked, at length, with both Sakura and Lady Tsunade. She trusted both of them; trusted them to heal her daughter, and trusted them not to lie to her. "Just wait. Your strength will return to you in time."

Himawari nodded, unshed tears building in her eyes. She blinked them away, turning her head so she couldn't see them. Hinata felt her heart break just a little more. She didn't know what to say. What to do. So she just ran her fingers through her daughter's hair, hoping to provide some small comfort.

They sat there, just like that, for some time.

"Mom?" Himawari said. "Why do you think Sarada was strong enough to be without her dad, but not Bolt?"

That was a question Hinata had asked herself many, many times. But she would never, under pain of death, repeat it aloud. She had seen how Naruto's absence ate away at her son. Whittled his love and happiness down until it had all but disappeared. She tried to assuage the pain she knew he felt. Included him in things she knew he had no interest in, like shopping and cooking. She taught him his first Gentle Fist stances, long before her own father began to teach them. Those were some of her happiest memories.

Sometimes, Hinata felt her anger boil over. At Naruto. At herself. But she knew that it wasn't Naruto's fault. He was the Hokage. He had a duty to his home. A duty that, unfortunately, mandated that he sacrifice his own personal happiness to ensure that the people who looked up to him, trusted him, survived and were happy. The family of the Hokage were always held in high esteem for the sacrifice they made, in giving up that one part of their family.

And still she knew that as much as it hurt Bolt, it had hurt Naruto as well. She could remember, clear as day, the night she had told him she was pregnant. Naruto had broken down into a sobbing wreck of happiness. He told her how he had always wanted a family as a child. How his dreams had shifted as he got older, and how he dreamed not of his mother and father, but of his future children. Bolt was the light in his life. And now that light was flickering, threatening to go out.

"Mom?" Himawari asked, her eyes—so like her father's and brother's—shining brightly.

Hinata sighed. "I don't know, Hima," she said, ever so quietly. "Sarada is not as strong as she looks. She is sad, too. She just hides it better than others do. I think," she paused. "I think she tries to be strong for Sasuke. That's where she and Bolt are different. People whisper things about Sasuke, even today. She is trying to be strong to prove them wrong. To prove that Sasuke isn't the things they say. That the Uchiha are not the things they say." No matter how much she still harbored that small ember of anger—dare she say, hate—towards Sasuke for trying to kill Naruto. That, she could never forgive.

"And Bolt?" Himawari pressed.

"And Bolt... I think, in many ways, it would have been better if Naruto had been like Sasuke. Distant. Never seeing his family. For Bolt, it was a daily reminder of what he could have had, but never did. The love he wanted was always right in front of him, just out of reach. I think that's what broke him. He was so close to getting what he wanted, and then the Chūnin Exams happened," Hinata said.

Himawari nodded, and the two of them said nothing, did nothing.

"Do you think he'll ever come back?" Himawari asked, after a few minutes.

Hinata looked down at her daughter. "Of course," she lied. She had to. For her daughter's sake, for herself. She had to have hope. Hope that their family could be mended. "He loves you too much to stay away forever."

She could only pray that it was true.

* * *

Hikari entered the room with light, faltering steps. It had been claimed as the workshop where Bolt and Tsuchigumo would work on the Kettle.

It was a disaster.

Quite literally miles of parchment and mountains of scrolls, puddles of ink, and tens of abandoned brushes littered the room. She brushed aside a stray strand of hair out of the way of her mask's slits. It had been nearly a month since their mission at the Wind Temple, and she was stuck at that annoying stage where her hair was too short to do anything with, and just long enough to be annoying.

Tsuchigumo sat at the far end of the room. Two scrolls stood at the corners of the room near him, stretched out so that the parchment clung to the wall. From his fingers, chakra threads extended and manipulated ten brushes that were wet with ink. Each working on a separate paragraph of archaic fūinjutsu script. The puppeteer looked more haggard than usual. His hair, as white as snow, was unkempt and dirtied by the sand. He wore the same ragged white coat that seemed to have gained more holes since she had last seen it.

Bolt had multiplied. There was six of him. Four sat together, back-to-back, near their end of the room. Like Tsuchigumo, they too had several scrolls held to the wall—and one, on the floor. Apparently, the puppeteer had taught him how to make chakra threads. Not a hard thing, considering his Hyūga heritage. Each clone had a handful of brushes dancing with each twitch of their fingers as they, too, wrote line upon line of fūinjutsu script.

The other two had different tasks. One, Hikari noted, sat before one large scroll. He did not use chakra threads as the others did. Instead, he took his time. Slowly, he wrote a few characters, then a line. Then, shaking his head, Bolt scrapped the entire paragraph and started over.

The last Bolt—whom she presumed to be the original—sat alone, near an unoccupied corner of the room. He stared at a single leaf of parchment with an unnerving intensity. On it were the characters for "fūinjutsu."

"Any progress?" Hikari asked, leaning against the wall and looking down on him.

Bolt let a long, ragged sigh escape his lips. "A little here, a little there," he said. He pointed to the four clones. "They're working on the second of five scrolls we need to alter the Kettle. Nearly done with it. Tsuchigumo completed the third one two days ago and is working on the fourth now. We'll probably go half-and-half on the fifth."

Hikari nodded and her gaze found the frustrated, lone clone. He growled and threw his brush down. "Hey! I saw that!" Bolt called out. "Back to work!"

The clone huffed and stomped his foot, but picked up the brush. "You got it, boss," he growled under his breath, a little louder than he expected.

"Mr. Sunshine is working on your Strength of a Hundred seal. It's harder than it looks," Bolt explained.

Hikari hesitated to speak of that topic. "How much information was in the scroll? You said there wasn't any concrete work done. I don't expect you to devote time to it when we're getting ready to fight a Tailed Beast," she said.

Bolt waved her off. "It's not any trouble. The difference between four clones and five wouldn't help that much. A day faster, maybe two. Better to have him work on something productive," he said.

Hikari nodded slowly. "Thank you," she admitted, heat tinging her cheeks.

"No problem," Bolt spoke. "He's making more progress than me, anyway," he said, shaking the unfurled scroll he held angrily.

"Still no progress?" Hikari asked, unsure if she should have brought it up.

Bolt shook his head. "It's like there's a block. The chakra is there, it wants to do something, it just doesn't know how, or I don't know how," he admitted.

Hikari just nodded, unsure of what to say. He sighed. "So, how is your training? Have you seen Tetsu?" Bolt asked.

"Good, so far," she admitted. "I'm working on refining my strength. If I can hit the One-Tail and knock some of its sand away from its body, it is possible that Tetsu or one of the puppets could turn the sand to glass before the beast has a chance to heal itself. If we manage to lure it towards rocky terrain, my Lightning jutsu will be the strongest, after yours. I'll probably switch between that, and destroying any enemy Earth jutsu."

"Good idea," Bolt said. They had met several times over the past month to discuss strategy. They were, slowly but surely, crafting a plan of attack that Hikari felt would ensure the maximum chance of success against the One-Tail.

Hikari nodded. "Tetsu continues to work on his Fire Release," she informed him. "Last I saw, he was trying to incorporate elemental transformation to his Flash technique."

Bolt chuckled. "Now that's a scary thought," he said.

Indeed. If he managed to combine nature and shape transformations with his already unnaturally high amounts of chakra, Tetsu would be a force of nature. "When do you think we'll be ready?" Hikari settled for.

Bolt looked up at her. "Soon," he said.

* * *

"Sarada Uchiha reporting for duty, sir," Sarada announced as she stood ramrod straight before the Hokage's desk. There were two towers of official looking documents, one on either side of him. He took a page from the right pile, quickly read it, stamped it, then put it in the left pile. Another document. He puts it back in the right pile, in its own separate tower of paper.

The Hokage sighed, flexing his fingers and shaking out the numbness in his hands that could only come from hours upon hours of paperwork. "No need to be so formal, Sarada," he huffed.

"Yes, sir," Sarada ignored him. She'd show him the same respect she would demand from her subordinates when she became Hokage.

The Hokage sighed. "How has your physical therapy been going?"

Sarada was caught off guard. She didn't think the Hokage would take time out of his quite obviously busy schedule to make small talk with her. "Well, sir," she answered. "Lady Tsunade has helped me and Himawari greatly. We're recovering faster than she anticipated."

"Good, good," the Hokage said, idly reading through another document even as his eyes and attention was on her. It was almost reflexive, Sarada thought. He sighed. "I guess that's why Sakura said you should go on a mission."

She couldn't help it. Sarada smirked. Yes! Thank the Sage of Six Paths. This is what she had hoped for. "She said you were going stir crazy," the Hokage clarified.

Sarada forced herself to keep a straight face. "Just a little, sir," she admitted.

The Hokage sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Sasuke is going to murder me if I give you a mission while you're recovering and you get injured," he whined.

Sarada saw the chances of her getting a mission dwindling. She had to act. She would not let this chance slip by her. "Please, sir," she said. "I'm ready, and one of the best chūnin on active duty."

That had been a surprise. She had been field promoted to chūnin sometime after they had been brought back by Inojin. They all had, in fact. With their promotions came the official dissolutions of their teams, though many still worked together as chūnin. Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō were given their earrings, the symbol that they had entered adulthood in their clans. Shikadai was interning under his father, and was probably several floors below her feet at that very moment. Inojin and Chōchō were patrolling the border of the Land of Fire and Steam, helping to ensure supply trains made it safely to the still war-torn Land of Frost. Mitsuki had begun learning medical ninjutsu of all things. Sarada had pulled some strings and gotten her mother to get him an apprenticeship at the hospital.

Only her and Himawari had stagnated in their careers. Himawari and her mother had taken a vacation to get away from the stress and the bad memories, though Sarada knew it was more of an unofficial training camp than anything like a vacation. No, she alone remained bottled up in the Leaf.

The Hokage sighed and nodded. "Yes, you are," he admitted. Sarada stood straighter in pleasure at being acknowledged. "And you're also the daughter of my best friend who is still, officially, not cleared for active duty."

Sarada frowned. "But," the Hokage spoke, before she could protest. "Sakura is going to murder me if I keep you cooped up here. So I'm giving you a mission—a test. If you pass, I'll place you back on active duty."

"Yes!" Sarada said. She couldn't help it. "Thank you, sir! I won't let you down, I promise."

The Hokage nodded. "Are you always going to address me so officially? I've been trying to be more casual with my subordinates," he said.

That gave Sarada pause. She remembered, quite clearly, that the Hokage had ordered his son to address him as "Lord Seventh" before the start of the Chūnin Exams. Was this his own way of trying to be a better father for Bolt? Sarada shrugged, not wanting to bring up those memories if she could avoid it. "Yes, sir," she replied.

The Hokage sighed. "You'll be going on a strictly diplomatic mission," he said, passing her a scroll. Sarada unfurled it. It had a handful of pictures of people, their names, and general intel on them. "Under no circumstances are you to engage them in combat," the Hokage said with utmost seriousness.

"Yes, sir," Sarada confirmed.

The Hokage nodded. "You'll be under the command of one of my assistances, Moegi, and accompanied by two other jōnin. Your goal is to enter negotiations with the Inugami clan, assure them of the Leaf's continued support, and sign a new treaty," he explained.

"The Inugami clan, sir?" Sarada asked. She'd never heard of them before.

"Distant cousins of the Inuzuka clan," the Hokage said. "They splintered from the main clan during the founding of the Leaf due to disagreements in leadership. They are a powerful ally, but they've always been at odds with the Leaf due to the Inuzuka clan's involvement in the village. It is in our best interest that they stay our allies and not find themselves friends in other nations."

Sarada nodded. Best to keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. "Right," Sarada said.

The Hokage nodded. "You'll meet your team at the front gate at o-seven-hundred hours. Dismissed," he said.

"Yes, sir," Sarada said, turning and marching from the room. She quickly made her way back to her room, locked herself in, packed, and memorized the contents of the scroll for her mission.

* * *

Sarada met her team early the next morning. Moegi was one of the assistants to the Hokage. She was a small woman, stylish, with a pretty color of strawberry blonde hair. The two jōnin accompanying her were Kotetsu Hagane and Izumo Kamizuki, veterans of the Fourth War and well known in the ninja corps.

Their journey took a single day of hard, non-stop running. The area that the Inugami clan had settled in was nestled between the borders of the Land of Waterfalls and the Land of Sound. The two countries were separated by a great mountain range that extended down into the Land of Fire, all the way to the coast, where it formed the largest underwater mountain range. The Land of Waves was, in fact, made up almost entirely of the peaks of said mountains.

The land was beautiful, if cold. The higher altitude made the air thin and chilled, but the sights were breathtaking. Below, a sea of pine trees as far as the eye could see. Above, towering snowcapped peaks of stone. To the east, Sarada could just make out the sprawling grassy plains of the Land of Sound in the distance. To the west, she could see the mountainous crags that formed the Land of Waterfalls. If she used her Sharingan, she could even see the misty spray from the largest waterfalls.

The Inugami clan was much like the Hyūga clan, in some regards. They dressed in older, formal clothing and lived in a single compound that sprawled over nearly a mile of mountainous terrain. They were haughty, chins raised, as they looked down upon those from the Leaf. And the dogs. There were dogs everywhere. But not the kind of ninja dog that she was used to seeing in the Leaf. They were far larger; more muscular with thicker coats of fur. Vicious and feral, almost. More akin to wolves than dogs.

Sarada was fascinated, if a little fearful, of the beasts. One well placed bite and that would be the end of her.

"I'll do the talking," Moegi told them, under her breath. "Try not to wander off or offend anyone. You would make the Inugami clan's year by giving them an excuse to sic their dogs on us."

Sarada nodded along with Kotetsu and Izumo. Right. Definitely better to not pick a fight with the clan who commands the pack of vicious ninja dogs. An attendent—their guide, whom they had met at the base of the mountain—guided them up the steps of a great, ornate building that resembled more of a temple than a home. Whitewashed wooden steps with railing that had been stained red, tiled roofs of earthen clay that was a pretty green-gray color, and walls of translucent paper that hung over frames of red wood trimmed in gold.

Two more attendants inside slid open the doors from inside as they approached. They weren't even forced to stop. The inside was even more beautiful. Hardwood floors stained an earthy brown color that gave way to traditional mats of rice straw. Hanging paper lanterns of every color. The paper walls were painted, detailing what Sarada could only guess to be a history of the clan.

Their group was led to a room that had been cleared away for them. A low-set table was placed in the center of the room. At the head, an older woman with graying hair and cold brown eyes was seated. Tattoos covered her face; two triangles pointing downwards from her eyes. Sitting just behind her, to the right, was a much younger woman—perhaps a year or two older than her, Sarada thought. Pale with long brown hair and dressed in ornate robes; a white top, with rose-red bottoms. Her tattoos were more extensive than the older womans. Two triangles that ran from her eyes to her jawline, like tears, that were colored crimson, whilst a small triangle sat on her forehead.

Most telling were her eyes, though. A beautiful shade of gold. It wasn't a dōjutsu, but perhaps a genetic quirk; a mutation of chakra. Though that, too, was technically a dōjutsu. But Sarada didn't think the golden eyes were anything more than just that: eyes.

"Lady Chiyoko. Princess Hitomi," Moegi said, bowing low. Sarada mirrored her actions, as did Kotetsu and Izumo.

The older woman, Chiyoko, Sarada presumed, said nothing, but gestured for them to sit. "Thank you," Moegi said, taking a seat at the end of the table opposite of their hosts. Kotetsu and Izumo sat behind Moegi, and Sarada knew her place was behind them.

There was an awkward silence. Sarada wasn't sure how these negotiations were supposed to go. All she could hope for was some good experience. The mission was a B-rank, after all.

"Thank you for seeing us," Moegi began. Sarada supposed such a greeting was acceptable, if weak. The old woman was the clan head. She would have shown such difference to any of the clan heads in the Leaf.

Moegi coughed. "As you're aware—"

"I am aware of why you are here," Chiyoko spoke. "Let's skip the pleasantries, shall we?"

"Very well," Moegi countered, a bit of steel in her tone. "The Leaf is prepared to increase your funding for the next five years by ten percent in return for allying yourselves with us, and turning over any intel on who else has contacted you. That is in addition to providing security, supplies, and aid in times of need."

Sarada wasn't sure this branch Inuzuka clan was worth all of that, but she kept her opinion to herself.

"But you refuse to oust the Inuzuka clan?" Chiyoko asked.

Moegi looked distinctly uncomfortable. "The Inuzuka clan was one of the founding clans of the Leaf, as you well know. They have contributed significantly to the Leaf both economically and militarily. That is not to mention the contributions the clan has provided over the years in the Akatsuki fiasco and the Fourth War. What you are requesting is simply not in the Leaf's power, or interest, to grant," she said.

Sarada looked to see the reply. The Inugami clan head was, as she expected, less than pleased. A pause. "We have been in talks with both the Hidden Waterfall and Hidden Sound for some time. Their offers are much more generous than yours. Not to mention that they are quite eager to secure a resource of one of the Great Five, who have refused them entry into the Union for a number of years. Is that in the Leaf's interest?" Chiyoko countered.

Moegi straightened. "The Hidden Sound is not yet recognized as an official ninja village—"

"—according to the Union," Chiyoko inserted.

Moegi nodded. "According to the Union," she agreed. "They have only recently begun to stabilize and Orochimaru's influence over the country is still an unknown. It would be a grave mistake to ally yourselves with them."

Sarada thought she recognized a thinly veiled threat, but Moegi made it sound like a friendly recommendation.

"And why should we not accept the invitation from the Hidden Waterfall? They offer us better funding and more respect," Chiyoko said.

"If that is true," Moegi began. "Then I would tell you that being associated with the Waterfall will bring you less prestige than the Leaf. The Leaf is larger, more powerful, and is willing to work with you. We send you contracts frequently which your skillsets are suited to, allowing you to spread the Inugami clan's prestige. We have more resources to offer, outside of funding. Intelligence. Keeping malicious, interested parties off your scent."

Both women simply stared at each other. Sarada's eyes flicked back and forth between them. Kotetsu and Izumo weren't able to sit still. "Twenty percent," Chiyoko stated.

"Done," Moegi said, without thought.

Chiyoko nodded. "You may tell the Leaf that our treaty shall stand for another five years, then," she said.

Moegi nodded. "Thank you, Lady Chiyoko, Princess Hitomi," she said, standing. She bowed once.

Sarada mirrored her, along with Kotetsu and Izumo. As she stood, she chanced a glance at the Inugami princess.

She couldn't help but think she looked disappointed—no, that wasn't right, perhaps... angered?—by the renewing of the treaty.

They were nearly two thirds down the mountain before any dared speak. "That was intense," Kotetsu commented. Izumo nodded.

"What is the deal with them, anyway?" Sarada asked.

"Rumor has it the clan head died shortly after the First became Hokage," Izumo answered her. "He had a son and a daughter. Both were equally fit to become the next clan head. As clan politics usually do, things got messy. The son became clan head, and the daughter took her followers and fled the village. We've maintained a rough working relationship with them since."

"A common story," Moegi said, huffing as she leapt over a boulder.

Sarada nodded. It was. "Any other not so friendly allies we have that I should know about?"

Kotetsu laughed. "Well, the Aburame clan has some distant blood in the Stone. Beekeepers, I'm told," he said. "They don't like to talk about it much. Not that the Aburame are known for talking much, anyway," he laughed.

Sarada cracked an uneasy smile as she followed the two men into the forest and headed south.

With everything she knew, and everything she could only guess at, the world seemed much more fragile than she had been led to believe.

* * *

Bolt stood atop a lone column of stone. In all directions, for as far as the eye could see, there was only sand. Below, an expanse of rock stretched on for several hundred feet in each direction.

It was a landmark. "The Devil's Tree," the locals called it. The only solid ground for many miles. Like an iceberg, only the tip reared its head. Beneath, there was a veritable mountain of stone that was buried beneath the shifting sands.

It was perfect.

The perfect place to officially lay his claim to S-rank.

The perfect place to tame a Tailed Beast.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Short-ish chapter this time. Next one will be extra long and action packed to make up for it. Mainly just wrapping some things up that were cut from last chapter for length, and checking in on Sarada and Himawari, as well as sneaking in that Hinata PoV that people have been asking after. I was going to have Himawari go on a mission as well, but I couldn't think of something that was relevant to the plot. It would have just been purple prose, so it got cut.

Anyone have requests for character PoV chapters? I'm thinking about doing some different ones from time to time. Tetsu is scheduled for some screen time soon. Was also considering another Kage summit, from a perspective of someone that isn't Naruto. Also, Mifune. Maybe some Union business. I know it (the Union) wasn't mentioned in the manga or movies, so that'd be cool to write.


	46. Chapter 46

Kakashi looked down upon the Wind Temple from atop his sand dune.

It was in ruins.

The doors, near indestructible and only capable of being opened by one who possessed the Gift of the Sage, were obliterated beyond recognition. Warped shrapnel was strewn across the desert as far away as a mile. A particularly large piece was buried into the sand dune next to him.

The mountain had partially caved in. The maw of the cavern had fallen, likely with the supports inside. The stalactites which the temple was known for had fallen from the mountain's peak and impaled themselves in the desert sand. Great streams of rocks and debris flowed from the mountain like rivers.

He made his way down the dune. As he approached, a handful of monks—young, injured—approached him. They sported varying injuries, but all had steel in their eyes and had slipped into the stances of the taijutsu style taught to the ninja monks.

"Hello," Kakashi greeted them, bowing ever so slightly. "I am Kakashi Hatake, of the Leaf. What happened here?"

He saw recognition flash across their face, and for once, was thankful for his reputation. It seemed it would spare him a fight, today. The monks shared a look with each other. "We were attacked," one of the older monks said. He couldn't have been more than thirty years old. "Three men and a woman joined our brotherhood. They stayed for some time before striking from within. Abbot Benkei perished in the assault."

Kakashi stilled. Ninja monks were not often as famed for their strength as their ninja brethren, but an abbot was the pinnacle of a temple's strength. That one had been slain—perhaps in combat—was no small feat. More specifically, Kakashi knew of one person in the Land of Wind whom had no compunction to follow the law and every reason to prove himself.

"Can you describe these people for me?" Kakashi asked.

One of the younger members of the group nodded and stepped forward. A young girl, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. "Y-yes, sir," she said. "I helped the woman acclimate to the temple. She said she was the daughter of a tailor, and her skill with a needle certainly supported her claim."

Kakashi's brows narrowed. One of Bolt's companions was said to be skilled with throwing needles. A possible connection. "And the others? The three men?"

The monks shared a look. "Souma worked in the kitchens with one of them," a monk said. "But a rock crushed his legs. He's not in any condition to speak."

"Please," Kakashi said. "It's important. The people who attacked you may be the same people I have been hunting."

For a few moments, Kakashi thought the monks would refuse him. Then, they lead him down to the ruined courtyard the sprawled before the mountain. It had once been a thing of beauty with its masonry and rock gardens. Now, it was little more than blasted ruins. Tents were erected in the sand on either side of the pathway. The largest of which reeked of blood and sweat.

It had been a long time since Kakashi had seen the kind of gore he saw in that tent. Not since the Third War. A woman lay to his right as he entered, shards of stone impaled her from her sternum to her belly. The bandages she wore were stained crimson. Shrapnel, Kakashi thought. Whatever destroyed the gates also destroyed stone, sending shards thundering towards soft flesh. There were several men and women whose eyes were missing. Kakashi noted their necks, from their ears to their shoulders, were stained with blood. Possible side effect from a bomb? Concussive blast ruptured their eardrums, eyes too.

Kakashi stood before the man who had worked in the kitchens. Souma, if he remembered correctly. He kneeled. "Souma?" he whispered, gently placing his hand on the monk's shoulder.

The monk reacted violently, swinging a fist out as he flailed awake. "Easy," Kakashi reassured him. "Just want to talk."

The monk calmed. It was obvious he was in severe pain. Kakashi chanced a glance at his ruined legs. They were as thin as his thumb; crushed flesh and shattered bone. He looked away. "I need you to tell me about the initiate you worked with in the kitchen. Anything helps."

Souma made a gurgle of pain before coughing twice. "Huge," he hissed. "Head and shoulders taller than me. Skilled with a knife. Red eyes."

Kakashi nodded. Good intel. "Anything else?"

Souma shook his head in a quick, jerky fashion. Then he collapsed back into his cot, lying still. "Medic!" Kakashi yelled. A moment later, two monks appeared. They were red in the face and sweaty, and their hands were already glowing a soft green color. He left them to their work.

Kakashi drew in a long breath as he left the tent, eager to get the smell out of his nose. It brought back bad memories. Memories of losing Obito. Memories of murdering Rin. The monk who had brought him to the makeshift tent village appeared next to him. He was silent. "Did anyone else interact with these people? Do we know what they wanted?" Kakashi asked.

"No. One worked with the scribes, who all perished in the collapse. They were too far underground to flee in time. The other was working on scripture with the senior monks—they confronted the group as they fled. We found no survivors," the monk answered.

Kakashi nodded. It wasn't enough to say for certain, but the two descriptions matched the two people who Bolt was rumored to have travelled with in the Land of Rain. It was the best lead he had since the mission began. "And their goal?" Kakashi asked.

The monk frowned. "They were thieves. They stole Bunpuku's Tea Kettle."

Kakashi stilled. Words witnesses had spoken in the Land of Rain echoed in his mind. That he had given the Land of Rain peace, that his goal was to spread that peace and security to those we needed it. The theatrical display of clearing the skies that was printed in newspapers. Kakashi remembered it vividly. If Bolt wanted the Kettle, then his goal must be...

"Shukaku," Kakashi uttered.

* * *

Bolt stood before the lone pillar of stone that was the trunk of "The Devil's Tree." Hikari and Tetsu flanked him, with Tsuchigumo standing opposite—in spirit, for he spoke through the body of Shūichi. Bolt was suspicious that the puppeteer had been unable to leave his lair, though he had his theories. It was likely that Tsuchigumo was tethered to the "spool" of chakra threads he had seen. That was how he controlled his puppets, even from hundreds of miles away; a much greater range than any puppeteer in history. If the price for that was being unable to leave, Bolt thought it was fitting.

Shūichi carried no less than fifty scrolls that were as thick as his thigh and as tall as he himself. He had spent the better part of the last day carting them from their lair to the location they had chosen to fight the One-Tail.

"You all remember your duties?" Bolt asked. Hikari, Tetsu, and Shūichi all nodded solemnly. "Good," he spoke, turning and breaking into an easy run. They had drilled on various strategies and simulations on exactly how the fight could go. Bolt was confident they could survive, if not handle, anything the One-Tail threw at them.

It was a good day for a battle. The sky was clear, and the wind, for once, was not howling. Though Bolt imagined that would change in a matter of an hour. Tsuchigumo had used his puppets to track the One-Tail's movements. They had narrowed its current range to within half a mile of their current location.

Bolt ran. He took a drink of water from his canteen. He sighed as he climbed down one dune, only to be faced with another, larger one. Renewing his efforts, he sprinted up the dune.

He blinked.

The desert was _moving._

Like a snake, the dunes were slithering forward. Bolt blinked again. He thought it was a trick of the eyes. The desert heat muddling his mind. But, no. He knew that, somehow, his prey was here. Shukaku, the One-Tail. Bolt activated his Byakugan, and his eyes faded from blue to white.

There were no words to describe it.

It was as if the very desert had been given life. There was no border where the desert ended and the chakra began. Bolt stilled as he peered at the sand under his boots and found it pulsating with a chakra so foul, so powerful, that it made his heart flutter in his chest in an attempt to escape up his throat.

Bolt had seen many different chakra since awakening his Byakugan. But never would he have thought any of them so filthy, so ugly. Chakra was pure and good; the energy of the body and the spirit working together in harmony. It was beautiful, even, in a way. A bewitching shade of blue and white that captured the eye.

But the One-Tail's chakra was anything but. It was a disgusting mix of black, brown, and red. It gave off a feeling so keen that Bolt could identify it: hate. It was dense, too, and it added to the complexity of the chakra. Predominantly hateful, with undertones of pride, anger, disgust, and envy. It clung to each and every grain of sand, like a disease, plaguing the desert and making it sick. For as far as the eye could see, Bolt saw no plants—no cacti, no stubborn weeds, no balls of tumbleweed—and no living creature, animal or human. The desert, for once, was utterly and truly devoid of life wherever the One-Tail touched.

It only solidified his resolve to see the demon imprisoned.

Bolt followed the chakra with his Byakugan, watching as it got ever denser, ever more vile. It coalesced into the heart of a great sand dune, taller and broader than he had ever seen in his time in the Land of Wind. This, he knew, was the One-Tail.

Time to act.

He held one hand aloft, willing his chakra to coalesce into a sphere. Rotation. Power. Containment. But not too much power, and not too much containment; he couldn't afford to waste chakra. More rotation, for more penetration. He took a step back, tensed, and hurled. The Vanishing Rasengan soared forward, the wind howling in its wake. It unravelled as it flew, until nothing visible remained. Then it slammed into the side of the sand dune.

The desert winds stilled. Goosebumps erupted across his skin. Bolt shivered.

The sand dune exploded with a mighty roar of fury as a creature emerged from it. Tall, towering above the dunes. It was larger than any creature had had ever seen. Obese, with rolls of sand instead of fat. Strangely humanoid in its physiology: two arms and two legs, a broad chest. Its single tail was twice the length of its body and thicker than any of its limbs. It roared, again, throwing its head every which way. Then its eyes settled on Bolt, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. Two beady yellow eyes full of malice ringed by dark, black colored sand. A maw of vicious, curved fangs made of sand.

Bolt turned and ran. He heard a roar so loud that the sand beneath his feet vibrated. He was up and over the sand dune he had climbed in an instant. Using his Byakugan, he could see the scene unfold behind him. The One-Tail rode the sand dunes in great waves as it charged forward. It was moving faster than he could run.

Bolt swore. He formed another weak Vanishing Rasengan and hurled it at the approaching, vague form of the Tailed Beast. Another roar of pure fury, and it was even faster. Bolt emitted a cloud of chakra that sparked to life as he formed his Lightning Armor. Now he was outpacing the demon. But he couldn't go too fast. It was a game of cat and mouse with the highest stakes. Though the game was being played opposite of how nature intended it: this time, the mouse lured the cat to its death.

His eyes widened. Bolt, in a burst of speed, leapt to his right. A wave of wind howled forward, parting the sand and leaving a gash in the desert. The force of the wave sent him flying uncontrollably. When he recovered, the One-Tail was looming over him, maw parted, as he crashed down.

Bolt disappeared in a blur of static as he used his true speed. He had time to watch as the demon crashed upon the sand in an all-consuming wave of sand and rock. He cupped his hands, forming another Rasengan. This one he put more chakra into. When it struck the reforming One-Tail, it gouged a dune's worth of sand out of its shoulder. The sand fell so thick it was like rain, and the One-Tail howled to the sky in its rage.

Before it had even begun moving again, sand was rushing up its limb to reform and heal its injured shoulder. Bolt broke into a sprint, a little faster this time. Ahead, he could just see the top of the stone pillar that marked their trap peaking over the highest sand dune in the distance. Almost there.

With his Byakugan, Bolt saw the mountain of rock beneath the sand. The waves of sand that the One-Tail had carried with it were thinning, like waves breaking upon the shore. Good. Their plan was working so far.

The closer they approached the island of stone, the less dense the wave of sand became. Bolt could see his companions hiding in their places: Tetsu, behind the stone pillar; Hikari, on top of it; and Tsuchigumo—acting through Shūichi—hidden behind a pair of boulders near the rear of the tower.

Bolt prayed the fight would be quick, for once. He sprinted past the pillar of stone, turned, and began forming another Rasengan. The One-Tail roared forward without understanding the trap it had just been ensnared in. It didn't even bother to look up.

Hikari crashed down upon its skull with a guillotine kick. The demon's head exploded in a spray of sand that left it decapitated and flailing. Even without a head, the sand still lurched forward to crush the life out of her. Hikari leapt away, pushing herself off its shoulder. "Tetsu! Now!" Bolt heard Hikari shout.

Tetsu sent a Flash forward that cut through the pillar of stone and the One-Tail's left foreleg. It sprawled forward into the rock as the pillar crashed down upon it. Bolt held one hand before him, forming a half Ram sign. The explosive tags hidden on the pillar by an Earth jutsu revealed themselves, and a moment later, exploded.

The concussive blast of wind knocked Bolt flat. He cupped the still forming Rasengan with his hands, refusing to allow it to dissipate or detonate. A ball of fire roared into the air and smoke obscured the battlefield. Bolt staggered to his feet, braced himself, and hurled his Rasengan at the mass of foul chakra in the center of the chaotic cloud of smoke, sand, fire, and rock.

He waited with bated breath. It was a powerful barrage of opening attacks. A combination of which Bolt hoped would weaken the demon enough to allow them to seal it.

It was not to be. He saw the foul chakra rear its ugly head as it reformed. The One-Tail roared, dissipating the smoke and sending gusts of wind outwards that threatened to pick them up and fling them across the desert. Bolt anchored himself to a boulder with his chakra. He saw his companions do the same.

The explosive tags had created pools of molten glass from both the ambient sand and the One-Tail's body. Bolt saw it try to exert control, to force the sand to return to its body. The molten glass was sluggish as it responded to the will of the Tailed Beast. Sand crawled forth, getting stuck in the glass, but making a path for more grains to follow. It was quickly reforming its body.

The damage hadn't been enough. "Plan B!" Bolt shouted.

They broke into action. Tsuchigumo emerged, and with a flick of his fingers, unfurled a single of his many scrolls. From it, ten puppets burst forth. Each tall and thin with gangly limbs. Another flick of his wrists and they came to life, darting forward with chattering jaws. Bolt held both hands outward, forming two more Rasengans. Hikari emerged from behind a boulder, hefting a scroll that was as tall as her and twice as wide. She hurled it skyward with a burst of preternatural strength. It unfurled as it flew, and she made a single hand seal. A waterfall of rain erupted from the folds of the parchment, collected from the nearby Land of Rain in preparation for the attack. It soaked the sand, weighing it down and slowing the One-Tail's recovery.

Tetsu came to stand next to Bolt, his sword held high. Together, they unleashed their attacks. A pair of Rasengan that detonated violently, puncturing the already weakened, wet sand. The Flash came next, cutting deep into the Tailed Beast's core. Great waves of sand poured off the beast as Tsuchigumo's ten puppets charged forward, spewing gouts of flame so hot that they evaporated the water and turned the fallen sand to glass in the same instant.

"It's not—"

A wave of sand rushed forward from deeper in the desert, accompanied by a howl. It was as tall as the gates of the Leaf—at least one hundred feet, if not more. A tidal wave of sand and wind. It met the puppets first, shattering them and turning them into shards of metal and plastic. Then the wave came for them.

Bolt kneeled, cupping his hands. Tetsu put one giant boot in his hands, and with the help of his Lightning Armor augmenting his strength, Bolt hurled him skyward. Hikari was next, right behind Tetsu. Tsuchigumo had evaded the wave by using chakra threads to throw himself skyward. Bolt disappeared in a burst of speed, outrunning the wave of sand and leaving footprints of molten glass in his wake.

He turned around as the wave died out, sprinting back towards the battlefield. As he did, pillars of stone erupted in his path. He was going so fast that they might have hurt him. Bolt lowered his shoulder, increasing the power of his armor, and using his element to his advantage. He barreled through the first pillar, then the second, and then the third.

Then he realized that the pillars were growing thicker and taller. They weren't pillars; they were trees. Trees of stone being thrust skyward from the mountain beneath the sand on a scale that Bolt couldn't imagine. An Earth jutsu that changed the very landscape. He started dodging, then. Leaping right and left, pushing off the pillars of stone as he made his way forward.

Bolt found his companions attempting to dodge waves of sand as they cut down the pillars of stone that threatened to hem them in or spear them. He considered using a Rasenshinsei. The technique would easily clear the Earth jutsu, he thought, but the risk was too great: either he would injure himself or his companions, and he could only use it twice, _maybe_ three times, if pushed, before being drained of chakra.

No, he would save the Rasenshinsei until it was absolutely necessary.

Tsuchigumo was summoning more puppets from more scrolls. This time, they shot arcs of electricity from their limbs. Each bolt struck down a single pillar of stone, sometimes two. Bolt added his town techniques to the mix where he could, helping clear a path.

The One-Tail loomed over them, its body bloated as it inhaled. Tetsu leapt skyward. The Tailed Beast exhaled a booming wave of wind. "Fire Release: Flash!" Tetsu roared, swinging his sword. A Flash, larger than Bolt had seen yet, arced forward. It wasn't a burst of chakra, but fire. The two techniques clashed, and for a moment, Bolt thought Tetsu's would win.

That hope was dashed as the Tailed Beast's raw destructive power proved itself. The Wind Release jutsu overpowered the Flash, connected with Tetsu, and sent the swordsman flying until he impacted a pillar of stone and fell to the ground where he did not move. "Hikari!" Bolt barked. She was already moving towards him, hands glowing green.

The One-Tail roared. Its body was mostly reformed. It had pulled in more sand from the desert, depleting the dunes. The mountain beneath them rumbled as more rock was pushed upward. Bolt turned, eyes wide, as he realized what the beast's intent was. He darted forward, but even with his Lightning Armor, was not fast enough. He saw the sand around Hikari and Tetsu rise as the point of stone emerged.

Then the two of them were hurled away before they could be ran through. Tsuchigumo had used chakra threads to keep them from harm. Bolt gave him a nod of thanks. Any lingering feelings of distrust were wiped away. If the puppeteer wanted them dead, he very well could have let them die.

Bolt turned his attention back to the One-Tail. Now, he was pissed. He raised his arm above his head, fingers splayed, and formed a Giant Rasengan. In a blur of electricity, he sprinted forward, carrying the Rasengan behind him. He ran up the Tailed Beast's arms, leaving footprints of molten glass with each footfall, and before the demon could react, slammed the Giant Rasengan into its jaw and leapt away.

The technique detonated with a concussive blast of wind laced with sand. Bolt hissed as a few stray gusts caught him and dug into his flesh. He winced as the wounds smarted with sand. The Rasengan had robbed the One-Tail of its jaw and destroyed much of its throat and chest. Bolt smirked.

Then it turned its fury on him. The ground rumbled as it turned to its side and swept its tail forward. It was deceptively fast. Bolt watched, in slow motion, as the sand struck him. Sand was much like water, in a way, he supposed. If it was slow enough, it could be displaced somewhat as you struck it. But the One-Tail was anything but slow. It was like being hit by a wall of steel. Even with his Lightning Armor augmenting his strength and durability, Bolt saw his vision go black and his ears fall deaf.

* * *

Tetsu staggered to his feet.

He had not expected the beast to defeat him in single combat.

Such a thing was unforgivable. He shrugged off the pain that radiated from the gash that ran from his left shoulder to his right ribs. It drained some of the strength from his two-handed swing, but he would redouble his efforts with more chakra.

Lady Hikari was already sprinting towards the prone form of his lord. He lay in the sand, eyes closed, stray arcs of electricity leaping from his body. He did not appear injured, but if he was, he trusted Lady Hikari to heal him.

Instead, he turned his sword to the beast that dared to bare its fangs at his lord.

Tetsu sent Flash after Flash at the creature, augmenting them with fire. He had trained more in the weeks leading up to this battle than any other in his short life, all for the sake of serving his lord faithfully. He would not fail. Another Flash. Not after finding a lord truly worth serving. One who was both powerful and benevolent. An additional Flash, gouging a strip of sand from the beast. One whose goals were noble.

The beast inhaled another great breath. This time, Tetsu would not be defeated. He would not allow it.

He poured his chakra into the technique. Like a dam falling, his energy left him in great waves. The Flash roared forward in an inferno of light and heat. A Flash greater than any other he had unleashed in his life. The gust of wind and wave of fire collided. More chakra. More fire.

Fire overcame Wind. The technique was consumed in a brilliant explosion of fire as it raced back towards the beast and consumed it, set aflame its maw. It howled like a rabid dog with a broken leg. Tetsu would put it out of its misery. More of a mercy than a creature like it deserved.

Tetsu leapt to the side as it sent a haphazard wave of sand towards him. It was a desperate, flailing attack. No skill behind it, no intent, only power. Globules of molten glass fell from the creature as it raged and flailed in an attempt to put out the fire. Tetsu darted in and cut a leg out from under it. A futile wound, as it would heal, but it would restrict the creature's movements for a time.

More of the aberrations of nature. The puppeteer called forth the mockery of the dead to fight for him. He was the worst sort of coward Tetsu could imagine. And yet, his lord chose to ally himself with the man. He swore himself to servitude. He would not protest, though he made no move to defend the aberrations nor did he avoid attacking them if they were caught in his way.

Like ants swarming a carcass, they spilled forth. Tens, then hundreds. Then thousands. More shambling corpses than Tetsu could fathom. How had the broken man's madness gone so far? How many had the creature before him slain for the broken man to rise?

"White Secret Technique: Two Thousand Puppets of the Dead," the two thousand aberrations spoke as one.

They moved with an unnatural intelligence. Tetsu had only seen such behavior in packs of wolves or rabid dogs. A wave of aberrations would leap into the fray, uncaring as they were destroyed, only to open a vulnerability for another wave to take advantage of. They attacked with fire and electricity, hoping to whittle away at the flesh of the creature and render it weakened.

Tetsu aided them grudgingly with a number of Flashes. Some, he breathed fire into.

The creature howled, and for the first time, Tetsu heard the ring of pain, not fury, in its cries.

Good.

If it felt pain, if it knew fear, if it could bleed, then it could be slain.

Tetsu felt hope that they could overcome this force of nature.

Hope turned to dread.

The creature reared back, settling on its haunches, its maw parted in a silent roar. Orbs of what he could only assume where chakra appeared, floating high above their heads, an ugly color of red and blue. They coalesced into a single sphere of purple-black chakra that Tetsu could feel its enormity physically weighing him down.

Then, the beast ate it. The creature swelled, fatter than before. Steam boiled forth from its maw.

His lord had risen. "Throw it off! Throw it off!" Lord Bolt screamed.

Tetsu hastened to follow the command. He sent a powerful Flash skyward towards the creature's exposed neck. The beady yellow eyes, full of bestial wrath, turned and settled on him. Tetsu stilled.

A keening wail filled the air. Tetsu turned. His lord was cupping his ultimate technique between the palms of his hand. "Retreat!" Lady Hikari barked, her hands glowing a soft green color as she held them to Lord Bolt's back.

Tetsu did so with great haste.

The creature reared up, a guttural growl building in its throat.

His lord hurled the Rasenshinsei at it.

The creature lowered his jaw, a blinding white-red fire burning in its belly.

The Rasenshinsei struck it on the cheek, turning its head to the south and away from them.

A beam of white-red chakra shot forth from its maw. In an instant, it crossed the distance between the beast and a dune in the far distance.

It was utterly obliterated. An explosion ripped skyward, fire to hot that it was white tinged with blue. In the next instant, a wave of air struck Tetsu and he was forced to sheathe his blade in the sand to avoid being bodily thrown. His lord was held fast by his lady and her preternatural strength.

Tetsu noted a pain in his neck. He absently wiped at it. Cherry red liquid.

Molten glass.

It rained down from above, thick as any downpour he had witnessed in the Land of Rain.

The aberrations attacked in swarms in the wake of the destruction. They continued their assault, whittling away little by little with fire.

Tetsu refused to feel fear in the face of such monstrous power. He did not fear death. If he could die with honor, that would be his dying wish. To die an honorable death in the service of his lord. Another Flash. Two. Three. The creature was shedding its flesh in sloppy waves of molten glass.

It roared. Angry. Pained. A colossal wave of sand that spiraled outward from its body. It swept away countless aberrations. Tetsu leapt, clearing the attack, delivering another Flash, landed on the balls of his feet, and sent an additional Flash at the overextended leg.

Tetsu stumbled. Their efforts had borne fruit. The sand had receded, baring the mountain of stone beneath the desert. He adjusted his footing for the new terrain.

There was a humming. A buzz in the air that made his ears twitch. It started subtle, at first, then grew in intensity. The rock beneath his feet shifted. The ground rumbled. Tetsu stilled. The stone beneath his boots began to rise.

"Get to the sand!" Bolt called out.

Tetsu frowned. The beast was forcing them to move to a battlefield that favored it. The stone rose more, until it was beginning to ascend skyward. Tetsu leapt, clearing the distance between the rock and desert floor below in a single bound. He swept his sword out as he fell, sending another Flash at the creature.

His lord appeared next to him in a blur of speed. "Distract the One-Tail," he wheezed.

"Yes, my lord," Tetsu spoke. He turned to face the beast as his lord cupped his hands, forming another Rasenshinsei.

Tetsu saw the reasoning in his actions: the beast was going to drop the mountain on them, quite literally. They would not survive such an attack. Better to destroy it now, before it ascends skyward.

Flames trailed along the flat of his blade as he swung and unleashed a fiery Flash that turned a swath of sand to glass.

The sound of the mountain as it was brought low by a concussive blast of thunder resonated in his skull. He blinked as spots blackened his vision. Tetsu sent another Flash at the beast, and turned to face his lord. He rested on one knee, heaving for breath. His ultimate technique, though powerful, was costly. Tetsu knew that his lord had expansive reserves of chakra; it was the defining characteristic of their clan. It was all the more harrowing because of that fact.

Lady Hikari darted forward, joining him in glorious battle. She lashed out with a kick that destroyed a leg of sand. The beast roared, and the shards of stone raining down upon them from the explosion righted themselves and fell upon the two of them. Tetsu sent a Flash skyward, destroying a large swath of them. Lady Hikari used a widespread Lightning jutsu to destroy the ones that he missed.

More of the aberrations came forward as the puppeteer sent his flock into battle once more. There were fewer, now, but they still numbered in the thousands—twelve-hundred, perhaps. They spewed fire upon the beast.

Then it fell. It collapsed in a great pile of sand, spreading outward and consuming the puppets. Hundreds were destroyed in an instant. Tetsu sent a Flash forward, but it did little to the writhing dunes of sand. Lord Bolt and Lady Hikari sent arcs of lightning into the sand, turning it molten.

The ground beneath him rumbled once more. Tetsu took a step backwards.

The sand reared up, encasing his leg up to the knee. Strange blue-black markings crawled forth. A voice, as if carried by the desert wind, echoed. _"Sand Burial!"_

Pain.

* * *

Bolt felt his chest heave with exertion as he unleashed the second Rasenshinsei. His chakra dipped, dangerously low. Two was his limit. A third would have been weak. A powerful attack, to be sure, but not one worth consuming the remnants of his chakra.

The world was crawling forward slowly as he observed it with his augmented senses. Shards of stone rained down, still, after he had destroyed the part of the mountain that the One-Tail had been attempting to raise.

Bolt cupped one hand, forming a Rasengan in it. He was careful to ration his chakra; just enough to be destructive, not enough to drain him. He could make, maybe, five more. Six in total. He hurled it. It disappeared the instant it left his palm, and a moment later, struck the One-Tail square where it had hidden in the dunes. "Attack there!" Bolt barked.

The puppet army, which had surprised him, hurried to obey. Whether they obeyed, or Tsuchigumo had heard him, he did not know. Another wave of sand obliterated a hundred puppets as they spewed fire. Bolt could feel the numb sensation of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. They weren't winning. The Tailed Beast took everything they threw at it, and then some, and it kept getting back up. They were failing.

Bolt couldn't stand failure. He had orchestrated this plan with every intention of victory. Still, he was nothing if not thorough; planning for every possibility. Including the possibility in which they failed to capture the One-Tail. Bolt could only hope that did not come to pass and he was not forced to take desperate measures. But he wouldn't sacrifice the lives of Hikari and Tetsu in a vain, desperate attempt at victory. No, he would give his life to defeat the Tailed Beast if that possibility came to pass.

He just hoped it wouldn't.

There was one thing Bolt hated about the slowed sense of time. It meant he got to watch everything as it happened, knowing that he couldn't do anything to stop it. Most of the time, he was fast enough to act. But, sometimes, like earlier, he wasn't. This was the latter. His Byakugan could see every grain of sand as it rose up, circling around Tetsu's leg. Could see the spread of the eerie seal as crawled forward. Then, in an instant, the sand compacted. There was a spray of blood and an unintelligible growl of pain.

Tetsu fell to one knee, sending a vicious Flash, augmented by fire, at the dune he had marked in retaliation. "Hikari!" Bolt barked. She was already running to the swordsman's side. With her augmented strength, she pulled him from the sand and leapt away before it could ensnare her. Then she set to healing the injury.

The One-Tail was reforming. They still hadn't dealt enough damage to subdue it. Too dangerous to use the Kettle. If the Tailed Beast destroyed it, they would all die. Bolt couldn't let that happen. He had to weaken it. Do more damage.

He bit his thumb and pressed it to the palm of his free hand. Two messenger hawks appeared in a wisp of smoke. He pressed a finger to the seal on his forearm and summoned two scrolls. The hawks took flight, and he hurled the scrolls to them. They unfurled as they flew, but the hawks caught them all the same. They flew skyward, high above the towering height of the One-Tail, then began to circle him.

Bolt made a hand sign. Kunai rained from above, explosive tags flailing from their pommels. Bolt cupped his hands, forming two more Vanishing Rasengans. The One-Tail looked up, roared, and exhaled a gust of wind that eviscerated the hawks and their payload in an instant. By the time the Tailed Beast looked back down, Bolt hurled the two spheres of chakra at it.

They did little more than superficial damage. Sand began to flood over his boots. Bolt leapt to avoid suffering the same fate as Tetsu. Tsuchigumo was having his puppets crawl over each other, like ants forming bridges, as they attacked the One-Tail with a zeal. Bolt spied a handful of odd puppets, no more than five. They were bloated, like ticks, with eight limbs. The other puppets acted like shields, taking gusts of wind and lances of sand in place of the bloated puppets as others still ferried them forward without touching the sand.

When they were close enough, they leapt. They made contact with the sand, and then began to burrow. Bolt could see the sand compact, threatening to crush them, but failing. They dug deeper and deeper, seeking that core of vile chakra in the very center of the Tailed Beast. Bolt could see cracks appear on their shells with his Byakugan. Tsuchigumo, apparently, sensed their demise.

They exploded.

A concussive blast of wind laced with sand Bolt in the chest, sending him sprawling. He was on his feet an instant later, wary for any retaliation on the One-Tail's part. None came. He dared to hope. He could see the core of vile chakra, still intact, sand coalescing around it. "It's still alive!" Bolt yelled. He didn't dare delude himself that they could _kill_ a Tailed Beast. But it had suffered quite the blow.

"Can we seal it?" Tsuchigumo barked. His voice was stronger, more confident, than Bolt had ever heard. He supposed revenge was quite therapeutic.

"I think so!" Bolt yelled.

"Do it!" Tsuchigumo rattled.

Bolt bit his thumb again, weaving the five hand signs. He slapped his hand to the sand as his blood flowed outward, creating a sealing matrix. He felt his chakra dip, again, as he transported an object nearly as large as a house and composed entirely of chakra to the battlefield. A useful addition to the Kettle's functionality.

The Kettle appeared in a billowing cloud of smoke. Bolt placed one hand on the handle, and Shūichi appeared—in body only—opposite him, placing his hand on the handle. The two of them formed a half Ram sign with their free hands.

Bolt felt faint as even more of his chakra was drained from his body. The Kettle was a void as it devoured everything they could give it, insatiable in its hunger. From the spout a chakra poured forth, so dense that it was more liquid than energy. It moved slow, crawling, almost sluggish. Bolt felt his knees go weak and his vision tunnel. He shook his head, determined to see things through.

The sand cleared as a gust of wind raced across the desert.

Bolt's heart stopped.

The One-Tail, much smaller than earlier, was seated on its haunches. It couldn't have been much larger than a house, but what struck the fear of death into him was the sphere of purple-black chakra coalescing before its maw.

He couldn't move. The world slowed to a crawl, albeit for very different reasons than normally. If he moved, saved himself, the attack would surely destroy the Kettle—or damage it irreparably. Even if he ran, there was no guarantee he would escape the blast radius. And even if he did... Bolt glanced sideways. Hikari and Tetsu. They wouldn't have a chance.

There wasn't enough time.

His armor sparked to life, weak, barely augmenting his speed. Bolt wanted to be angry, but he needed focus. Ten hand signs. Snake. Boar. Ram. Rabbit...

The One-Tail threw its head forward. The sphere of chakra started to move forward. He wasn't going to make it. Tsuchigumo lashed out with both hands, abandoning the Kettle. The pool of chakra emitted from the Kettle dissipated.

The Tailed Beast's head jerked up and to the left, slightly.

It was enough.

The attack went wide. Bolt could feel his skin blister as the sphere passed him. But their group was not so lucky to escape. The attack clipped a group of puppets several hundred feet away. The air went still, and an explosion rended the desert.

Bolt's vision went white.

When he could see again, he was lying face down in the sand. Something heavy dug into his back. Instincts, primal and raw, sent him into action. Bolt flailed, pulling himself up so he could breathe. He tossed the weight off his back. Cursory glance: Shūichi. A ruined, mangled pile of steel and plastics in a vaguely human shape. He had shielded him. Bolt wasn't sure how to feel. He was numb. Shūichi was a person, perhaps, under the guise of a puppet. Tsuchigumo had sacrificed Shūichi to save him. Whether the man in question wanted to die or not.

Bolt realized he couldn't see everything at once. He must have lost consciousness, briefly. His eyes faded from blue to white as his Byakugan manifested itself once more. The Kettle was encased in a massive—what he could only assume to be puppet—more like a suit of armor than anything else. It was intact, as far as he could tell. Hikari and Tetsu were packed into a much smaller, barrel-chested puppet. They were crammed together awkwardly. Hikari sported an angry burn that ran the length of her right arm to her shoulder and neck.

He coughed. The One-Tail loomed over them, still, as sand flowed in from the surrounding area and built upon itself. He was reforming his body. It stopped as it saw him look up at it. Beady yellow eyes, full of cruelty and mirth, staring down upon him. A raspy, guttural grating echoed from the creature.

It was laughing at him.

Bolt glared at the Tailed Beast with such anger, such hate, that it should have dropped dead. He wanted it to die. He was angered more when it didn't.

The creature laughed at him again. **"Uncle Hamura's eyes,"** it said, its voice unfathomably deep. Bolt didn't know who "Hamura" was. Still, more sand flowed into its body. **"You humans are all the same."**

Bolt wanted to say something. Couldn't. Couldn't think of the words. Couldn't find the will, the courage, to speak before the monstrosity before him. The sand began to settle, as the Tailed Beast assumed its full might and majesty. **"Only three of you understand. The rest, before the great me, can die,"** it spoke.

Sand began to crawl forward. Bolt couldn't move. A crescent wave of fire arced forward, striking the One-Tail square in the chest. A Flash. Unlike before, the sand did not melt. Bolt saw Tetsu, crawling forward with one good arm and leg, whilst he held his sword in his free hand. Hikari was limping after him. They were both injured and low on chakra. He was injured and low on chakra.

The One-Tail laughed again. Mocking and guttural. It opened its maw, and more orbs of black and blue chakra began to coalesce. They were forming another one of the bombs from before. Bolt glanced around. There was nothing they could do. Hikari and Tetsu were too injured. He didn't have chakra for a Rasenshinsei. Tsuchigumo and most of his puppets were destroyed. He didn't have the time nor the chakra to use the Kettle.

They were going to die.

The bomb built upon itself, larger and larger. Larger than any attack before. The Tailed Beast was going to erase them. It thought of them in much the same way Bolt might think of stepping on an ant. A pest to be eradicated. Overwhelming power beyond mere mortal comprehension.

It was oddly calming. For some reason, he didn't fear death. Bolt knew he should. It was the most primal fear, but he didn't. It was a freedom, in a way. A release from the hardships of living. The fūinjutsu scroll the Uzukage gifted him spoke of death. Of how their clan, despite living longer than others, were always attuned with death. Was this his Uzumaki blood singing in his veins?

But death would mean failure, and Bolt swore to himself that he would never fail again. The look of sheer disappointment in his father's eyes as he held his wrist aloft for the entire world to see flashed through his mind. But there wasn't enough time. Not enough time to call upon the patron deity of his clan. That was his last resort. The one assurance he had that the people he cared about would come out of this venture alive.

Looking back, Bolt couldn't be sure if it had been the desperation or the calm that had helped him more. Perhaps both. He'd like to think it had been both. He reached for his Yang chakra, already set aboil by the life or death situation. It could feel the shadow of death looming over it, and was ready to do anything to avoid being swallowed by that darkness. In his mind, he could clearly see it, that all-consuming, all-encompassing picture of the nature of fūinjutsu. That idea, the concept, that tiny spark of Yin chakra in his mind, was consumed by the Yang chakra in his body before it could flee his thoughts.

Bolt experienced a sensation not unlike that of being stretched. Like he was being pulled in every direction at once, his chakra becoming thin in alarming ways. Something in him, an instinct, maybe, told him he needed to direct the feeling. One thought came to mind: chains.

The result was near instantaneous. He went from being pulled in every direction, to being thrust forward. There was a brief flash of discomfort, not quite pain, as something left his chest. It was an odd feeling. Like walking through water. Only the water was walking through him. A single spectral chain of flaming chakra erupted from his chest, shot forward, and wrapped around the snout of the Tailed Beast before either it or Bolt knew what had happened.

Then the chain contracted.

The curved fangs of its maw met the purple-black chakra of the bomb gathering before it.

The explosion was blinding and deafening.

Thankfully, mercifully, it detonated skyward. And in the process, it obliterated nearly three quarters of the One-Tail. It was simply gone. Sand sluggishly gathered around what remained of its body, but it was slow to gather and even slower to reform. Bolt could see the core of vile chakra remained with his Byakugan.

A familiar warmth pulsed through him; his Yang chakra. He found the strength to stand. He peered down at the chain that was connected to his body by the sternum. He expected it to hurt, but it didn't. The chain lay limp in the sand, without purpose. Bolt couldn't help but be pleased, despite the situation. He had fretted over his clan's bloodline for naught. He'd succeeded, triumphed, when it had counted. He would never again experience the failure of the Chūnin Exams.

Bolt wondered how he was supposed to control it. The scroll had been vague on how, exactly, the Adamantine Sealing Chains functioned. He supposed that was the true test.

As if responding to the mere thought, the chain responded. Once again, Bolt felt the odd sensation of having water flow through his body as the chain retracted, coiling within his chest. The end came into view, a single tip of a spear resting at the end. Bolt watched as the spiked spectral steel retracted. He thought of it stopping, before it disappeared entirely. It did. Then it dragged itself across his chest, up his shoulder, and down his arm before coming to rest in the palm of his hand.

Bolt admired the color. It reminded him of the Byakugan, in a way. A light violet color that bordered upon being white. It flickered with an incorporeal fire at each link in the chain.

A pained moan was carried by the desert wind. Bolt turned his attention to the still-forming Tailed Beast. He twirled the end of the chain, but felt no resistance from the air. With a thought, he swung his arm out. The chain extended as if it were an extension of his limb. He whipped the writhing dune of sand with it, then reeled it back in.

The howl of pain reverberated in his skull. Bolt watched as a wave of sand fell from the Tailed Beast's body, devoid of its vile chakra. It did not rise. Did not move. The corrupt chakra moved to reclaim the sand, but failed, like trying to grasp smoke with its bare hands.

Bolt raised his arm and whipped the One-Tail again, and again, and again, and again. The howls started out furious, angry, but descended into whimpers of pain and something else. Something Bolt couldn't quite discern. He whipped the downed beast again. He was able to make out that little emotion he couldn't before: fear.

It was a reversal of roles. Bolt might have laughed, but he was still riding the adrenaline from nearly being obliterated and turned into bits and pieces even less than ash. With his Byakugan, he could see that ugly core of brown, black, and red chakra; weak, whittled down by his Adamantine Sealing Chain, but still there. He threw out his chain, binding it, and dragged it out. He marched back to the Kettle.

"Tetsu! Hikari!" Bolt barked. They were watching him with wide eyes. "Open the armor! Now!"

Tetsu stood, ignoring his mangled leg, and hastened to cut away the armored puppet shielding the Kettle. Bolt clenched his fist, and the chain squeezed the core of the One-Tail. There was a whimper, but it was lost to the wind.

Bolt staggered forward, yanking the chain and pulling the Tailed Beast closer. A glance backwards revealed a ghost of an angry red chakra being impaled by the spearhead of his chain. Bolt strode around the body of the Kettle, yanking the chain again, and standing next to the handle. "I'll need your help," he said, nodding to the handle.

Hikari and Tetsu nodded grimly, placing their hands on the handle. Bolt flinched as something brushed against his boot. Looking down, he saw that Shūichi, or what remained of him, had pulled his body close to the Kettle. He had only one limb, his right arm. His jaw, hanging by torn flesh and shattered metal, chattered as if trying to speak, but was unable. Bolt nodded.

Together, the four of them placed their hands on the handle. Belt felt his chakra being drained once more, and he felt light and faint. He knew that was bad. Knew it meant he was dangerously close to receiving a one way trip to the Pure Lands. But he had to try. Again, the liquid chakra flowed from the spout. It flowed forward, slowly, and Bolt couldn't afford to waste time when they were all so low on chakra.

He yanked the chain again, reeling it in and dragging the Tailed Beast's chakra forward. There was a roar, equal parts pain and fear and hate. He felt the vile chakra try to escape his grasp, but he wasn't about to let it. The chain went slack, for a moment, then coiled around the chakra. Bolt squeezed, simultaneously digging the spikes of the chain into the mass and thrusting the spearhead deeper.

He yanked, and the mass of hateful chakra met the liquid combination of his four companions' collective chakra. The chain went slack, albeit for very different reasons. Like dirt, the Tailed Beast's chakra mixed with the chakra of the Kettle and turned it muddy. Then it began to flow back into the Kettle, slowly but surely.

Bolt could have imagined it, but he thought he heard a voice in the wind screaming for mercy.

He ignored it.

Bolt sighed in relief. For a long few minutes, he stood there, perfectly still, in disbelief that the monster had actually been sealed. Danger passed, he heard his blood roaring in his ears and a headache pounding in his skull with the beat of his heart. With a thought, he dispelled the chain.

Almost immediately, he sagged and fell to his knees. He could have fought it, but didn't. Instead, he threw himself backwards and sprawled in the sand.

Bolt laughed. After a few moments, Hikari and Tetsu joined him, sitting in the sand and laughing at nothing in particular. Revelling in the moment, the victory. Neither were the type of person to laugh. Bolt took a moment to memorize the sounds. He doubted he'd hear Tetsu laugh again. He was too serious for his own good. It was a deep, powerful laugh, from the gut. Hikari was more of a poorly suppressed giggle; crystalline and chiming.

"I don't think it's that funny," a voice spoke.

Bolt snapped to attention. A glimpse of white-silver hair. A flash of purple light.

Pain.

Bolt felt the muscles in his body spasm outside of his control. He heard the screams of Hikari and Tetsu. Distantly, he heard his own scream. In some primal part of his brain, he knew he was being attacked by a Lightning jutsu. Felt his body coil in anticipation of controlling the current as it ran through him, just like when he used his Lightning Armor. But he was too weak. Drained physically and emotionally; drained of chakra.

The pain ended, leaving him gasping for breath. Bolt got the impression that even if he had at full strength, this Lightning jutsu would have hurt him—Lightning Armor or not. There was something about it, some _more_ , than regular electricity. Bolt raised his head weakly.

Long silver-white hair. Lazy, half-closed eyes as black as coal. Scar marring his left side. Mask concealing him from the nose down.

Kakashi Hatake. The Sixth Hokage.

Fuck.

Bolt blinked. He hoped, prayed, that this was some sort of delusion brought on by the desert, by his exhaustion. Shit, he would even take a genjutsu as a final "fuck you" by the One-Tail. He checked his pathways. No genjutsu. He opened his eyes. Kakashi was still there. No, this was reality.

Kakashi looked down on him; judge, jury, and executioner.

Bolt staggered to his feet through sheer force of will. He spied Hikari and Tetsu. They were unconscious, their clothes charred and smoking.

"I didn't kill them," Kakashi spoke.

Bolt turned his gaze on him. "You can't be here," he said. "It's not fair."

Kakashi chuckled under his mask, mirthless. "Life isn't fair," he said.

Bolt steeled himself. "I won't go down without a fight," he warned.

Kakashi sighed. "I know. Geniuses never do," he said. "Listen. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Both end in you coming back to the Leaf. The difference is the amount of pain you're in."

Bolt grinned, feral. "Option three: I kill you, and go free," he hissed.

Kakashi shook his head and let a weary sigh escape his lips. "You've broken nearly every war crime we have a law for, Bolt. I was going to ask for lenience on your behalf, but after seeing your actions here, I think I'll keep quiet. Have it your way," he said, slipping into a stance.

Bolt didn't even see the kick. One moment, he was there, then, his shin connected with his skull. Bolt saw double. Two silver haired men. They both punched him at the same time, and his vision went black. He staggered, falling to one knee. His vision was nothing but pinpricks of sand.

No.

Not like this. Never like this. Consciousness flooded back into his muddled mind. His eyes snapped open, and he could see the surprise in the Sixth Hokage's face. "No! I refuse to be defeated! I will not fail! I am not a failure!" Bolt snarled.

He lashed out, sending a lance of precious chakra through his fingers. Kakashi leapt out of the way well before the attack hit. Bolt dragged himself to his feet, chest heaving, burning with exhaustion. His vision was growing dark in the rims. He had so very little chakra left. But, even if it killed him, he was going to use it.

His Lightning Armor sparked to life with a vengeance, a pale shadow of what its true power was. But it was enough. Lightning coalesced in his right hand. He would beat the legendary Kakashi Hatake, the Copy Ninja, with his own technique.

Poetic justice.

Bolt smirked, more of a grimace. Kakashi held one hand towards the ground, another holding his wrist as he, too, built up the charge needed. He rose to the bait.

It was his loss. His armor would protect him from the technique. Bolt charged, fist extended.

Kakashi rose his free arm, knocking his own up. The Raikiri still cut through flesh. His forearm, then digging deep into his shoulder. Crimson stained the Sixth Hokage's shirt.

Pain.

Bolt staggered back. His hands flew to his stomach. He felt something wet and hot as a metallic scent caught his nose. He was bleeding. "No, that's impossible," Bolt murmured, falling to one knee. His armor was supposed to protect him. He curled into a ball, lying down. He felt his remaining energy leave him.

Kakashi appeared in his vision. "I'm a little disappointed," he said. "I thought you would be able to copy the technique. I created Raikiri when trying to apply nature transformation to the Rasengan. You forgot the most important part: shape manipulation. It was designed during the height of the Third War. My teacher frequently fought the man that would become the Fourth Raikage. This technique was born solely to kill that man; to cut lightning. Lightning Cutter, as the name suggests."

Bolt groaned, and he couldn't fight the darkness any longer. "Don't worry. I'll patch you up," Kakashi's voice echoed.

* * *

Kakashi sighed, weary, as he sat next to Naruto's son. He had stopped the bleeding, applied first aid. It wouldn't be enough for him to recover from without a proper doctor. But it would keep him alive, for the time being. He had nearly had a heart attack several times as the kid's heart fluttered on the verge of stopping.

He was tired, and injured, even before they had fought.

Kakashi didn't blame him. His eyes fell to the Kettle, and ultimately, what now lay inside. A Tailed Beast. The first one to be sealed since the end of the Fourth War. He didn't even know to how to begin explaining what, exactly, had happened in the Land of Wind. Naruto was going to go insane, that was for certain. Torn between his son and his love of the Tailed Beasts.

Kakashi didn't envy his position. He was glad, more than ever, that he had retired. And, per their deal, this time he truly would be retired. He didn't expect another call unless there was an enemy marching on the Leaf's gates. Anything less, and he'd tell them to fuck off.

The wind howled, catching his bloodied arm. Kakashi winced. Weak as he had been, Bolt still packed quite the punch. It was scary, in a way. Kakashi wondered if he could beat him in an even fight. A part of him, a part he thought he didn't have anymore, longed to find out. It reminded him of Gai, in a way, without the silly camaraderie the two of them shared. A competition he actually wanted to compete in.

Bolt reminded him of too many people. The chains he had witnessed brought painful memories of Kushina to mind. His genius reminded him of Minato. His attitude reminded him of Obito, and not the kind, younger Obito he had known in his childhood. The twisted, broken Obito. That worried him. There was a little bit of Naruto in him, however much both father and son would try to deny it. That he had made two friends, possibly three, who would follow him into battle against a Tailed Beast spoke highly of him.

Worst was that Kakashi could see himself in Bolt's fatalism.

Kakashi stood, stretching. He eyed the Kettle one more time. He would be unable to carry it. His mission, first and foremost, was Bolt. His gaze settled on Bolt's companions. He couldn't take them, either. They would have to be picked up by the same people who retrieved the Kettle and the Tailed Beast inside. He didn't think they were in danger of dying, but he checked on them just to be safe.

Better that Bolt not think his friends had died in this wasteland. He would make their lives as miserable as possible back in the Leaf if he did. This way, Kakashi could reassure him with a clean conscience.

Kakashi felt it. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a pit in his gut, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He leapt. A mass of something, writhing and glowing a brilliant white-blue, struck the sand where he had been standing. He'd learned to trust his instincts. He was glad he did.

It was a boy, deathly thin, all skin and bones. Couldn't have been much older than Bolt. Fifteen to seventeen. Hair as white as snow, blinding in the light of the desert sun. Dressed in rags. Looked more like a beggar than an enemy. "I can't let you take them," the boy said. Kakashi heard the steel in his voice, even as it trembled. "Not after they helped me."

"Bolt Uzumaki is a rogue ninja of the Leaf and a wanted criminal. I'm acting on official Union business," Kakashi lied. Better to a mix a truth in. People more readily believed the lies, then.

"I don't care," the boy spoke, shuffling as he divested himself of his coat. It was an old white lab coat, maybe, though it had been stained and torn so much that it was ragged and threadbare. It couldn't have provided any warmth. A momento, maybe?

He wasn't wearing a shirt underneath. Kakashi caught a flash of steel. The boy hunched over. His eyes widened. The boy was missing his spine. A metal groove ran from his neck to the small of his back, open to the air. Inside, nothing but a mass of writhing blue-white threads existed. No bone.

They shot out, plunging into the desert sand. Pieces of metal and plastic rose; an arm here, a leg there, a warped blade over there. Kakashi stilled. The puppeteer. He thought that the puppeteer had perished in the fighting, but he hadn't. Still, more chakra threads shot out. So numerous that they were visible in thick cords.

Kakashi took a step backwards. Puppeteers were always limited by the number of puppets they could control. The most powerful learned to control a single puppet with one digit. The freaks of nature, like Sasori, warped their body to accommodate more. But this. This was something else. Too many threads to count.

The threads coalesced, forming eight legs. The boy was lifted from the ground, as if flying. Around him, mangled carcasses of hundreds of puppets rose from the sand. Grains flowed from empty eye sockets and gaping maws. None were intact, but all were armed and dangerous unless utterly destroyed.

Kakashi swore under his breath. He was tired and injured. Tired from making the trek from the Wind Temple to the far north where Shukaku had last been sighted. Tired from using Purple Electricity and Raikiri. He felt his age weigh heavily on him. The flesh wounds Bolt had inflicted on him hurt like a bitch, and they wouldn't stop bleeding.

He was in no condition to fight a virtually limitless army of puppets.

Still, Naruto was counting on him. He wouldn't fail his student. He sprinted forward, drawing a kunai as he cradled his wounded arm to his chest. The puppets surged forward like a tide while their master creeped backwards. He deflected a blade from the maw of a chattering, decapitated head. Sent a kick towards the armless, headless body that fractured its sternum. Swept the legs out from underneath a mostly intact puppet armed with two flamethrowers in the palms of its hands. It spewed fire aimlessly, consuming a handful of other puppets and spare parts before the puppeteer could reclaim control.

Kakashi darted between the flames and the puppets as he ran forward. He ducked under the swing of a sword, rolled onto his back, and then kicked the puppet's chin skyward and was rewarded with a crack as it was destroyed. Leaping to his feet, he weaved between a trio of puppets with vicious, clawed fingers. The air hissed as the steel passed. Kakashi systematically cut them down whilst avoiding the growing mass of puppets circling him.

He realized that this was not a fight of attrition he wanted to fight. He dispatched another puppet, rolled, and hurled his kunai at the puppeteer. It stopped, midair, after travelling only a few feet. The kunai reversed directions and was hurled back at him with surprising force. Kakashi narrowly avoided being stabbed. Damn chakra threads.

He was going to have to use chakra. Kakashi huffed. He weaved hand signs faster than most people could follow with their eyes. "Lightning Release: Purple Electricity," he intoned. He gave it more chakra, let it vacuum in just a miniscule amount of natural chakra, and released it.

Lightning shot from his fingertips, a brilliant shade of neon purple. It arced from puppet to puppet, honing in on the metal like a lightning rod.

The puppeteer descended to the ground, wrapping himself in a dense cocoon of chakra threads. The attack reached him, striking true, electricity flowing along each thread and, presumably, electrocuting the puppeteer within. Kakashi hoped.

His hopes were dashed. The puppeteer emerged, singed and haggard, but very much alive and not unconscious. Kakashi cursed, withdrawing a handful of shuriken and hurling them. Like the kunai, they too were arrested by countless, innumerable chakra threads.

The army of puppets were swarming him again. Kakashi was a dervish of punches and kicks as he destroyed them. A puppet that spun on the tips of its toes, blades sticking out from every orifice on its body. A puppet that shot electricity from its fingertips and the dome of its skull. A puppet, much akin to a spider, that leapt around the battlefield spreading a web of razor wire. A giant puppet with a sword—

Kakashi felt his fist connect with flesh. Not metal, not plastic, not synthetic flesh. Skin, with muscle underneath and blood flowing through its veins. A person. Red hair and eyes, snarling, sword swinging. Kakashi found his eyes wandering to where Bolt's companions lay. One was missing. He cursed.

He saw the puppeteer twitch his fingers. The sword thundered towards him. Kakashi dodged. A crescent of chakra shot forward, nearly eviscerating him. He dropped back, hurling a handful of shuriken at close range. The swordsman was surprisingly quick, batting each one away. The look of sheer anger in his eyes surprised Kakashi.

His eyes found the mangled leg. Ah. So that was how it was. The puppeteer was controlling the swordsman; helping him move. A bad leg meant bad footing, which meant a weaker swing. They were covering each other's weaknesses: the swordsman, his body, and the puppeteer, his lack of minions.

But Kakashi wasn't fooled. The swordsman was on his last legs, so to speak. Both literally and figuratively. He could defeat him, then take out the puppeteer. His eyes were drawn to a series of rapid hand movements by the puppeteer. Too many to just be the swordsman and the remaining scraps of destroyed puppets.

The swordsman sheathed his sword. Kakashi paused. Then started moving with a newfound haste. "Iaidō: Fire Release: Flash!"

Kakashi felt his skin blister and char as a wave of roaring fire crossed no further than an inch from his nose. Felt the fibers of his mask melting. He hopped backwards, putting distance between him and the swordsman so he had more time to react.

The puppeteer was doing the hand movements again. What were they—Kakashi turned. The masked girl. Eyes closed. A foot away. Unconscious, but controlled by the puppeteer. He could handle her. An unconscious human puppet was little better than a regular puppet. In some situations worse, because they were less durable and not expandable.

She swung a fist at him. Kakashi raised an arm to block. It was a glancing blow, bouncing off his forearm.

He felt every bone in his right arm shatter, and many in his shoulder. Kakashi gasped as he was sent bodily flying, rolling across the desert sands. He grunted as he forced himself to keep moving. Keep fighting.

Kakashi looked up. Arms, legs, and skulls of the defeated puppets bobbed in the air all around him. Each equipped with a bladed weapon.

They descended.

The last thing he saw was the puppeteer ferrying off the Kettle, along with an unconscious Bolt, into the wasteland.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Phew. This one was a doozy. Not quite the longest in terms of words, but it's pretty important in terms of content. I hope I managed to meet everyone's expectations. Bolt was a little naive in thinking he was ready to take on a Tailed Beast, even with help. But it all worked out in the end without being too deus ex machina, I hope. I didn't want to leave my readers hanging, so I worked more than I normally do to get this chapter done in about a day. Enjoy!

Little more information to be gleaned about Tsuchigumo from this chapter. A (the) Tsuchigumo was a yokai in Japanese mythology. The 2000 puppets are a reference to the demon whom he gets his name from. When slain, Tsuchigumo spilled forth ~2000 skulls from his belly. Eagle-eyed readers might notice the white motif (the demon was said to have bled white blood when wounded) which extends to Tsuchigumo's hair and manner of dress, as well as his puppet technique (which is a hint all its own).

Mariposa — Thanks! You asked a bit too many questions to answer in a note, but I'd be glad to talk if you make an account. I've been trying to keep my notes shorter recently, since it bloats word count.


	47. Chapter 47

Tsuchigumo stood over Bolt. Needle in his right hand, spool of thread in the left.

Had to be careful. Not a puppet. Human body needed to be preserved. Damage to the lower intestines healed. Placed back into abdominal cavity in a similar pattern he had discovered in most men aged thirteen to nineteen. No complications from surgery expected. Would have to keep an eye out. Minor tissue damage to the internal oblique muscle and the rectus abdominis. Second-degree burns of the epidermis. Would need salve to avoid scarring.

A mental twitch sent a chakra thread snaking out from his back, finding a workable puppet. He sent it into the desert to find a herb. Would make salve later. Needed more puppets. Too many lost in fight against Tailed Beast.

Tsuchigumo finished sewing the wound on Bolt's abdomen shut.

Moving on.

Hikari. Avoid removing mask. Human reacts violently to such behavior. Burns stemming from the tips of the fingers to the bottom of the ear. Need to gather more herbs. Resits medical ninjutsu. Resists medical fūinjutsu. Resists medication. Likely to resist salve. No need for puppet to gather more than needed for one person. Tsuchigumo adjusted the orders he had given his creation. Theory: wound inflicted by Tailed Beast did not heal properly. Would need to investigate. His wrist twitched, causing an instrument in his lab to fly into the palm of his hand. Tsuchigumo held it to his eye.

The world became a kaleidoscope of colors; all blues and whites and every tint and shade of the two. Foreign chakra identified. Anomaly: skewed chakra color. Note to self: Tailed Beast chakra can be identified by color; assumes a mixture of black, brown, and red. Diagnosis: extraction. His hands glowed green. Dangerous. Needed to be precise. Couldn't afford to siphon chakra from subject. Tsuchigumo shivered. A chakra thread from his back fastened the augmented vision lense to his face. He focussed on removing the foreign chakra.

It was a slow process. Note to self: Tailed Beast chakra resists being removed from the wounds it inflicts. Required more time to remove than task of normal difficulty. Need more experience for future wounds. Note to self: improve strength and fine movements of Mystical Palm.

Foreign chakra removed. Estimated time since conflict: fifteen hours, twelve minutes, twenty-five seconds. Wound will scar. Resists treatment after extraction of foreign chakra. Unfortunate. Note to self: have puppet body explain injuries to subjects. Chance that female lashes out in anger: forty-four percent. Administer minor sedative.

Moving on.

Tetsu. Minor electrical burns across the torso. Conclusion: bore the brunt of the Sixth Hokage's ambush. Would need more herbs, after all. Tsuchigumo adjusted the instructions he had sent his puppet. Through its eyes, he could see it gathering flowering herbs atop an outcropping of rock. Minor scrapes, bruises, and cuts. Will heal on their own. Leg. Extreme damage. Crushed by compacted sand. Would need to disinfect the wound. Remove grains. Done. Shards of bone embedded in flesh. Remove shards. Subject bleeding heavily. Stem the flow of blood. A twitch. A puppet fetched a bag of O-negative blood. Subject no longer in danger.

Examining fine tissue damage. Tendons intact. Good. Prothesis not needed. Muscle tissue damaged but salvageable. Bone destroyed from the shin down. Tibia and fibula still attached at the knee. Conclusion: subject was fortunate for intervention during attack. Amputation likely if knee had been damaged. Would need to graft bone substitute. Troublesome. Painful. A twitch. A puppet fetched a tank of gas, stretching a mask over Tetsu's face. Sedated. A twitch. Restraints tightened on arms, legs, chest, and skull.

A twitch. More tools. Inserting graft. Bolting it to the bone. Subject thrashing. More sedatives. Subject unconscious. Attaching muscle and tendons. Sewing wounds. Tsuchigumo paused. Subject not fit for movement or combat. Conclusion: disable movement of leg. Medical ninjutsu applied to disable nervous system access to leg. Affixing cast. Leg immobilized.

Tsuchigumo stood back. All three subjects recovering. He paused. Augmentations? Subjects displaying typical human weaknesses. Prothesis augmentation could alleviate pain and improve performance. He stood over Bolt.

Conclusion: subjects unlikely to appreciate modification without approval. Conclusion: obtain written permission.

Theory: subjects likely to be pursued by enemy forces. Calculating. A twitch. Puppets stationed at the entrance permitted to use lethal force. A twitch. Puppets stationed to watch over subjects. A twitch. Children stationed in villages on watch for foreign ninja.

No response. Sadness. Children summoned for battle against Tailed Beast perished. Anger. Sadness. Emptiness. Determination. Organic samples saved. Can rebuild. Families mended. A twitch. Steel and plastics assembled. Fūinjutsu ink. Brushes. Human blood. Organic samples. First name. Kyoko Akimoto. Female. Age: thirteen. Hair: black. Eyes: brown. Weight: one hundred and ten pounds. Height: fifty-nine inches. Crafting skeleton. Applying tissue. Seals. Chakra.

Child is non-responsive. Diagnosis: shortage of chakra. Drained from fight with Tailed Beast.

Conclusion: rest.

* * *

There was a certain prestige to being the secretary of a Kage.

Ayami, in particular, enjoyed being a cog in the machine that kept the Hidden Sand running. Kept the Kazekage organized. She typed a quick series of keys to bring up the agenda for the day. An appointment with the ANBU commander at ten. Seeing his brother off at one, after a short lunch. The Kazekage was to return by no later than two for a meeting with his council of advisors. After that, he had an appointment with the doctors at four-fifteen. Ayami made a note that several pieces of important paperwork would be crossing the Kazekage's desk today. A referendum from the Union which he needed to sign, if he so chose. A trade agreement with the Land of Earth. A petition for an increase in the minimum wage of genin on non-combat missions.

Everything in its place.

Ayami ran through the list of things she needed to do in order for the Kazekage's office to function at maximum capacity. A trade agreement with the Land of Lightning needed to be sent out. Damn. Ayami hated having to speak with that bitch, Chie. She thought she was better than everyone else because she served the Raikage and invented their international communication network. The whore.

Ayami quickly found the needed file and printed it out. A few quick signatures and a stamp, and she placed it in the metallic rectangle that sat next to her desk. A press of the computer key and the machine hummed. A few moments later, the paper was converted into electricity and whisked away to the far-off Land of Lightning.

To spite having to have however brief contact with Chie, Ayami pulled up a document and printed it out. She placed it back in the machine and sent it to the Union headquarters in the Land of Iron. It was a proposal she had been working, on calling for the creation of lines stretching the breadth and width of the continent. It would make everyone independent from the Land of Lightning, create jobs, and, most importantly, take that bitch Chie down a notch.

This was her third time submitting it. It was declined every time. Bastards. Said it was too dangerous, too unreliable. Natural disaster, sabotage, and war could all destroy the lines and take down their communication. Plus, the Union didn't own the rights to build in countries not affiliated with them. And the savages that inhabited the non-affiliated countries refused to pay their dues and join the Union. Barbarians, the lot of them.

The transporter hummed and a piece of paper appeared. It had a crudely drawn smiley face giving her the middle finger. That bitch.

Ayami was drawing her reply when the door to her office was kicked—quite literally—down. She squeaked, leaping to her feet, remembering that she was, in fact, trained for combat. Trained to die to protect the secrets of the Kazekage. She weaved hand seals. She'd create an electrical discharge that would fry electronics, burn documents, and hopefully murder whoever was attacking her.

Her heart fluttered in her chest as the Sixth Hokage strolled into her office. She thanked her superior reflexes that she had not attacked him. That would not have been beneficial to her career.

He gave her a coy wink as he strolled past her, eyes obvious as they roamed her figure. She considered fucking him. Not many could say they had a notch on their bedpost for a former Kage.

She was about to say something when she noticed he was bloodied and broken. One arm cradled to his chest, sleeves stained crimson, and the other hanging limply at his side. He didn't even appear bothered that he was bleeding on the Kazekage's marble floors.

Ayami watched as Kakashi Hatake strolled into the Kazekage's office like he wore the Hat himself. She heard a murmured greeting followed by a panicked yelp. "Call for a medic!" Gaara shouted.

She did so with one hand, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She spun in her chair, using her free hand to move the blinds and peer into the Kazekage's office. Her lips moved, instructing the hospital to send their best field medic to the Kazekage's office immediately. No, it wasn't the Kazekage. No, she couldn't tell them who was injured. Yes, it was serious.

Her conversation on the phone was of little importance, though she performed her duty admirably. Ayami wouldn't settle for anything less. But her mind and ears were focussed on the conversation inside the office.

It was the juiciest gossip she had heard in her career. Bolt Uzumaki, errant son of the Hokage, black sheep of the Leaf, was in the Land of Wind. And, oh my, the things he had done brought a flush to her cheeks.

"... how did you escape?" Gaara asked. Ayami saw him applying makeshift bandages of hardened sand to the man's broken arms.

Even with the mask, Ayami could tell the Sixth Hokage was smirking. It was his eyes. The gleam in them. Quite attractive eyes, if she did say so herself. "... Lightning clone," he said.

Ayami listened in for a few more minutes until the medics arrived. They were as surprised as her to find Kakashi Hatake in such shape.

The rest of the day passed in boredom. She couldn't contain her excitement about what she had learned. She spent the rest of her day working on an elaborate sketch of Chie eating a dick. She sent it to her desk and then excused herself for the day.

She walked calmly to her home, unlocked the door with steady hands. She shut the door, then sprinted to her phone and quickly dialed a handful of numbers.

There was a certain prestige to being the secretary of the Kazekage. But, every once in awhile, Ayami got a hold of some information that she couldn't help but spread. If a large sum of ryō made its way to her bank account because of her loose lips, who was she to complain?

"Daichi, you're never going to believe what I overheard today," Ayami exclaimed.

* * *

Sarada sighed as she twitched her fingers and flipped the rice she was frying. She glanced at the clock. One minute to five. Her mother should be home just about... now.

She heard the click as the lock on their front door was unlocked. Her mother trudged in, head bowed, shoulders stooped. "Welcome home, mom," Sarada called out.

"Thank you," Sarada heard her mother reply, her voice weary. She turned off the stove and dished a mound of fried rice onto two plates.

"This looks wonderful," her mother said with a smile as she collapsed into a chair at their table.

Sarada smiled bashfully. "Thanks. Long day at the hospital?"

Sakura grunted. "You have no idea! Sometimes, I think I'm the only one who has actually read a textbook. One of our nurses didn't know the proper procedure for treating Lightning jutsu nerve damage. Nearly overdosed a patient by giving him the wrong drugs," she seethed.

Sarada giggled, humoring her mother. She didn't really care for medical ninjutsu. She knew her mother had been disappointed, but the discipline just never called to her. She preferred the more useful ninja arts; taijutsu, genjutsu, ninjutsu, shurikenjutsu.

The television show Sarada had been idly listening to as she cooked suddenly changed. Her mother squealed in delight. "Sarada! This is so good! You're going to make some boy very happy one day!"

Sarada felt her ears grow warm. "Mom!" she hissed.

" _We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this public service announcement,"_ a man's voice came from the television. Sarada idly listened while her mother told her more about the idiots she had to oversee at the hospital. A glance revealed it to be a news anchor.

" _Earlier today, it came to our attention that the famed Wind Temple of the ninja monks was sacked and destroyed,"_ he said. Sarada turned to watch. That was big news. The picture shifted, revealing a pan of tents set before a pile of rubble and sand.

" _Eyewitness reports suggest that the culprit behind the attacks was none other than rogue ninja Bolt Uzumaki of the Hidden Leaf."_ Sarada choked on the rice she had been eating. Her mother had stopped eating, too, and was watching the television. The picture changed, again, revealing a shot of bald men and women dressed in bloodied robes. Many sported injuries.

" _Channel 4's Daichi Akamatsu is on the scene,"_ the anchor announced. The camera settled on an older man with a widow's peak and cold blue eyes.

" _Thank you, Fumio. The situation is grave here at the Wind Temple. According to survivors, notorious rogue ninja Bolt Uzumaki infiltrated the temple, with no less than five companions, and laid waste to the brotherhood. The monks here are still in shock that anyone would target them. There have been fifty-six confirmed casualties, and more bodies are being recovered from the rubble every day,"_ the reporter said. The camera panned and showed the wreck of the mountain that had been caved in.

" _Among the dead is Abbot Benkei, famed warrior monk. Survivors say that he alone faced the invaders and was murdered in cold blood. I've spoken with several of the monks here and they are grim about the future of the Wind Temple. Experts say that the mountain is structurally unsound after the cave in and that it is no longer safe for habitation. If the temple is forced to move, it will be the first time since its founding nearly seven hundred years ago."_

" _That's terrible, Daichi."_

" _It is, Fumio. And that's not the worst news to come out of the Land of Wind today. Survivors say that this was no random act of violence. Bolt Uzumaki and his gang attacked the temple in order to steal an ancient artifact of rumored legendary power—the Tea Kettle of Bunpuku. Monks claim it was created by the Sage of Six Paths."_

" _I have been informed by a witness who wishes to remain anonymous that Bolt Uzumaki stole the artifact and went on to defeat the dreaded Tailed Beast of the Land of Wind, the One-Tail, in single combat, sealing the beast inside. This, as you all well know, is the first time since the Fourth War that a Tailed Beast has been defeated and sealed."_

Sarada's hands trembled as they gripped the edges of the kitchen table. She found her Sharingan memorizing every word as the reporter spoke.

" _The Hidden Leaf is infamous for producing some of the most dangerous rogue elements of ninja society; Orochimaru of the Sannin, and his apprentice, Kabuto, as well as the notorious Akatsuki member Itachi Uchiha, and his brother, Sasuke Uchiha. It seems young Bolt Uzumaki seeks to become the greatest of them all as he becomes the most dangerous criminal alive with the capture of the One-Tail. People are advised that Bolt Uzumaki is armed and extremely dangerous. If seen, you should flee on sight. If you have any information that could lead to an arrest, please contact your local Union operator. Back to you, Fumio."_

The television went dark. Sarada looked at her mother, fist clenched around the ruined remnants of their remote. "It's going to be okay, Sarada," her mother said, sweeping her into a hug. She didn't know why her mother was consoling her until she felt a tear roll down her cheek. She didn't know why she was crying.

Then she realized why. Bolt had ruined his life. If even a tenth of what was just broadcast to every television in the Great Five was true, he would never be able to live a normal life again. It was over. Bolt, her best friend, was gone. She didn't know who he was, anymore. Didn't know what his goals were. Why he did what he did. What had broken him so completely.

The only consolation in the disaster was that the number of people who had access to a television were limited to only those who lived in one of the Great Five nations, and happened to live in a city where they were developed enough to have electricity. That was why newspapers were still so popular, because the common man could get his news that way.

It was a consolation, but a little one.

And here Sarada sat, unable to do anything. Powerless. Wounded. Useless. A failure.

She had no idea how closely her feelings mirrored Bolt's own.

* * *

" _... the most dangerous criminal alive with the capture of the One-Tail..."_

Naruto closed the window of his computer. He spun in his chair, staring out the window into the night sky, numb.

Was this his fault?

He'd worked so hard for peace. For true peace. And now it was falling down around him, and despite all his power, he was helpless to keep it afloat. He had no doubt that the world was reeling from what the news had just broadcast. Even if it was a lie.

Naruto wasn't quite sure he wanted to find out whether it was a lie or a truth. He dreaded it. And yet he knew the answer was as simple as a thought away.

The phone rang. It didn't stop. He sat, watching the time on his computer. One minute. Two minutes. Three. Four. Ten. An hour. The phone kept ringing. He didn't answer. Naruto glanced up. He had nearly five hundred new emails. More coming in every second. He watched the number climb.

Eventually, he couldn't watch it anymore. He turned the monitor off. Unplugged the phone.

Blissful silence.

He stared up at the moon. Not a celestial body he liked to gaze upon. Too many bad memories. Too many worries. Kaguya. The Ōtsutsuki clansmen that Sasuke feared were hunting her. Toneri and the remnants of the earthly Ōtsutsuki clan and its retainers.

He wondered where Sasuke was. He could really use a friend. Not that he didn't have friends, but he didn't have ones he could share his burdens with. Not that they wouldn't bear them, but that Naruto didn't want to burden them. Sasuke was a brother. They had gone through the horrors of war together. Fought gods. Tried to murder each other. It was an intimate experience. Two people couldn't help but grow close after all that.

" **Naruto,"** Kurama spoke, softly.

Ah, that's right. He did have a friend. "Kurama," Naruto whispered. He could tell the fox was hesitant.

" **You should see this,"** Kurama said, as gently as possible.

Naruto closed his eyes. Felt his body fall away, until only his spirit was left. A quick peak revealed the familiar flooded sewers. No, have to go deeper. He fell again.

He could feel as he reached the "bottom." He had no words for what it was. A limbo, maybe. A plane of existence between this world and the next. A world where only he, Bee, and the Tailed Beasts could visit.

Naruto opened his eyes. They were all there. Matatabi. Isobu. Son Gokū. Kokuō. Saiken. Chōmei. Gyūki and Bee. Kurama.

All but Shukaku.

The rest were silent as he gazed at the place of honor reserved for the One-Tail. The limbo world was a meeting place, really, for Tailed Beast and their jinchūriki. It was small, but Naruto never felt trapped. A round expanse of white space that you could walk forever in one direction and never reach anywhere. Like a hamster in a ball.

The section of the "ball" where Shukaku normally appeared had been ripped away. There was an angry, whirling void of chakra that led to a dark place.

Naruto couldn't watch. He turned his back to it, facing the others. Bee was there, a few feet away, solemn. He held a fist aloft. Naruto pressed his own fist to it, blinking away tears. "What happened?"

It was Gyūki who answered. **"We don't know. Bee and I were training in the mountains when I suddenly felt a disturbance. We didn't know what had happened until Yurui told us about the broadcast. When we came here, it was already like this."**

" **The good news is that Bolt hasn't made a jinchūriki. He'd be here, if he did,"** Kurama added.

" **The bad news is that our brother is locked in a prison, somewhere,"** Matatabi said.

"Why would Bolt do this?" Bee asked. He wasn't rapping. That was how Naruto knew how serious the situation was.

"If," Naruto corrected. "If he did this, I don't know."

" **Is he going to come after the rest of us?"** Son Gokū boomed.

All eyes on him. Naruto shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Gaara was having troubles keeping Shukaku out of trouble. I talked to him on several occasions, trying to help him, calm Shukaku down, get him to settle down peacefully. I think—I think Bolt might have attacked him to help the people of the Land of Wind. I hope."

Son Gokū grumbled. A strange noise, like rocks grinding together. **"We will give him the benefit of the doubt, since he is your son."**

" **Perhaps we should go into hiding, just in case?"** Chōmei suggested.

" **We already are,"** Isobu said.

" **Change where we are hiding, then,"** Kokuō clarified.

" **Agreed,"** Saiken spoke, for all of them.

" **And the Union still doesn't know where we are?"** Son Gokū asked.

Naruto shook his head. "No. Between Kurama, Gyūki, Bee, and I, we've been able to keep them in the dark. Just don't do anything—" Naruto paused. "Destructive, and we should be safe."

Agreement all around.

" **One more thing,"** Gyūki said. **"We should be cautious. With news that one of us has been sealed, it could mean other countries and groups will try to capture us as well. For so long, we've been seen as forces of nature by the people. It's been two generations since the end of the war. People only remember us for our undefeatable power told in story and legend. Now, they know otherwise. Bolt has set a precedent."**

Uneasy murmurs of agreement.

" **If that's all,"** Kurama spoke. **"Dismissed."**

Naruto opened his eyes.

He blinked.

"Fuck, Naruto. This is no time to be sleeping," Shikamaru said, peering into his eyes. There were a number of people in his office. Shikamaru. Shizune. Moegi and Udon.

"I wasn't sleeping," Naruto said. "I was talking with Kurama."

Shikamaru sighed. "Look. We're in deep shit, here. Tell me you know something."

Bolt shook his head. "Kurama and the others don't know. All we know is that Shukaku was sealed," he said. Naruto glanced at the others. He could trust them. "I sent Kakashi on a black ops mission to recover Bolt. I can only assume he's failed. Let's get in contact with Gaara and form a response. We need a team to investigate what happened at the Wind Temple and the battlefield that Shukaku was fought at. It should be easy to find. Look for the most destroyed section of the desert."

Shikamaru nodded. "I'll coordinate with the ANBU commander in the Sand. See if we can't work out a joint mission. You should call Gaara and see if he knows anything. Use a phone from one of the other offices." He turned to face the others. "This is top secret, people. Nobody breathes a word of this to anyone not in this room. Be careful what you mention online or through a phone unless you know the line is secure. Shizune, call in Sai. We'll need him. Udon, Moegi, draft up a press release. We need to get our version of events out."

The four of his assistants quickly scampered off to see to their duties. Naruto sighed.

It was a short walk down the hall to Shikamaru's office. The Hokage's line was tapped. He'd prefer not to have any written record of the conversation. He picked up the phone and dialled Gaara.

This would be the hardest choice in his life. Choosing between his own son and the Tailed Beasts.

* * *

Bolt had taken the ability to sit up for granted.

There was something wrong with his abdominal muscles. They weren't attached right. Weren't healed properly, most likely. They didn't have anything to pull on in order to force him to sit up or down. It was annoying. He was forced to use chakra threads to hoist himself out of bed.

He hobbled down the hall. Bolt rested the palm of his hand on the cool, smooth stone as he walked. To steady himself. He hated feeling weak. And his destination was many feet below him, his Byakugan informed him.

Bolt shambled into the cavern where Tsuchigumo had stored the Kettle. It was large and barren, bereft of anything save for a handful of rotted chairs and tables. The puppeteer himself was seated in a chair, fingers laced and hands propped against his chin as he stared at the Kettle with a single-minded intensity. Bolt limped over to the chair next to him and plopped down as well.

If he had any doubts about Tsuchigumo, they were gone now. He'd saved their lives in the fight against the One-Tail, then saved them again by, presumably, defeating Kakashi fucking Hatake. He'd have to ask about that later.

The two of them sat in silence for several long minutes. Bolt didn't mind. It wasn't awkward. There was a sort of camaraderie that came from staring into the face of death with someone at your side. The trappings of the world didn't matter much, after that.

It took Bolt longer than he'd like to catch his breath. He wasn't looking forward to the effort needed to stand.

"It's not going to work," Tsuchigumo said suddenly, his voice sullen. He nodded at the Kettle.

Bolt followed the motion with his eyes. "There's a crack," he said. A small fracture in the stone ran from the base of the Kettle for a foot or so.

"Yes," Tsuchigumo said. "It's going to break out. Not today. Not tomorrow. But some day."

Bolt frowned. He hadn't expected that. He supposed he was being too optimistic. If there were objects lying around that could permanently seal a Tailed Beast within them, they wouldn't have had the problem in the first place. "Living vessels are stronger than static ones," Bolt told him. "That is why the hidden villages create jinchūriki. So long as they live, there's no risk of the Tailed Beast breaking its container."

Tsuchigumo nodded, sullen. Bolt waited for him to speak. He didn't. Bolt sighed. "We have time. Before the Kettle breaks, I'll have figured out a way to deal with the One-Tail in a more permanent manner. If we have to make a jinchūriki, so be it," he said.

Tsuchigumo nodded again and the two of them fell into silence once more. When it became apparent that neither had anything more to say, Bolt grew bored. He didn't feel like trying to make the journey back to his quarters, though. He reached inward, for his chakra. He was painfully tired, and nowhere near full strength, but it was there.

There was only one thing he could practice. Only one thing that he wanted to practice. He took hold of his Yang chakra, tried to imagine that essence of fūinjutsu again, and combine the two. He expected to feel the same strange sensations as he did the last time he used the Adamantine Sealing Chains.

Nothing happened. He frowned.

Bolt tried again. Still nothing. Realizing that trying again and again without results wasn't getting him anywhere, he turned his focus inward. His Yang chakra was depleted, but still dwarfed many normal people's. That was normal. He'd used some of it during the fight with the One-Tail and his body was in tatters. It would naturally go towards healing him first. He'd have to dedicate time to building it back up again. Perhaps he simply didn't have the quantity needed to create the chains?

He sighed. A theory he could test another day. Bolt activated his Byakugan. His eyes ached for a moment before they settled. He stared at the Kettle. Inside was a sphere of brilliant blue chakra, inside of which, a cancerous mass of red chakra was violently churning and lashing outwards. The blue sphere was malleable and flexible, rolling with the blows the red chakra dealt. But, every so often, the red chakra would score a blow.

"The One-Tail is fighting it," Bolt said. "Trying to attack the Kettle itself."

Tsuchigumo turned. "How long?"

Bolt studied the Kettle. The progress that the Tailed Beast was making. It was slow. Painfully slow. Bolt shrugged. "Hard to say. Could be five years, could be two," he said. "It will take some time, though."

Tsuchigumo was quiet. "We can adjust the seal, maybe. Have it give progress updates on how far the One-Tail is. So it doesn't catch us by surprise."

"Yes," the puppeteer agreed.

There wasn't much left to talk about. Tsuchigumo left not long after that with a mumble that he needed to work on his puppets. Bolt sat in that dark chamber for a few moments in silence. Then, using chakra threads, he managed to hoist himself to his feet. He stood, stretching, and turned to leave.

Then he paused by the Kettle. "You're just living chakra. That is your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness. You might break out of the Kettle. I fully expect you to. But by the time you do, I'll have grown more powerful, more wise. I'll craft a new seal, just for you. It'll strip away your thoughts, your memories, your emotions, your personality. Until there is nothing left but chakra. Until you're nothing but a glorified _battery,_ " Bolt chuckled.

"Then you won't hurt anyone ever again."

* * *

Hikari was glad for her mask. It hid the winces of pain. Even the slightest draft caused the skin along her arm and neck to prickle with discomfort. She'd tried everything in her admittedly lacking knowledge of medical ninjutsu to heal herself, but the burn inflicted by the Tailed Beast resisted everything she tried.

It was more annoying than painful. She had to ruin the sleeves of several of shirts, removing them from the shoulder down, to avoid having the fabric irritate her skin. It looked unprofessional.

She made her way deeper into the mountain. The cavern that Bolt told her to meet him in was quite the walk away from the more inhabited sections of the mountain. Not even Tsuchigumo ventured so far underground. Hikari wondered what he was up to.

She had her answer as she ducked underneath a natural arch of stone and stepped into the cavern. It was large, perhaps fifty square feet. Dark, save for a handful of torches that cast a warm, orange light. She could make out the shapes of tall fūinjutsu scrolls in the corners of the cavern, leaning against the walls. On the ground, she could clearly see that the stone that been made level by human hands. Intricate, whirling designs were painted upon the stone. It resembled a whirlpool surrounded by an outer ring from which numerous archaic characters were painted outwards. In the very center, there was a ring bereft of any paint that was as wide as Hikari was tall.

She swallowed her nerves. Bolt stood out of the way, leaning against the wall of the cavern near a torch. "So," she said. "What's this?"

Bolt flinched. She realized he had been drifting off. "If you're that tired, you should be resting. In a bed. Not down here in the dark. You're still recovering," Hikari said. She hated when people were too stupid for their own good. Pushing yourself after injury without recovering was a recipe for permanently damaging your body and weakening yourself. Fool.

Bolt gave her a shy grin. He spread his arms, gesturing to the cavern. "Happy birthday!"

Hikari stared at him. He fidgeted. "You said it was in a few months. I'm just guessing. Probably missed it. But, it's finished."

"What's finished?" Hikari asked. She elected not to inform him that she didn't, in fact, know what the day of her birth was. Just one of the many things the Hidden Mist deemed she didn't need to know. She was a tool, a hunter. Tools had no need to celebrate the day of their making.

"The Strength of a Hundred seal," he declared happily. "I actually finished it a few days before we fought the One-Tail."

Hikari grit her teeth. "Why didn't you say something sooner, then?" She had felt particularly useless during that fight. Aside from a few frightening close encounters where she destroyed a the beast's limbs, she hadn't contributed much more than keeping he and Tetsu alive and on their feet.

Bolt looked sheepish. "Well, it wouldn't have helped you. It would have hindered you, probably, in fact. I've worked out most of the bugs, improved on the design where I could, but the fatal flaw is still there. You have to either siphon your chakra to the seal manually—which is a massive pain in the ass, by the way—or pay the cost up front in order to even get the seal to appear. Then it constantly leeches a small amount of chakra from you, storing it in the seal. You would have been drained for the fight. I needed you at your best," he said.

Hikari paused. That made her feel a little better. She realized how ungrateful she had sounded. "Sorry," she murmured.

"No problem!" Bolt declared with a smile. "It was worth the wait, trust me. I think I've done pretty well with maximizing the storage capacity, and spending the last week fronting the chakra cost will save you years of effort. History was a little muddled, but it was rumored that Mito Uzumaki had a down period of ten years when she created her own seal. With this, you should have a fully functioning one in a few months, a year tops!"

Hikari frowned. "Bolt. You're still recovering. You shouldn't be using chakra. Period. Tsuchigumo has those puppets following us to ensure we don't hurt ourselves," she said. It was irritating. Patients never took their health seriously. And it was always men, too, who thought they could just leap out of their hospital bed and back into the battlefield.

Bolt chuckled. "Yeah. Those things. Took me a little bit to reprogram the one following me, but it saw things my way in the end," he pointed to a corner of the room where the puppet stood, still as stone, that Hikari hadn't noticed.

"So," Bolt coughed. He handed her a towel. "You're going to want this. Lay down and bite the towel. Give me a nod when you're ready."

Hikari stared at him. She wasn't afraid of pain. She had been in pain for a long time. But still. "How bad?"

"Oh, not too bad. Just being cautious, that's all," Bolt said. He was a bad liar. A lot, then. Hikari shrugged, taking off her mask and handing it to him. He set it down near a pile of his own belongings. She made her way to the center of the seal, being careful not to step on or smudge any of the markings. That would be a poor way to die.

She sat in the center, carefully, before placing the towel between her teeth and biting down. With care, she leaned back until she was lying within the innermost circle.

"Once it begins, I can't stop it. It would be dangerous to have a half formed seal in your pathways. Are you sure you want to do this?" Bolt asked. Not for the first time, Hikari caught his eyes lingering on her face as he waited for her answer.

She nodded once. She needed to be stronger. If suffering some pain and spending years training to perfect her control of the seal was the price to pay, she would do it.

Bolt weaved hand signs.

The agony was exquisite. So perfect in its purpose that her mind went white. Pain was the great destroyer. No thoughts. No emotions. No sensations.

Only pain.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Bolt asked, not for the first time.

Tsuchigumo shook his head. "No," he replied. It seemed like he was in better health than the first time Bolt met him. He was gaining weight and he was no longer afraid to keep eye contact. His voice was stronger, too. More articulate. "I will stay here. Guard the Kettle. Help rebuild the Land of Wind."

Bolt nodded. He had offered more out of politeness than anything. He knew that the puppeteer would stay. He was sad, in a way. Tsuchigumo's skillset was impressive. He would have been a powerful addition to their team.

"If you're ever in trouble, contact us. I'll work on my fūinjutsu, see if I can't fashion a more permanent solution to our Tailed Beast problem. Might stop by the Hidden Whirlpool. My teacher would know more than me," Bolt said.

Tsuchigumo nodded and extended his hand. Bolt shook it. "Where will you go?" the puppeteer asked.

Bolt glanced at Hikari and Tetsu. It had been some time since their battle with the One-Tail. Tetsu was still a little awkward with walking, but the surgery Tsuchigumo had performed on him was as good as any hospital. It would just take time for him to adjust. Hikari looked haggard, but that was more from the application of the Strength of a Hundred seal than any wound. She'd be better in a few days. He felt bad about willingly inflicting pain upon her. He hoped she would forgive him.

He turned to answer Tsuchigumo. "I've heard too many rumors from travellers about how the Land of Sound is still facing the threat of takeover by Orochimaru's rogue experiments. I think I'll stop by, give them a hand," he said with a grin.

Tsuchigumo nodded.

They went their separate ways.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This chapter was fun to write. Little unorthodox, but I enjoyed it. Hope you guys did too. Also, woo! 300k words. Damn.

I will (most likely) _never_ kill a character off-screen. So unless you see them die, never assume they're dead. Of course I couldn't have Kakashi die in the desert! That would be a disservice to his character. Personally, I thought he should have died and stayed dead during the Invasion of Pain, but obviously, he needed to stick around to deal with Obito.

Mariposa — So here's my thing with Shinki. One: the translations for that conversation had him call Gaara "Great Father," which sounds less like "you're my dad" and more like "you're the father of the Hidden Sand." It also assumes Yodo and Araya are his siblings, which I also don't necessarily agree with. They look nothing alike, and do not share abilities. Two: Shinki heavily resembles Kankurō in both appearance and abilities, including war paint, puppeteering, and Magnet Release (remember, Kankurō is Rasa's son, too, allowing for him to pass the bloodline on without having it himself). Three: Gaara, in his novel, was reluctant to be romantically involved with someone to the point that when Shikadai was born, the Sand council forced him to take a wife so that in the event he and/or Kankurō died, Shikadai did not become Kazekage. In the end, the girl that he ended up being with was in love with someone else, so he let her go. Whilst it's possible that she may have been carrying his children, I doubt it. All in all, until more clearly stated otherwise, Shinki is Kankurō's son, and Yodo and Araya are just random Sand genin.

Character PoV requests are in: Sasuke (planned for quite some time, just waiting on the right time... he is quite occupied, at the moment), Konohamaru, and (more) Naruto. You got it!


	48. Chapter 48

"Would you like some tea, miss?" Hibiki asked. He made sure to give her a pleasing smile. Lips parted just enough to bare teeth. Eyes half-lidded. Voice as smooth as silk.

That was the key.

The woman's cheeks colored ever so slightly. "Yes, please," she replied, voice quiet enough that she couldn't be heard by the people in the next booth over.

Hibiki leaned in to pour the tea, invading her personal space. Just enough that she would note the presence, but not enough to make her uncomfortable. The sash he had loosened earlier allowed his robes to part as he did so, just enough to bare a flash of pale skin but not enough to be considered indecent.

That was the key.

He leaned back, smiling again, and was rewarded with the color in the woman's cheeks being more pronounced. "If there's _anything,"_ Hibiki made sure to add a subtle emphasis on that word. Just enough so that it was noticeable, but enough so that it was obvious. That was the key. "That I can get you, just let me know."

Hibiki walked away, returning to the kitchens to refill his kettle of tea. He reached out with his senses as he did so, felt the woman's chakra flicker like a candle. Ah, so his ministrations were working then. She understood his hidden message. A little more coercion and she'd ask him to join her in her room later that night.

That was the key.

Then he'd figure out what some ugly woman from the Hidden Mist was doing in the far corners of the Land of Grass. They were a "neutral" country—Hibiki used the world lightly. In a world where men breathed fire and women shattered stone with their fists, there was no such thing as true neutrality. And yet, she had not approached the Hidden Grass as most usually did: for information.

That was the funny thing. Everyone knew the Hidden Grass wasn't neutral. Yet they never bothered to hold their tongues when speaking around the peaceful, neutral ninja from the Grass. Hibiki couldn't stand those kind of fools. It just so happened that they were also likely to dislike his art, too, which only doubly increased his hatred of them.

He poured two men their tea and served them a plate of sweet dumplings, each one a pretty color of green, white, and pink. Hibiki chanced a glance at his target. She caught him looking. Damn. Still, that too could be useful. His lids dropped as he very plainly looked her figure up and down.

She wasn't ugly in the conventional sense—she had wide hips, full breasts, and a cute nose. No, it was her chakra that was ugly. Cold, limp, and wet. Like clothes that had been left out in a rainstorm. Like soup that had been chilled and the noodles bloated. It was slimy, too. Oily, even. A common trait among spies. So easy to tell them apart.

It was the single most unattractive chakra he had sensed in weeks. Hibiki prayed that he got the information he would need so he could beg his handler to assign him to a different task.

He smiled coyly. She flushed and looked away.

Hibiki smiled. A true smile, more predatory. That was the key.

The rest of his shift in the smelly inn passed in relative boredom. Every hour or two, he would make another pass at the spy from the Mist. Bare a little more skin. Flirt. Let his eyes linger on her form just longer than normal. He could tell it was working. Her thighs would rub together, unconsciously, as he approached her. Hibiki smiled. That was the key. Get them worked up. Let them fight the most primal urge until they _wanted_ to lose.

It almost wasn't fun.

Another hour passed before the inn's patrons began to retire for the night. The woman watched him with hungry eyes. He resisted the urge to smile and busied his hands with cleaning up the counter for the night. Hibiki knew he had her. He'd make her come to him.

It didn't take long. She cleared her throat daintly. Hibiki raised his head, though he knew she was there despite the near silence of her approach. Then he gave her a pleasant half-smile. "Can I help you?" Hibiki asked. He'd make it a little easier on her. She seemed nervous. Virgin, perhaps? There wasn't very many opportunities to create relationships in this line of work.

She blushed then seemed to steel her resolve. "Care to join me after your shift?"

Hibiki smiled. "Sure," he agreed.

He followed her up the stairs to the second story, admiring the view. She would be quite beautiful, were it not for her chakra. Perhaps they were more similar than he thought? She stayed in a moderately expensive room; not cheap, but not so expensive that it would draw attention. The perfect balance. That was the key. He commended her skill in the Game. But she was but a beginner, and he a master. She had no idea that she had fallen for his trap.

Hibiki locked the door behind him. Best not to have any drunken fools interrupting him. He disrobed slowly. The woman's eyes devoured him. He didn't have her name, but that would change in a few minutes. She was much quicker in shedding her clothes.

From the first kiss, Hibiki had to fight the urge to recoil from the woman's touch. Being in such close proximity to her chakra was like swimming in the ocean and having the seaweed brush against your leg. He shuddered. "So beautiful," Hibiki lied, lacing his voice with chakra.

He nipped at her neck. The woman gasped, mumbling something incoherent. All the while, murmuring more sweet nothings that were laced with chakra. She proved remarkably resistant to the genjutsu. He'd have to take more drastic measures. Damn, he hated those.

He couldn't get it up. Fuck. Her body might have been attractive, but her chakra had all the sexual attraction of a rock. Alright. Focus on something else. Hibiki cast his senses outward. Most of the people in the inn were normal men and women. None had any training with chakra. Their pathways were pitiful, and what little chakra they did have was plain. It was the equivalent of watching paint dry or grass grow. Fuck.

She was getting impatient. Hibiki did some things with his tongue that he'd learnt from his training in the Hidden Grass. That seemed to occupy her mind. Between licks, he continued working on the genjutsu.

He cast his senses out further. Trees. An owl. Two rabid dogs fighting over—

Oh, God. What was it?

Three chakra signatures crested the hill a mile away. But one. The one in the center. _The one._ God. It was beautiful. Like the sun cresting a grassy knoll after the night of heavy rain and lightning. That little touch of warmth that drove the chill from your bones. Electric to the touch, making the hairs on his arms, legs, and neck stand on end. Goosebumps broke out across his skin. A warmth that could cause a chill. It was intoxicating. Blinding. Hibiki couldn't stand to focus his attention on it for too long. He felt his senses dulling. It was like he was staring at the sun, marvelling at its beauty, ignorant to his eyes burning.

Hibiki blinked. The woman was limp, eyes wide but unseeing, quivering in pleasure. Ah, the genjutsu. Finally. Just when he'd gotten hard. He thanked his luck that he dodged that kunai. Hibiki stood, kneeling next to her, and placing the palm of his hand on her forehead. _"Psycho Mind Transmission,"_ he thought, not daring to voice the jutsu aloud.

His consciousness rushed forward. He met the resistance of the woman's mind and chakra, but dashed it away. Ah, Natsumi. That was her name. Beautiful. Now, what was she doing here?

Damn. Those three chakra signatures were getting closer and—fuck. It was hard to concentrate with the middle one being so close. He—Hibiki was pretty sure it was a man—was just on the edge of Hibiki's natural range without extending it. Impossible to ignore. And it would only get worse the closer he drew.

Oh. She wasn't even here for the Land of Grass. Natsumi was on her way to the Land of Earth to assassinate the former Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki of Both Scales. Well, then. Hibiki didn't envy her task. The old man was going to drop dead from old age eventually. Best to just let time run its course instead of risk being turned to dust.

Mission satisfied, Hibiki adjusted Natsumi's genjutsu. Best to give her a pleasant one if she was going off to die trying to kill Ōnoki. It'd probably be the last time she was ever intimate with someone.

Hibiki stood, stumbling as he reached for the door. God. That chakra was so close now. A hundred feet away, if that. His hands were trembling. He didn't remember eating butterflies, but he definitely felt them in his stomach. Heart fluttering so badly that it was trying to crawl up his throat.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck. The chakra. It was drawing closer. Slowing. Stopping. Fuck. They were stopping at the inn. Hibiki shambled down the hallway to the top of the stairway. His knees felt weak. The three signatures stood at the door. Hibiki steeled himself. He wasn't going to get any sleep tonight if he couldn't get his senses under control. Better to face them head on.

Hibiki crept down the stairs with a painfully slow pace. He would stumble and fall if he wasn't careful. The cheap bastard who owned the inn didn't even have rails on the stairs. The serving girl was watching the inn for the night. Ran, Hibiki thought her name was. Her chakra was so pitiful he had to be practically touching her to sense it.

Not like the people outside the door. It was like knowing there was a fire on the other side of a door in a burning house. Hibiki chanced a peek at Ran. How could she not sense it? Even a blind, deaf, and dumb person should be able to feel the sheer presence the three signatures transmitted.

The door handle turned. Fuck. Hibiki felt his mouth go dry. He rested his hands on the counter as he tried to clean a tea cup. He wasn't making much progress. He glanced up as casually as he could.

It was a fucking bear. A bear walking on its hindlegs. Good God. The man had to practically kneel to get through the door. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped out of the night. He wore a heavy cloak that was slick with rain. Hibiki could see the outline of a sword on his waist through the cloak. Chakra as cold as ice and as hard as steel. An immovable glacier. Grand in its size and beauty, yet hiding such immense power just beneath the surface. Incredible.

The man made his way towards the counter. Ran backed away like a frightened sheep, fleeing into the back to fetch the owner. Hibiki steeled himself and stepped up. "Can I help you, sir?" Hibiki asked.

Two other figures slipped in after the man. A woman with a cloak, same as the man's, her hood drawn over her head so he couldn't see her face. Hibiki thought he caught a glimpse of porcelain skin. Her chakra was cool, soothing, like the waves, yet churning and violent, like the sea in a storm. Hibiki could tell she was from the Land of Water. Their chakra always stood out. But she wasn't at all like the woman he had left a quivering mess of pleasure upstairs.

That just left... the smaller man. He had his hood drawn low over his face, and he stood behind the woman and used the other man's immense size to shield himself from view. The large man loomed over Hibiki. "Yes?" he asked.

"I said," the man said, measured, irritated. "We'd like a room. For three. Something hot to eat."

Hibiki gave the man his best smile. "Of course—"

A handful of ryō was set on the table, much more than what the inn charged. "Of course," Hibiki said, taking the necessary payment. He gave them a modest discount. Both because the smaller man's chakra was—don't think about it. Fuck, don't think about it. And because it always helped if foreign, dangerous ninja thought they were getting a good deal. They usually kept the damage to a minimum, then.

He handed them their key. "Room three. Up the stairs, third door on the left," Hibiki told the large man. It was one of their most luxurious rooms. Well, as luxurious as you could get in an inn in the middle of fucking nowhere in the Land of Grass.

The large man nodded, lumbering up the stairs. The woman followed him. That just left the smaller man trailing after their group. Hibiki felt his heart race. He chanced a glance at him as he passed. Tall and thin, but not gangling. It was harder to see the face. Blue, blue eyes, visible even in the dim light. Sharp features; angular jaw line, prominent cheekbones. A noble, perhaps? No. A ninja from a clan. You didn't get those features and monstrous chakra from being the son of a lord.

Just his type. Hibiki realized he hadn't been quite as subtle with his gaze as he had thought. The smaller man had turned, ever so slightly, to look at him as he rested one foot on the first step of the stairs. Hibiki stilled. Fuck. He couldn't help sensing the chakra now. It was—

Dangerous.

He was one second, one misstep, from dying. He could practically taste the danger on his tongue. Oh God, that chakra. Hibiki forced his brain to ignore that it was sensing. Training and instincts kicked in. He gave the man his best innocent smile. "Have a nice night. Ran will be up with your food shortly," he said.

Then he prayed. The shadow of the hood hid his features from Hibiki. He went back to cleaning the tea cup with such intensity that he thought he might wear the veneer off.

The danger receded, like the tide. Hibiki didn't stop cleaning the cup until he heard the door shut upstairs. Then he collapsed, leaning his back to the cupboards.

He could get addicted to that feeling.

Hibiki fetched a piece of parchment and stole a pencil from Ran as she nervously ascended the stairs with three bowls of steaming soup. He scribbled a coded missive with an unsteady hand to his handler. He would be by in three days to check up on his progress.

Sure, he might get in trouble, but his mission was complete. The spy from the Mist was of no threat to them. But a trio of powerful, dangerous foreign ninja? That was worth investigating. Right?

Hibiki thought so.

The next morning when they departed, he followed them.

* * *

"You okay?" Bolt asked. He felt bad. Hikari was running an empty. If they were walking for more than a half an hour, she was reduced to gasping for breath. They had to stop often.

She nodded. "Any pain? Unnatural blocks in your pathways?" Bolt asked.

"I'm fine," Hikari snapped. Bolt held up his hands and backed away. He joined Tetsu near the stream they had stopped at and filled up his canteen. His back to her, he activated his Byakugan. He had faith in his fūinjutsu work. He traced her pathways with his eyes and found them clear and in good condition. The only thing wrong with her was that most of her chakra was being rerouted to feed the growing mass of chakra in her forehead.

It was nestled between the Gate of Opening and the Gate of Healing, so he was worried. If something went wrong, she could suffer permanent, irreparable damage. Bolt couldn't help but worry. He saw her lose concentration, and the chakra started to dispel itself. She snapped back into focus, stopping it. Bolt fully expected her to take several months to master it until she could do it in her sleep. Those would be long, trying months.

He blinked away his dōjutsu, capping his canteen. He paused. His eyes faded from blue to white again. He saw something, far to the northeast, near the border of the Land of Grass and Waterfalls. It was a—

An explosion rocked the forest. A tree shattered to splinters, sending a ball of fire roaring into the sky. "Let's go!" Bolt barked, stowing his canteen in his pack.

The three of them dashed through the forest with surprising speed. Bolt held back so that Hikari wouldn't push herself too hard. Still, they made good time.

"What is it?" Hikari hissed. Her temper was going to be legendary. Hopefully they could all look back on this time in a few years and think how funny it was. Provided she didn't snap their necks or poison their food.

Bolt focussed on the battle up ahead. "Looks like Hidden Stone," he said. "They're fighting two women."

"Bandits? Rogue ninja?" Tetsu asked, drawing his sword.

"Don't think so," Bolt said. He'd be the judge of that. "Let's help the two women. Try not to kill the Stone ninja if you can. We're already quite infamous as it is."

Nods of agreement.

Bolt leapt to the treetops, leaping from branch to branch as they came closer and closer to the battlefield. He paused. There were... sixteen Stone ninja, versus just two women. Ah. He saw their headbands. The symbol of the Hidden Stone with a ragged scratch through it. They were rogue ninja. Well, he could understand that sentiment. He adjusted his own headband where the symbol of the Leaf was defaced. He wore it proudly.

He leapt into the fray.

* * *

Hajime was having a bad day.

It had been a routine patrol of their borders. Nothing dangerous. Nothing complicated. Real simple. No problems, right?

Wrong.

The fucking Akiyama sisters. Why the fuck were they still in the Land of Earth? Are they fucking with the Hidden Stone? Did he piss off a God in his previous life?

Hajime ducked behind a boulder as a wave of molten lava washed over his previous position. Kagami or Kagari—fuck, they were so hard to tell apart—walked forward with a casual, assured ease. Then, she spat lava at him. Alright. That one was Kagari.

Hideki leapt out at her from behind the tree he had been hiding behind. "Hideki! You fucker! Don't you dare!" Hajime barked.

He got all of two feet from the tree before an explosion rent him into a fine, bloody mist. Fucking new recruits. He pressed a finger to his ear and spoke into the radio. "Listen my orders, you retards! They're baiting you!" Hajime barked. "Isamu and Iwao, put down some barriers!"

The two men, chūnin of two years, weaved hand signs. Earthen barriers rose, blocking the tide of lava that slowly crept towards them. Kagami spotted him. Hajime leapt from the boulder and ducked behind a thick treetrunk. An explosion shattered the boulder, turning it to rubble. Fuck.

Kagari was the the bait. She'd walk forward, blatantly putting herself in danger, lobbing lava at them. If any one of his men tried to attack her, Kagari picked them off with her Explosion Release before they could attack.

Hajime was a veteran of the Fourth War. He'd seen some serious shit. But he was not prepared to face Kagami Akiyama, an A-class threat, and her sister, Kagari, a B-class threat. He didn't have the men. The men didn't have the experience. The most trouble he had been expecting was the border patrol from the Land of Wind—and they were pretty friendly. He fancied one of the women from squad ten.

Now, Hajime worried he'd never get a chance to tell her.

Kagari advanced without a care in the world. A coy smile on her lips. Damn them. She kept walking forward, a trail of molten rock flowing down her chin. She didn't even break a sweat. She paused, briefly, to wipe it away with a single finger before licking it. Then she continued her advance... right past Hotaka.

Hajime ducked, pressing his finger to his ear once more. He whispered. "Hotaka! This is your time to shine, brat," he said. Hotaka was fresh out of the Academy; a green genin. Hajime prayed he wasn't sending him to his death. "When the target has her back to you, kill her."

Hajime would have liked to take the Akiyama sisters alive. Their father was a minor noble who served the Earth Lord, so there would be some political backlash over their deaths. Plus, he really wanted to see them rot in prison for all the damage they had done to the Land of Earth and its people.

But he wasn't willing to risk his men's lives just to avoid some bureaucracy.

Kagari had her back to Hotaka. He crawled forward, ever so carefully. Hajime hurled a handful of shuriken at Kagami, who was forced to duck. He hoped the kid took the cue.

He did. Hotaka weaved hand signs like his life depended on it—which it did. Lightning extended from the blade of his dagger, turning it into a sword. Damn. The kid was really going in. He lunged forward. Hajime smiled as he saw Kagari turn, face warped with surprise and fear.

He had her.

Or some blond fucker could—

Oh. Oh, fuck.

"Hotaka!" Hajime screamed. "Get the fuck out of there! Now! Run, kid! Run!"

He had, officially, angered a God in his previous life. Did he accidently piss on the Sage of Six Paths' grave when he was drunk?

Kagari Akiyama, a B-class threat, and Kagami Akiyama, an A-class threat. And now, to top it all off, Bolt fucking Uzumaki, an S-class threat, decides to show up.

Fuck.

* * *

Bolt gripped the man's wrist tightly. Lightning arced across his chest and down his body harmlessly. The man was wide-eyed, trying to pull away. He could hear a man's voice echoing from the radio in the man's ear. "Hotaka! Run, you little shit! That's Bolt Uzumaki! Run!"

"Hotaka" was pissing himself. Literally. Bolt let him go, striking him several times with the Gentle Fist. He collapsed into a boneless heap of tangled limbs, unconscious.

Well. He had earned himself a reputation. Good.

Bolt turned to survey the field. One of the women, the one who could spit lava as easily as he could breathe, nodded her thanks and flashed him a smile. With his Byakugan, he could see the number of remaining enemies: one, nearby, hiding behind a tree; two men erecting wall after wall of stone; a woman armed with every ninja tool Bolt knew of; and a man weaving hand signs just above him.

Oh.

Bolt stepped to the side as a giant boulder was spat at him. Electricity sparked to life around his fist as he sent a spear of lightning upwards. It burned through the tree branch, impaling the man through the shoulder and knocking him unconscious with a powerful shock. He fell to the ground with singed, smoking clothes.

"Retreat! Retreat! Isao! Call for reinforcements!"

Bolt turned his head in the direction of whom he could only assume to be the commander. Reinforcements would be most unfortunate. He'd have to kill them, and he really didn't want to spill blood unless he had to. His Lightning Armor sparked to life, drawing the eyes of everyone in the forest.

Before he could move, Tetsu crashed down on the man who was trying to use his phone with trembling fingers. Bolt moved an instant later, standing before the commander. The two women took the final two opponents; the other man, and the armed woman.

The commander looked at him with a look torn between terror and disbelief. He blanched. "Fine, you fuck—"

Bolt took him down with surgical efficiency before he could even speak, just in time for Hikari to leap down from her tree.

The battlefield was quiet. Bolt let his armor fade and studied the two people they had saved—which wasn't really true. They had probably saved the Stone ninja from dying a painful, fiery death. The two women were easily handling them. Bolt studied the woman who could use Lava Release.

She seemed familiar. Long platinum blonde hair held in an intricate braid. Blue eyes. She held her hands on her waist as she eyed him up and—ah, yes. He remembered watching her fight during the Union tournament. She and her sister went on to fight in the final round, if he remembered correctly.

"You're... the Akiyama sisters, right?" Bolt asked in way of greetings.

She dipped her head. She was rather beautiful. A paragon of the human specimen and the female form. "Kagari Akiyama, nice to meet you. Thanks for the save. You're Bolt Uzumaki, aren't you?" Kagari asked, eying his scratched headband.

Bolt nodded. "I thought us rogue ninja should stick together," he nodded at her own defaced headband. Kagari smiled.

"Regardless," Bolt turned. The other sister was speaking—Kagami. "Thanks for the help." They shared a look. A nod.

Kagari stepped forward, smiling. "Since you're here, mind helping us with one other thing?"

Bolt was wary. "Sure," he said

Kagari took another step forward, pursing her lips as she leaned in to kiss him. Bolt leaned away. She stopped only a few inches from in. "Burn for me, baby," she whispered, spitting a wave of lava at him.

The heat was so intense that Bolt felt his skin blister even as he leapt backwards. He felt something fall on his arm. It wasn't quite pain. There was a lot of that, to be sure, but it was a pain so powerful that it wasn't painful at all. A searing pain that ate his nerve endings and robbed him of his ability to feel anything at all. Bolt screamed.

The eerie calm took hold. It was just like standing before the One-Tail. The shadow of death looming over him. Had to focus. Couldn't die. Not here. Couldn't fail. Not a failure. He did the first thing that his primal brain told him to do: flee. His Lightning Armor sparked to life, and Bolt disappeared in a flash of electricity.

As he ran, the world slowed to a crawl. It was an odd thing that he saw. A tiny spark of white-gold electricity flying through the air, passing just in front of him. Bolt leaned out of its path. Whatever it was, it wasn't something he wanted to be struck by. He looked to his left, tracing the path of the spark with his Byakugan.

Kagami, the older Akiyama sister, had her arm thrust forward, hand contorted. Almost like a snap of the fingers. So that's what it was. Explosion Release. Bolt sprinted away from the still flying spark, closing the gap between him and Kagami. He had to take her out. She was the most dangerous of the two. He paused, looking at Kagari. Tetsu had appeared, as he expected, and used a Flash to dissipate a wave of lava that had been spat at him. Hikari was using Water Release to cool and harden the lava that Tetsu cut down.

Good. He could leave her to them. An explosion boomed behind him. Bolt ignored it as he ran at Kagami. She was moving, dragging her thumb back into position and extending her index and middle fingers for another snap. Another white-gold spark left her fingers as she snapped them. Bolt evaded it narrowly. It was _fast._

Kagami seemed to realize she wasn't going to have time to try another ranged attack before he was upon her. She shifted into a poor defensive stance and swung a fist forward blindly. Bolt slapped it away with one hand and thrust the palm of his other hand forward. Bolt recoiled as an explosion rocked him. Where he had slapped away her fist, smoke billowed.

Explosion Release taijutsu? Dangerous. Bolt leapt backwards. He'd have to do this from range. He cupped one hand, forming a Rasengan, then hurled it. Kagami snapped her fingers, and her jutsu clashed with his in an explosion that rocked the forest and uprooted trees. Something a bit quicker, then. He formed a Chidori, using shape manipulation to form it into a spear. Then he thrust it forward.

Kagami dodged, but only just barely. She earned a ragged gash along her arm from the shoulder to her elbow. With her free hand, Kagami snapped her fingers in rapid succession. Bolt was forced to perform a series of quick, short movements in order to dodge both the explosive sparks and the resulting explosions.

It was a different kind of fight. Bolt smiled. He hadn't been pushed like this in a long time—if he didn't count the Tailed Beast. Which he didn't. It felt good. The roar of his blood in his ears and the thunder of his heart in his chest. Bolt darted in. He used his armor to augment his range, extending a blade of chakra from the finger he thrust forward. He came to a full stop outside of the reach of the elder Akiyama sister and pierced her thigh.

Kagami swore, abandoning the stance she had been in. Instead, she threw a wall of rock up between the two of them. Bolt barreled through it. He emerged from the rubble and came face-to-face with an explosive spark. He leaned away, but it would clip his armor. Bolt didn't want to gamble whether or not it would detonate. He allowed the jutsu to fade.

Kagami was there waiting for him. She threw a fist forward, and Bolt had to make a hard choice: catch the fist with his face, or deflect it with an arm. He made the smart decision. He hefted his arm that had been burned by Kagari and threw it in front of his face. The punch caught him and detonated with a concussive explosion of heat and force.

Bolt tumbled backwards, activating his Lightning Armor once more. His left arm was limp and dangled at his side. Probably broken. Bolt stood atop the limb of a tree and held his palm forward, gathering chakra. Kagami couldn't see him through the smoke. He sent a powerful Vacuum Palm shooting forward. It dissipated the smoke and thrust a cloud of dirt and rock skyward. He saw Kagami leap from the epicenter of the attack looking worse for wear; scratches from the wind and stray pebbles.

He already had a Rasengan formed for when she landed. He threw it. It struck true.

Kagami was shattered into a thousand pieces of stone.

"Got you!" Bolt heard her voice ring out as Kagami emerged from a nearby boulder. He turned, coming face-to-face with another explosive spark. Too close to dodge.

His breath left him as he was tackled. Bolt smelt the putrid scent of burning flesh and hair as whoever attacked him was burnt by his armor. The explosive spark struck the tree he had been standing on, turning it to splinters.

Bolt realized what had just happened. He'd been saved. He quickly rerouted the current so that his savior wasn't dying—if he wasn't already dead.

"Don't move!" Kagami shouted, she was looming above him with her hand contorted and ready to snap her fingers. Bolt glared at her. "Your bounty is higher if you're alive. Give up, and you live."

The man Bolt kneeled over began to whistle, his voice hoarse. _"Stall,"_ he whispered into Bolt's ear.

"That's right. You left your village to become a bounty hunter," Bolt scoffed.

The elder Akiyama sister's grin was predatory. "That's right. My sister and I were wasting our time and skills with the Stone. We've made more money in a year being rogues than we have in six years of being a ninja. You're our big ticket. Three hundred fifty million ryō for the big bad S-class threat," Kagami said. The man kept whistling.

"Oh? They increased it, did they?" Bolt asked.

Kagami smirked. "Oh, yeah. The Union was all in an uproar when they learned you fought that Tailed Beast. Or was that a lie? I don't think you're that strong."

Bolt frowned. "How do they know about the One-Tail?" He hadn't disclosed that information to anyone.

Kagami laughed. "You mean you haven't seen it? There was a broadcast a week or two ago. Big uproar. Everyone in the Great Five knows about the latest world-renowned criminal the Leaf has produced," she said.

Fuck. Who the fuck knew they fought the One-Tail? He expected to make the news about the Wind Temple, but not this.

"Enough talk," Kagami hissed. "Surrender, or die. It's only a fifty million ryō penalty if you're—"

"Stop!" Hikari barked. She was breathing heavily, but Tetsu stood next to her with his sword to the neck of Kagari. She was unconscious, a needle sticking from her neck.

"Let her go, fuckers!" Kagami screamed. "Or I turn your friend to a bloody mist!"

" _Attack,"_ the man wheezed. _"Now!"_

Bolt thrust forward with a barrage of Gentle Fist strikes that rendered the elder Akiyama sister powerless and unconscious in the blink of an eye. She didn't even flinch as the blows connected. It was like she didn't even know he had moved.

The battle was over.

Bolt sighed. He turned his attention to his savior, who was looking worse for wear. Long, flowing black hair that fell to his shoulders that was singed and smoked from the explosion. He was pale, but not in an unhealthy way. Like a statue, come to life. Chiseled, sharp features. A pretty boy, if Bolt had ever seen one. Half his robe had been charred and burnt.

Bolt recognized him. The man at the inn they stayed at the previous night. His eyes flicked down to where the man was burned. He was bleeding quite heavily through the cracks in his skin. He'd die without medical treatment. "Why?" Bolt asked.

The man smiled up at him. "It would be a sin to let your beauty die," he wheezed, breaking into a fit of coughing before falling unconscious.

"What do we do, my lord?" Tetsu asked. He still held his blade to the younger sister's throat.

Bolt hesitated. He didn't have any qualm with killing the two women for trying to capture him. But he meant what he said. He could respect them for going rogue. It had been what he did. At the same time, he didn't want to let them go free for attacking him. He had a reputation to uphold now, apparently. He'd have to find a computer and see about viewing the broadcast about his fight with the One-Tail.

What to do, then?

"Leave them here," Bolt spoke. "We'll leave it up to fate. If the Stone ninja wake up first, they can take the Akiyama sisters. If they wake up, they go free. Hikari, is the needle you used poisonous?" She shook her head. "Good. Leave it, then. A parting gift that Kagami can solve."

They both nodded and Tetsu sheathed his sword before throwing down Kagari without a care. "What about him?" Hikari asked, nodding at his savior.

He would die without being healed. Bolt figured it was best to set a good precedent for this types of events. Save his life, spare it, and he would return the favor. "Heal him," he said.

"We can't take him with us," Hikari pointed out.

"I know," Bolt said. "We heal him, move him out of the way so he isn't caught in the fight between the Stone and the Akiyama sisters, then go on our way."

Hikari nodded, kneeling beside him. It took her longer than normal to patch him up. A side effect of having less chakra, and having to concentrate more to use the chakra she did have. Five minutes. Then ten. Hikari stood. "It's done," she said. "He'll be hurting, but he'll live."

Bolt nodded, carefully hoisting the man into his arms. "Let's go," he said. He dropped his savior off, hidden in the rotted remnants of an old tree. He would be impossible to find unless someone checked the tree specifically.

Then they ventured onward. Through the Land of Waterfalls, risking a brief journey through the mountain pass in the Land of Fire, and then they came to the grassy plains of the Land of Sound.

* * *

 **A/N:**

So we might have been pushing the T rating this chapter. Oh well. Hibiki is an interesting character that I've been wanting to write for awhile now. We also got to meet the Akiyama sisters, who won the Union tournament back in the Leaf arc since everyone else was hunting Bolt. I'll probably mix up their names a lot. Fun times.

Mariposa — Yeah, I saw that on the wiki just recently. Kind of annoying, but I knew that kind of stuff would happen since I started the story prior to the manga. I had to check the raws because I wanted to make sure the translation was accurate, and there's no real way to tell until it's confirmed later in the story or in a data book.

Guest — Rest assured, Sasuke does, and will, interact with his family. He's just kinda busy, you know, defending the entire world from the invading alien gods who want to destroy life as they know it. Priorities, man.


	49. Chapter 49

The Land of Sound was a land of simple beauty. Formerly the Land of Rice, it boasted the largest acreage of farmland of any country and was the single largest exporter of rice by a large margin. Rolling, grassy hills covered most of the land, with sparse plains of grass and forest between. Rice paddies had been hewn from the hills, tiered so that the farmers could maximize the amount of land available to them.

Bolt could understand why Orochimaru had changed the name of the country when he conquered it. The way the eastern wind blew, just right, to catch the blades of grass on the hills elicited a shrill music. No matter where you went, there was always a muted tune that nature played in the background. It grated on him, at first, but he grew to accept it—even enjoy it. It made the nights more bearable.

Since they had arrived nearly three days ago, they had seen hide nor hair of any Hidden Sound ninja. Also, in a similar vein, they had seen no sign of trouble that would stem from rogue, monstrous experiments roving and raiding the land. It was a good thing, Bolt supposed. The Land of Sound wasn't nearly as developed as the Great Five, and their contact with the Union was minimal due to region instability. That meant few people knew his face. He didn't have to hide under a transformation jutsu at all waking hours—which was tedious and annoying. He made sure to keep his headband hidden, though. Even the most inbred bumpkin knew the stigma associated with that.

Hikari appeared to be coping well. Better than she was in the days proceeding the Strength of a Hundred seal. She seemed adjust to being at a lower power level than normal. That some things, like healing, or enhanced strength, simply weren't as powerful as they were before. She adjusted. Improved her efficiency. Relied on being more clever than powerful. She had hidden her Mist headband that she normally wore around her neck for the same reasons he had.

Tetsu was as serious as ever. He idly dragged his whetstone across the edge of his sword, honing it to a fine edge. At first, the grating sound had set him on edge. Made him think of battle. Now, it was simply part of the atmosphere their camp took on.

But Bolt was bored. More than bored, he was restless. He'd expected progress to be quicker. The people of the Land of Sound lived simple lives. That much was obvious. Technology hadn't spread there, yet. But they didn't appear to be oppressed, or under duress. Yet he knew that the Union classified the country as being under political unrest; they had no Lord, and the country was ran entirely by their hidden village which was in constant combat with rogue experiments when Orochimaru was in power.

So where were they?

Bolt had two theories. One: the Union was lying. Possible, even plausible, given their intense hatred of those not allied with them and their goals. Two: the two sides were organized, and fighting a cold war. Whilst Bolt felt justified in theory one, if he was the one leading either the Sound or the rebels, he would bet on theory two.

It was a battle for control of a country. Generally speaking, if there weren't people to rule then you didn't have a country. That meant they were trying to keep the war out of the public eye so that whenever, whoever, won, they could take control and the people wouldn't protest. So, the Sound consolidated their forces, used ANBU to hunt the rebels. The rebels hid in their holes, emerging to hit a target hard and fast before scurrying away and avoiding capture or execution.

Smart.

Only one problem. Orochimaru experimented on two types of people. Commoners, who had no power to speak of. He turned them into monsters. Then, there were the monsters that he experimented on. He turned them into things that couldn't even be called human.

Such monstrosities rarely displayed such cunning, Bolt found. They would revel in the fear. Seek pleasure from spreading it. But they weren't. That could mean several things. Their leader was strong; strong enough to control the monsters. The monsters had learned to control their urges, or were otherwise directing them towards a more constructive outlet. That would be worrying. Bolt would need to check and see if there were any missing persons. He shuddered at the thought.

Bolt idly flexed his left arm. Hikari had managed to knit the flesh back together where Kagari had burned him with her lava, and healed the broken bone that Kagami had dealt him. It still felt weak, though. He didn't like it. Bolt peered across the hills with his Byakugan, on the lookout for any trouble. He saw nothing as far as his range extended. He sighed, standing, and moved to sit closer to their campfire. It was cold, for spring. He hadn't noticed the temperature in the desert other than the obvious sweltering heat in the day and freezing cold at night. Not a bad place to whether the winter.

Summer would be upon them, soon, and then his sister's birthday in the fall. This wouldn't be the first year he would miss it, but it would weigh on him the most. Bolt activated the tracking seal. Both Himawari and Sarada were to the south; close, but not too close. In the Land of Fire, near the Leaf. Could he send her a gift, like he did when he was part of the Crimson Tide? Perhaps. He missed her. More than he'd like to admit.

Bolt sighed. He hadn't even seen his sister more than a handful of times in the past four, close to five, years. He bounced his leg up and down nervously. Would she even consider him her brother anymore? He imagined it would be hard to foster love for someone you barely knew. He left when she was quite young, and they both had changed over the years.

Bolt needed a distraction. He focussed on trying to create an Adamantine Sealing Chain. It was more difficult than he imagined. The sheer focus it took to mold Yin and Yang chakra together and control the result was staggering. It left him with nothing more than a pounding headache more often than not. His Yang chakra boiled up and that small spark of Yin chakra that was the essence of fūinjutsu merged and was subsumed. He focussed, controlling the feeling, shaping it. A spearhead of light violet chakra emerged from the palm of his hand. It was more incorporeal than corporeal. He probably wouldn't have been able to hit anything with it. But, still, it was progress. Bolt pushed it forward, and was only able to generate two feet of chain before the construct dissipated.

Something he would have to work on if he was a known, vetted S-class threat. His name carried weight now, and he needed the power to back that up. The sealing chains could provide that power. He hadn't forgotten how easily Mitsuki had been beaten with them, and he was using natural chakra.

Bolt sighed, again, running a hand through his hair. He was at that awkward moment between being bald and having enough hair to do something with. Worse? Every time he caught his reflection in the water, a window, or his canteen, he saw his father. It irritated him. Brought bad memories. He'd had twelve years with his father before he left, and the memories he associated with his face were the moment he was outed at the Chūnin Exams, and the fight they had before he fled the Leaf and became an official rogue ninja.

Neither were pleasant. He hated it.

"Bolt," Hikari said. She discreetly nodded into the distance.

"Shit," Bolt swore. "Is he still following us?" He turned his gaze to the west. Sure enough, his savior was there, hiding in the forest. Bolt caught a glance of him, and then the man disappeared, retreating out of his range of vision. It was disconcerting that he could follow them, keeping at the exact edge of his vision.

"What are we going to do about him?" Hikari asked.

Bolt didn't really want to murder the man. He figured it set a good precedent for the future: if you saved his life, or spared it, he would return the favor—just once. Just because he was a vetted S-class threat didn't mean that there weren't other S-class threats out there. He wanted his reputation to be more than just a hardened killer. He wanted to be someone feared, but respected, in the underground community.

But, at the same time, Bolt was not thrilled to have a "fan" following him around. It looked bad for his reputation. S-class threats didn't have groupies. That wasn't even touching on the security aspects of having a tail. He had to go.

"Let's keep moving," he said. "If we can catch our tail off guard, take him."

Nods. Their group packed their meager belongings and set off. Bolt kept a wary eye on the horizon, ever watchful. They made their way east, across the Land of Sound, scouring every village and town along the way for the rogue experiments of Orochimaru.

It didn't take long to find them.

* * *

Bolt had thought Orochimaru made monsters.

He was wrong. Some people, he knew, where monsters in mind if not in body.

The man in front of him was one such creature.

Tall, maybe a hair shorter than Tetsu—which was damn impressive—with skin that was pocked and scabbed. Bald, but with a jaw that was larger than any human skeleton could produce and a thick skull. His teeth had been replaced with thick, bestial fangs. He wore no shirt and only a loose set of robes for modesty's sake. And, furling around his body, was an intricate tattooed seal that stemmed from his neck. A Cursed Seal.

The monster charged him, like a stampeding bull, head lowered. Bolt leapt out of the way. The monster rammed his skull into the wall of the underground facility they had infiltrated, knocking down the wall and sending cracks webbing through the floor and ceiling. Bolt stepped in and struck him with a barrage of Gentle Fist strikes.

Their pathways were odd. The normal pathway was there, unaltered, but there was a second one winding around the first—almost like vines, strangling the life out of a tree. The second pathways was an inky black color as opposed to the natural blue, and more than that, it was flexible and malleable. Bolt could close a handful of points, disrupting the flow of chakra, only for the pathway to adjust itself in short order and reroute chakra around the blockages.

It was irritating. Orochimaru had a known vendetta against the Leaf. Maybe his Cursed Seal was designed to be resistant to the Gentle Fist. A counter to the Hyūga. It would prevent his footsoldiers from being incapacitated.

The man charged him, again, lowering his skull like a battering ram. Bolt could say one thing: he wasn't awfully intelligent. He tried the same strategy again and again, expected a new result when there was only failure. Bolt was too fast for him to ram. It just wasn't in his ability to move his mass that quickly. Bolt stepped to the side as the man charged him with a roar. Instead of trying to incapacitate the man and study the Cursed Seal like he wanted to, he casually reached out and pressed his index finger to the man's skull, just above the ear.

The man fell to the ground, twitching, like a puppet with its strings cut. So, scrambling their brains worked. The Cursed Seal faded, receding into itself before disappearing entirely. Unfortunate. Orochimaru's seal work was legendary. Almost as much as the man himself.

Monster slain, Bolt walked back through the facility until he reached _the room._ An easy Chidori cut the steel lock from the door, allowing him to open it. There were three women locked inside; two, no older than twenty-five, but one was a girl of no more than fourteen or fifteen. They were naked and filthy, sobbing and quaking at his approach.

Orochimaru might have given the man a body of a monster, but he was a monster long before if he could do _this_ to a fellow human. "It's alright," Bolt said, kneeling. The three women were backing into the corners of their cell. "It's alright," he repeated. "I'm here to help. You're free. He won't hurt you anymore."

Bolt pressed a finger to the seal on his forearm. He produced a large silk sheet, and the three women recoiled as violently as if he had struck them. "Hey, it's okay," he said, placing the sheet on the ground in a neat, folded square. He didn't have any women's clothes—other than a handful of Akatsuki uniforms, but he didn't think they would like that—so a sheet would have to do.

He backed away. "I'm a ninja. Your village, they've been worried about you three. You've been missing for two and a half months now. I'm here to help," Bolt repeated.

The message seemed to sink in. They scrambled forward, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around themselves. Bolt was thankful. They were naked, and their captors hadn't deigned to care for them well or often. Thin and filthy with numerous cuts and bruises. He didn't want that image in his mind while he slept at night.

"Listen," he said, gently. "I have food and water, but you can't stay here." He didn't think they wanted to stay, anyway, but they weren't moving. "Can you walk?"

The three women gave him hesitant, shaky nods. They stood, sharing their strength between them so they could stand. Bolt stepped aside. "You're going to see some things," he added. "Ignore them. Don't look at the ground. Keep your eyes on the ceiling."

The three of them stepped out of their prison. Bolt saw all three look around, eyes on the ground. That changed when they saw one of their captors, bisected from skull to balls by Tetsu. Another was riddled with needles by Hikari. The two of them were clearing the rest of the facility.

The three women quickly followed his advice—eyes on the ceiling. "Follow me. I'll lead you out," Bolt said, gesturing with one hand. The two older women looked at his eyes, flinched, and looked away. The younger girl, however, found his dōjutsu fascinating and refused to look away.

That was the worst part as he lead them above ground. He couldn't help but cast quick, furtive glances at her as she stared him down. And, every glance he got, he saw four chakra pathways, not three.

Bolt should have made them suffer before he killed them. The women would just have to settle knowing that vengeance had been done. It was a pale consolation.

Hikari and Tetsu joined them shortly after. Hikari had a handful of clothes in her arms, which she gave to the three women. They quickly ran off behind a tree to change. Bolt stood next to Hikari, and whispered. "The youngest is pregnant. Can you, you know?"

Hikari nodded, not saying a word, but retrieving her pack and rifling through it. She found a handful of dried herbs sealed in a scroll and a small metal pan. She filled it with water and set it to boil above their campfire whilst steeping the herbs in it. By the time the three returned, Hikari had finished pouring the tea into three cups. Hikari looked to Bolt. He swore under his breath. She wanted him to be the one to break the news? Why?

He saw the way they shied away from Hikari, and even more from Tetsu. Damn it. Bolt approached them slowly, carefully. He kneeled a short distance away. "Hey," he greeted them. "This is my friend. Her name is Hikari. She's one of the best doctors in the world. Mind if she looks you over? Just want to make sure you're not hurt, that's all. Promise. She's even got tea."

Bolt looked over. She now had some of their travelling rations out, too. "And some food," he added.

The three nodded. Bolt backed away as Hikari approached, handing each their first proper meal in weeks. They were too busy eating to notice or care as Hikari ran her hands over their skin, light as a ghost, her fingers glowing with green chakra. She paused on the younger girl, and only he caught the slight flare of her chakra with his Byakugan as she ended the life growing within. Hopefully, the girl wouldn't notice. Wouldn't add to the trauma.

They returned to the farming village the next day. The villagers were sobbing wrecks from the moment the three women were returned. Bolt tried to shy away from the praise, the thanks. The villagers acted like he was the second coming of the Sage of Six Paths. He just did what anyone would have done. He put down the rabid dog and helped the victims it had bitten. That's all.

The villagers thought otherwise. Insisted they stay for a celebration; a feast. They lit bonfires that night, straw dummies that were twice as tall as Tetsu was. The good thing about the Land of Rice was that they had a surplus of rice and rice products. Their rice wine, in particular, was of the highest quality. Not that Bolt drank often.

It was near midnight when the festivities drew to an end. Bolt was walking to the outskirts of the village, back to their camp, when someone caught his hand. It was the young girl. Strange, how he thought of her, considering he was only two or three years older.

"Thank you," she said, the first and last words Bolt heard her speak. She tightened her grip on his hand, squeezing, and then slipped back into the night and back to the village.

Bolt smiled as he walked back to their camp.

* * *

The pocket of experiments they found were the only ones in the entire country, it seemed.

Bolt was growing irritated. They'd roamed the land, far and wide, using his Byakugan to extend their range an additional five miles. Unless they were hiding under a blade of grass somewhere, Bolt was ready to give up. It was possible that the first facility they raided had somehow put the word out that they had been discovered and the others had gone to ground. But, everyone in that facility was dead. A failsafe, perhaps?

Still. It was exceedingly irritating. Bolt glanced to the southwest where his savior was tailing them. Again. That was also becoming exceedingly irritating.

Bolt resolved to solve that problem, in particular, tonight. Was it possible that he was tipping off the remnants of Orochimaru's experiments? It was the only reason Bolt could come up with for why he had been following them like a fly on shit.

"Hikari. Tetsu," Bolt spoke, standing up. "I'm going to deal with our tail. If I'm not back in ten minutes, come find me."

They both nodded. Bolt made his way southwest, towards the forest that stretched into the Land of Sound from the Land of Fire. Almost immediately, the man disappeared from his sight. Worrying. Bolt weaved hand signs. He wouldn't be deterred that easily. Bird. Rat. Ox. Monkey. Rat. Snake.

The gray clouds that had hung over the land for the past several days began to darken. Rain spilled forth at his command. Bolt felt the drain on his chakra, but it was not so severe as it had been back in the Land of Rain. He had grown, Bolt realized. The jutsu painted an image in his mind, like feeling someone's finger trace his skin. He could feel a figure moving through the rain at a brisk pace, retreating to the west. Bolt zeroed in on the area with his Byakugan and still saw nothing.

Bolt followed after him. It was too easy. There was no game when the hunter knew every move the prey made. Bolt followed him for three minutes. Then, it seemed the game was up. The man broke into a sprint, realizing that he was being followed. Damn. Bolt ran forward, leaping over a downed tree.

The chase wasn't even a competition. Bolt was simply too fast. Even over rough terrain, he was nearly three times as fast as his quarry. All of his training with the Lightning Armor carried over to his physical agility.

Bolt appeared before him, kicking up a storm of dead leaves. His face was contorted in pain from the effort of sprinting through the forest. Bolt could see that he had bandaged his burns as best as he'd been able to.

Both stood, absolutely still, staring each other down. The man cracked first, looking away. Bolt considered that a victory. "Who are you?"

The man laughed, a high, nervous sound. "I don't mean you any harm. I'm not an enemy," he said, taking a single step back.

Bolt raised his right hand. Lightning crackled from his elbow to the tips of his fingers. "I'll be the judge of that," he said, brandishing the attack.

That stopped him in his tracks. His eyes flit back and forth, as if he was unable to find a safe place to rest them. Bolt took a step forward. He took two back. "Please don't do that," he said, wincing, eyes focussed on the ground.

"Do what?" Bolt asked, taking another step forward. Electricity crackled in the dark of the night.

" _That,"_ the man said, taking another step backwards. "Your chakra is distracting."

"You're a sensor," Bolt stated. "That's how you're following us. A powerful one at that. Your range must extend even farther than my Byakugan."

"Yes," he said, simply.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Bolt asked. He didn't move forward, but the electricity arcing across his arm intensified.

"Hibiki, at your service," he said, bowing theatrically. Bolt didn't miss that when he stood from the bow, he had taken another two steps backwards. Bolt didn't close the distance.

He also didn't answer the second question. "And what do you want with me, Hibiki?" Bolt asked. "Are you a spy?"

"Yes—" Bolt lunged forward, ready to plunge his fist into the man's heart. Hibiki leapt backwards, hands raised in a gesture of non-aggression. "But! But, I'm not spying on you. I work for the Hidden Grass."

As if to prove the statement, Hibiki slowly, carefully, reached into the folds of the robes he wore and withdrew a headband. The stylized emblem of the Grass shone clearly in the light of the moon. "I discovered you quite by chance—in fact, you found me!" Hibiki explained. "I just followed you on a whim."

"You followed me, on a whim? Do you even know who I am?" Bolt asked. He couldn't believe that. Wouldn't. He would be a fool. Too many people knew who he was now for this to be a coincidence.

"Oh, yes, I know who you are. Everyone does. But I didn't follow you because of that," Hibiki said.

"Then _why?_ " Bolt reiterated. He was getting irritated. He didn't talk circles around his enemies. He preferred to fight. He took two rapid steps forward, closing the distance between the two of them. He controlled the arcing electricity so that it didn't attack without his command.

Hibiki paused. It was dark, with only the light of the moon to see by, but he caught it. Eyes flicked down, then up, then sideways. Looking for escape. Bolt knew that Hibiki knew that there was none to be found. He was cornered. Chest heaving. Face flushed. Hibiki attacked. Bolt slipped into a stance, ready to defend himself.

Hibiki kissed him.

Bolt reacted with extreme, overwhelming force. He closed thirty-nine of the sixty-four major chakra points. Hibiki was left a boneless pile of tangled limbs on the forest floor, struggling to breathe. Bolt dragged his forearm across his lips.

"If you just tried to poison me, I can assure you I am immune to nearly everything more deadly than poison ivy," Bolt spat. It was a lie. A little one, but a lie nonetheless. Hikari hadn't dosed him against the more serious poisons since they hadn't had time to rest. "And that one of my companions is an expert in every herb and root from the Land of Water to the Land of Wind. And if you did, we will make the rest your short life exceedingly painful."

Hibiki made a noise somewhere between a wheeze and a groan. "I deserved that," he groaned. "But it was worth it."

Bolt scowled. He proceeded to close the remaining twenty-five chakra points. Only the exceedingly strong or willful would be able to move in such a state. With a casual ease, Bolt flung the man over his shoulder and ran through the forest back towards camp.

It didn't take long to reach camp. Hikari and Tetsu were in the process of gearing up when he entered the range of the campfire's light.

"Hikari, detox," Bolt said. The mood shifted from relief to worry in an instant.

Hikari stood before him, running her hands over him as they glowed green. It was a tense few minutes for Bolt. Every second passed and he thought the verdict would come down. "You're clear," Hikari informed him. Bolt let out a breath. She moved to her pack and withdrew a metal box. From it, she handed him a handful of pills. "But, just to be safe, take these."

Bolt glared at Hibiki as he ate the fistful of bitter pills. He was more angry at himself than Hibiki. He'd let his guard down in that instant, and he'd paid for it. He underestimated him because he was a sensor and a genjutsu user. If Hibiki had been an assassin, Bolt could have very well died. That was not a mistake he would make again.

Bolt turned to face their captive, who was doing his best to keep his diaphragm pumping oxygen into his lungs. Bolt stood a fair, safe distance away. "So, you decided to take the hard way. That's fine. Why are you following us?" Bolt asked.

Bolt gave him ample time to answer. It would be hard to talk whilst struggling to breathe. Hibiki opened and closed his lips, struggling for an answer. A minute passed. Then two. "Fine then. Tetsu, tear off his right arm."

Tetsu stepped forward, popping the knuckles in both of his hands. To his credit, his face betrayed not a hint of emotion. A stone cold emotionless mask. It was intimidating. Tetsu kneeled, gripping a wrist in one hand and a shoulder in the other.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" Hibiki gasped.

Bolt motioned for Tetsu not to maim him. He paused. "Yes?" Bolt asked.

"I—I can help you! I don't mean any harm, really!" Hibiki pleaded.

Bolt considered it. "Help me how?"

"I grew up here! My parents immigrated to the Land of Grass when I was five. You're looking for the rebels, aren't you? I can help you find them," Hibiki said.

Bolt looked unimpressed. Hibiki quickly began speaking again. "And I'm a sensor! A good one. You said it yourself. My range is even greater than your Byakugan."

Bolt paused. "How would you find the rebel experiments when neither of us three have been able to?"

Hibiki's brown eyes flit between him and Tetsu. "The hideouts are built all over this place, right? Everyone knows that. Orochimaru built them. He came from the Leaf. He knew trackers would come after him. The best trackers are the Inuzuka, the Aburame, and—"

"The Hyūga," Bolt finished for him. Damn. It made sense.

"Right," Hibiki said with a nod. "So the hideouts can't be detected by the Byakugan. Unfortunate for you. Not so for me! No matter how much you try to hide, a little chakra always shows. It is where that chakra shows that's important. A tiny spark of it, a hundred feet below ground? Hideout."

Bolt considered it. Hibiki was right, and that was what gave Bolt caution. Orochimaru was, by all rights, one of the most powerful men in the world. He was a Sannin for a reason. He would have known the Leaf would send trackers after him. His lairs wouldn't emit scent, or would cover them up, to throw off the Inuzuka dogs. Bugs would be repelled, exterminated, or thrown off to mislead the Aburame.

And they wouldn't appear to the Byakugan. Invisible to the Hyūga; the first line of defense in the tracker corps. Only a powerful, natural sensor would have a chance at finding the hideouts. Such prowess and talent was rare.

That vetted Hibiki's skills. But what about the man himself? Could Bolt trust him not to slit his throat in the night, or poison their food and water? And he was a genjutsu user. Bolt was immune to all but the most powerful illusions, thanks to his Hyūga blood. But Hikari? Tetsu? They would be susceptible. One expertly ensnared illusion to convince Tetsu to attack him would be all it took.

But it was the other motives that gave Bolt pause. He looked down on Hibiki. He'd saved him from not death—Bolt thought he almost surely would have survived a direct explosion by Kagami—but he would have been crippled, in pain. Hibiki saved him from that, and was injured in the process. A selfless act. Bolt hadn't even remembered him from the inn.

What had he said just before losing consciousness? _"It would be a sin to let your beauty die,"_ Bolt recalled. And his actions. Here, and in the forest. Hibiki kissed him. Why? He didn't take the opportunity to poison him like a femme fatale. Because he found his chakra distracting?

"My lord?" Tetsu asked, his hands still on Hibiki. Bolt held his hand up, gesturing for him to pause. This was important. He needed to think. This choice could mean the difference between weeks in the Land of Sound, or months. The difference between regional stability or chaos.

His refusal to answer why he followed him was another mystery. Bolt paused. He looked down, staring at Hibiki. More of a glare, really. Hibiki met his eyes. Held them for a moment. Looked away. In the light of the fire, Bolt could see him flush.

No.

No fucking way. Bolt paused. Considered it. Pieces of the puzzle, once missing, slid into place. "Shit," Bolt swore, turning away.

He had a—what do you even call it? A fan? A stalker? Hibiki followed him because he had a crush on him—on his chakra? Fuck. Bolt had considered the possibilities. He expected for, planned, even, copycats. He'd kicked off a new era as far as criminals go. He expected more ninja to go rogue, to push the Union, to push the boundaries of what they could get away with before being put down.

But an—an admirer? Yes, that was the word. He had an admirer.

Bolt chanced a glance at Hikari and Tetsu. Both wore looks of concern at the length of silence. He ignored them. So, he had an admirer. That would make the group dynamic awkward, to say the least. Did Hikari or Tetsu know? He chanced another glance at them. No, they didn't. Alright. Hibiki seemed reluctant—embarrassed—to broach the subject alone, let alone in the company of others.

It was a calculated risk.

On one hand, Hibiki was dangerous. An unknown. Skilled. A spy by trade, he had revealed. He would upset their group dynamic just by his mere presence—like Tsuchigumo did—and that was not to say anything of the romantic motivations which would strain the dynamic even further.

On the other hand, however. Hibiki knew the land. Grew up there. Knew the locals. He was a skilled sensor. He'd be able to locate and guide them to the hideouts. And, if push came to shove, he was, at least, able to defend himself.

So, what to do?

Bolt turned to look at Hibiki again. He had become exceedingly skilled at reading people, in his own opinion. A skill developed by watching the Crimson Tide mercenaries, both themselves and the people they interacted with; bounties, targets, and clients included. It was a necessary skill. It separated the truly great mercenaries, like Eiji, from the commoners, like the Akiyama sisters. The ability to take a single look at someone and instantly pick them apart. Their power, their motivations, and their disposition.

And when Bolt looked at Hibiki, he saw someone that could be used. His skills were useful, and his mind sharp. More than that, though, Bolt knew that despite the dangers that Hibiki presented, he could be made to bend to his will. His attraction to Bolt—or to his chakra, it didn't matter—could be used to secure his loyalty. To ensure that he wouldn't betray them.

It would be cruel. But it was for the greater good. The good of the people of the Land of Sound.

"Let him go, Tetsu," Bolt commanded. The swordsman rose, retreating.

Bolt knelt, and with a quick series of strikes, unblocked fifteen of the sixty-four blocked chakra points. Just enough so that Hibiki could breathe easily, and move his arms. From a pouch at his waist, Bolt withdrew a kunai. He twirled it, the blade settling in the palm of his hand. "If you want to join us, you have to do one thing," Bolt said. With his free hand, he removed the Grass headband from the folds of the man's robes. He then pressed the hilt of the kunai to Hibiki's hand.

Bolt guided the hand to the headband by the wrist, then stepped back.

This would be a test.

Bolt waited. He could see the two sides warring within. The emotional side, which told Hibiki to cast off his allegiance to the Grass for a chance at love, and the logical side, saying that it was dangerous, foolish, even, to do so.

Still, Bolt waited. He was a patient man. Hibiki looked up, glancing at him. Bolt saw it and acted like he didn't catch him looking when he glanced away. Bolt could see the rise and fall of his chest increase its pace. One minute passed. Then two. Then five. Still, Bolt waited. Then ten.

A ring of steel-on-steel. Hibiki defaced the emblem of the Grass with a steady hand, gouging out a near perfectly straight line through the wavy triangles. Hibiki then reached up, tying the headband around his neck.

Bolt smiled.

"Welcome to the team," he said, as he unblocked the remaining chakra points.

* * *

Hinata stood before the doors of the Hokage tower.

She'd done it many times before. The Academy was only two blocks away. She'd stood before the tower as a child. Stood before it as a chūnin. Now she stood before it as the wife of the man within.

And this was the first time she felt nervous doing so.

"Ready, Hinata?" Kiba asked with a broad smile.

She dipped her head and led their group forward. Shino was quiet. As he normally was. Hinata had forgotten how the three of them operated as a team. She supposed she would learn again shortly.

They made their way up the stairs to the second story, down the hallway and towards the oval Hokage's office. Hinata knew there were countless ANBU hidden in plain sight, but couldn't spot them without her Byakugan.

Udon was there, waiting for them by the door. "He's expecting you," he said, opening it for them. She gave him a small smile of thanks.

The office was surprisingly neat. The towers of paperwork were, for once, manageable. Her love sat behind the desk, shoulders stooped, dark rings around his eyes. Her heart broke a little. Naruto didn't look like he'd had a decent night of rest in a long time. Hinata felt guilt. She'd left to take Himawari on a short training trip to get her mind off her brother. It had worked, a little. Now she wasn't sure if it had been worth it.

Naruto seemed to brighten upon seeing her. Hinata felt her heart flutter. He gave her a smile that brightened her day and banished the dark mood that had seemed to cling to her these days.

Then his smile fell, and Hinata remembered she hadn't been summoned as the wife of the Hokage but as Hinata Hyūga, member of the newly reinstated team eight. She straightened, mirroring the poses of Kiba and Shino.

Naruto glanced at Kiba and Shino. "What you are about to hear is top secret intel. The mission, if you accept, is being classified as an S-class threat, with the possibility—the plausibility—of being escalated," he said, his voice measured and calm.

"What could be worse than an S-class threat? Two S-class threats?" Kiba joked.

No one found it funny. Naruto answered him. "If you fail this mission, a possible outcome is the declaration of the Fifth Great War," he answered. "That is the escalation of an S-class threat."

Kiba stilled. He nodded an apology and remained silent.

Naruto paused for a moment. He let that information sink in. "Kakashi made contact with me today. Last known location was a small village in the Land of Waterfalls. He's been on the trail of Bolt and his team. Your mission, Team Eight, is to rendezvous with him and investigate claims that Bolt has entered the Land of Sound. You are then to follow his lead and capture Bolt. Your secondary mission, of equal importance, is to discover if Bolt or any of his companions are the jinchūriki of the One-Tail, or if they are carrying the vessel in which the Tailed Beast is sealed," Naruto said.

"It is true, then?" Shino asked.

Naruto nodded. "Bolt's actions have, whether he intended them to or not, created a new era. The Tailed Beasts were considered untouchable by many, because of their natural power and my protection. Not anymore. The world knows the Tailed Beasts are powerful, but now they know they can be defeated. Concerns have been raised by the Union and its members that Bolt may be intending to weaponize the One-Tail. I've been pushed to rein in the other Tailed Beasts and surrender them equally to each of the Great Five. They're worried that the world is on the brink of war and everybody but them has the largest weapon," he explained.

"Capturing Bolt will secure his safety and prove the strength of the Leaf, and by extension, my strength. The Tailed Beasts will not be attacked so long as the other Kage fear the Leaf coming down on them. Released Shukaku back into the Land of Wind is a secondary goal. Restoring the status quo," Naruto said.

Nods all around. "Shino. You're being promoted to squad leader. Kakashi has point on this, but when he's not around, you're in charge," Naruto informed them.

Hinata nodded. It made sense. She couldn't be leader—she was his wife; biased. Kiba was not leadership material, much as she loved him.

"We need intel. Why?" Shino asked. Hinata smiled. His manner of speech reminded her of the old days. "Because the defeat of Kakashi Hatake suggests Bolt is more powerful than the Union has led the public to believe."

Naruto nodded. He pressed a hand to a nearby shelf. A compartment, hidden by the wood, popped open. Inside were a number of scrolls. Naruto took one and passed it to Shino. Hinata leaned into his shoulder to read along.

Kiba mirrored her, reading aloud. "Threat assessment for rogue ninja, Bolt Uzumaki," he read. "Class S threat. Ninjutsu-five, taijutsu-five, genjutsu-one, intelligence-four, strength-three, speed-five, stamina-four, hand signs-four... holy shit, that's thirty-one! What was Kakashi at this age?"

"Twenty-nine," Naruto answered. "Keep reading."

"What? It gets better?" Kiba asked.

"An additional five points should be added in consideration for fūinjutsu," Shino read, informing Kiba by pointing to the offending paragraph in the report. "Kakashi reports that Bolt and another unnamed individual had the skill necessary to seal the One-Tail in the Kettle of Bunpuku."

Hinata didn't think the Torture and Intelligence division's assessment would be helpful. She knew, first hand, how powerful class S threats were. Class A threats—they could be quantified; compared. You could look up the names of them and compare their assessments. You could rank them. Class S threats were anything but. They were in a league of their own, each one vastly dissimilar to each other. Even among the Akatsuki, the level of power differed. Someone like Hidan, a dangerous man in his own right, did not even begin to compare to Pain.

Just the mere thought of the orange-haired man brought a shiver crawling up her spine. Hinata frowned as she came across a number of censored paragraphs.

"What was redacted?" Shino asked for her.

"A secret fūinjutsu technique unique to the Uzumaki clan," Naruto answered. "The stipulations of our treaty with the Whirlpool prevent me from disclosing the technique. Kakashi was an eyewitness to the later half of the fight between Bolt, his team, and Shukaku. He witnessed it personally and will most likely fill you in on the details regardless of treaty or not."

Shino nodded.

"One more thing," Naruto said. "You are permitted to use extreme force. Short of killing him, anything goes." Hinata's breath hitched. Naruto looked at her, spoke to her. "It might be hard, but it has to be done. If the Union is the one to capture him... it will be worse. Much, much worse."

Hinata read between the lines. Torture. No, if she had to beat her son within an inch of his life to spare him from years of torture, she would. It would hurt her, more than she could imagine, but she would do it.

"Team Eight," Naruto said, pausing. "Dismissed."

* * *

 **A/N:**

So it seems some of you have noticed I'm pumping out the chapters. Heh. That's intentional. I kinda set myself the "challenge" of writing a chapter every 24-48 hours, and I feel like I've been doing a pretty good job. I've had lots of free time lately, and an inspiration to write. So, yeah, lots of progress! I'll probably stop soon, so don't get too used to it.


	50. Chapter 50

The Village Hidden by the Sound was an apt name. Bolt stood atop a grassy knoll, holding his hands to his ears, his Byakugan bridging the distance between him and the village.

The Sound was surrounded on all sides by nothing but plains and hills. Not even hidden from sight. But you couldn't approach it. The wind howled and wailed so much that it was giving Bolt a pounding headache. And it only got worse the closer you went. Eventually, Bolt concluded, you would die from the sheer sound of it. A perfect, village-wide defense. A defense that only its ninja could hope to pass.

But their destination was not the Sound. But it was somewhere very, very close. As the saying went: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. The Sound would have never expected for one of Orochimaru's secret hideouts to be a short jog away from their village gates.

Bolt glanced at Hibiki. He had quickly proven himself useful; dedicated. He threw himself into the search wholeheartedly. "Are you sure it's this way?" Bolt yelled, to be heard over the screeching, echoing wind.

Hibiki nodded, leading them deeper and deeper into the sound defense. He hoped the Sound wasn't capable of detecting if anyone entered their sphere of influence. That would be bad. They weren't one of the Great Five, or part of the Union, but he had no doubt they would at least make an attempt to capture him if they knew he was active in their country. If they caught him, they could bargain him off for membership in the Union. That was the smart play. That's what he would do.

Five minutes later—which seemed like an hour, with the sound—Hibiki led them to an outcropping of boulders and small rocks, atop which, a tree grew. Its roots bound the rock together. Hikari took over, eyes on the ground. Bolt could see that she quickly found evidence of human habitation. She led them forward, and found a small gap between the rocks where the roots of the tree did not grow.

Bolt never would have found it. He doubted anyone would, unless they knew it was there. Maybe some children playing hide-and-seek. He paused. That was a plausible scenario. He would have to scour the facility.

The moment they stepped through the roots and into the tunnel, the sound outside was silenced. Bolt let a sigh escape his lips. He had grown exceedingly tired of that droning echo in his skull. They were in a rough tunnel. The walls were made of dirt and the floor of gravel. Roots from the tree snaked their way through the walls. It looked almost natural, were it not for the shuffle of footprints in the gravel.

"Well done, Hibiki," Bolt said. It was amazing what three little words could do. Bolt could see the small smile that Hibiki couldn't fully hide.

Bolt led them down. It was a strange feeling. He would use his Byakugan, and see nothing. Like he was walking through dirt. He'd blink, cancelling his dōjutsu, and be standing in the tunnel. Whatever defenses were obscuring his Byakugan, Bolt needed to discover what they were and how to bypass them.

"We're getting close," Hibiki whispered.

Bolt nodded. "Be ready. Look for anything that could be a seal, anything that could hamper the Byakugan," he said. Bolt had gotten used to the utility his dōjutsu brought to his arsenal. Suddenly bereft of it left him feeling vulnerable.

They came to a small wooden door. Bolt paused. He reached forward, pushed it open, and stepped inside.

It was surprisingly normal. Dim lighting, walls painted a depressing gray color, and stone floors. Pillars ran the length of the room, every so often, holding the ceiling aloft.

There were two men sitting at a table a few feet away. One smoked a cigarette. A bottle of rice wine sat on the table between them. Both had a handful of cards. And both were looking at him, struck dumb.

There was an awkward lull. Bolt felt the calm take him as everything else fell away and only the fight remained. Like the world had been put on pause. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, the world whirred back into motion.

Both the men—guards—at the table stood, knocking the bottle of rice wine over and throwing their cards to the wind in their haste to reach for their weapons. Hikari had flung two fistfuls of needles at them before anyone could move. Both made a sort of gurgling, strangled noise before going still.

Bolt tilted his head, listening to see if they had alerted an alarm. None came. "Spread out. Hikari with Tetsu, Hibiki with me," he said. Hikari gave him an odd look. He gave her a nod, as if to say that he would be okay. Hibiki could cast a genjutsu on either of them without them knowing it. He could ask them questions, or worse, tell them things. No, it was safer if Hibiki was paired with him.

There were several branching halls that led deeper into the compound. Bolt took the leftmost one, making note of Hikari and Tetsu entering the rightmost. If they were lucky, the halls would converge at a later point allowing them to cover the entire compound without having to double back.

They caught the first few inhabitants of the facility as they left their quarters. They, like their brethren at the entrance, were in disbelief. None of them recovered before Bolt sent them to the Pure Lands. There were numerous doors dotting the hall. Without his Byakugan, Bolt would have had to spend an hour, perhaps more, checking each room. But, with Hibiki, there was no need. He could feel the chakra within as easily as Bolt could see with his dōjutsu. They cleared one hall, then two, and then a third.

That was when the alarm sounded. A dull, ringing echo that reverberated the facility.

Bolt could hear the sound of feet pounding on stone as all manner of freak and monster poured out of their rooms. Some were as tall as Tetsu and as thin as Tsuchigumo had been, and others still were as short as his sister and fat beyond compare. Many were scarred horrifically; disfigured, even. Others had long sleeves of tattoos covering them from head to toe. Nearly half had a Cursed Seal of some manner or another, from what Bolt could tell. He killed them first. A shame, really. He could imagine the possibilities. Endowing his friends and his followers with a portion of his power.

Hibiki proved himself. He possessed a powerful repertoire of Wind Release jutsu that could crush as easily as they could slash. All the while, he could whistle, or sing, and weave illusions around foes. Small ones. Nothing large or overt. Throwing off their depth perception. Making them think they were further away from danger than they actually were. It was the little ones, the illusions they could ignore or fight through, that ended being their downfall. That one instant of hesitation spelled death by either Hibiki's hand, or Bolt's own.

When the corpses lined the walls, the alarm stopped. Bolt didn't think that whoever was in charge of security would have shut it down willingly. "Must have been Hikari and Tetsu," Bolt told Hibiki.

He nodded in response, quiet in a way that would have disturbed Bolt had he not had a clearer understanding of why, exactly, Hibiki followed him. Instead, he led the two of them deeper into the facility. The ground became wet. A thin sheen of water that shone in the light. Bolt could see his reflection in water. He caught Hibiki looking not at their surroundings, but at him.

He ignored it. The water rose. From a thin sheen to a small puddle. Then from a puddle to a stream. Eventually it rose to his shins. Bolt frowned. "Be careful," he warned Hibiki. Something wasn't right.

"Could be damage from the fighting in other areas," Hibiki whispered.

"Could be," Bolt admitted. "But it's a lot of water for a broken pipe." What disturbed him the most was that it was the perfect amount of water. Not so much that they would feel in danger from what could hide in the depths, but too much to walk atop without banging their heads on the ceiling. The perfect amount to hamper their movements. Or, more sinister, electrocute. Bolt didn't have to worry about that, but Hibiki...

If it came to that, Bolt could save him.

His instincts proved themselves accurate. Bolt stepped into a larger section of the facility. Raised roof with pillars holding it aloft. Low set pedestals with broken and shattered glass cylinders. The water was nearly to his knees now.

That was all second to _what_ stood in the room.

Some sort of monstrous miscreation. It was an amalgam of two people; a woman and a man, Bolt thought. The woman was plain. Long legs and arms. A forgettable face with long, wavy hair kept in a utilitarian ponytail. The man was one of the unfortunate sons of the Land of Water; blue-green skin, amphibian features. He had gills where his ribs were, and his skull was stretched where his ears would have been. It gave his skull the appearance of a hammer.

He was one of the fishmen of the Land of Water. An unfortunate, uncommon chakra mutation that plagued the descendents of the Land of Water. Most were killed in their infancy, to spare them the pain of living. Some were not. Kisame Hoshigaki had been one such child. This man had been another. Orochimaru had sunk his claws into this one. Made him into a true monster. It was rumored the fishmen had far greater than average chakra than a normal man.

The two people had been cobbled together with a crude graft of mottled, gray skin with splotches of black. Thick cords of muscle held the two bodies together, like twins. The fishman was taller than the woman, carrying the weight of both of them and allowing her legs to dangle freely.

Both their heads turned to glare at Bolt as he stepped into their domain. Hibiki paused next to him. "Oh," Hibiki said. "Oh, god. You are hideous. In more ways than the obvious."

Bolt dragged Hibiki to cover as the woman raised an arm at them. The limb bulged, painfully large, before a porous hole opened in the palm of her hand and shot a gust of wind at the two of them. It was more of a battering ram than a gust. It struck the wall behind them and shattered stone.

The water rose, surging up to their thighs. "Fuck," Bolt swore. He threw Hibiki upwards. To his credit, he caught the pillar and clung to it with his chakra. Bolt threw his arms up, and allowed himself to be pulled out of the water. He lost a boot to the jutsu that tried to swallow him whole. Still, the water rose.

Bolt chanced a glance at the monster. The fishman held his hands in the Snake sign, spewing water from two appendages sprouting from his larger than normal legs. They were something between a sea cucumber and an anemone. They gushed gallon after gallon of water. "We have to make this quick," Bolt hissed, throwing his head back behind the pillar of stone as another blast of wind struck.

Even as Bolt spoke, he and Hibiki slid down the pillar. There wasn't much room for two nearly fully grown men behind it. It was also difficult to cling to sheer surfaces with just chakra and no foothold. "Cover me," Bolt said.

He waited for Hibiki to nod before leaping to the wall opposite them. He twisted, braced himself with both legs, and then leapt again—straight at their enemy.

"Wind Release!" Bolt heard Hibiki's smooth voice intone. "Great Breath!"

A blast of wind struck the shoulder of the woman as he flew, preventing her from attacking. Bolt landed a few feet before the pair, a single foot touching the water and keeping him above its depths, and lashed out with a barrage of Gentle Fist strikes.

The fishman altered his hand sign. He inhaled, chest bulging. Bolt began to expel chakra from every point in his body. It tore his foot free from its watery prison, propelling him into a rapid spin. Bolt felt his stomach churn. He'd underestimated how anchored he was with his Byakugan. Without it, he felt like he was riding one of the bad amusement park rides at the Leaf's fair in the summer. The fishman spat a blast of water at him which broke up the ultimate defense of the Gentle Fist.

He broke out of the Revolving Heaven, narrowly dodging an excellent timed blast of wind from the woman, and leapt from the water's surface before the jutsu could ensnare him again. Bolt landed on one of the few intact cylinders of glass in the room. He only had a moment, an instant, to plan his next action.

Hibiki leapt from his cover and sent a gust of wind racing across the water's surface and buffeting their opponent. Bolt watched him, waited until he was safely out of the water, and then weaved hand signs. He leapt out of the path of a blade of water the fishman spat at him, and sent an arc of lightning at the water. Electricity danced across the surface of the water and up the legs of the fishman before spreading to the woman.

The two bodies twitched and spasmed. But they stood. Fought against it. Bolt upped the voltage. The woman struggled, pointed both palms down, and blasted the water away with a blast of compressed air.

Bolt was already scampering behind a pillar when a fine mist of water sailed past him with such force that it eroded stone. A quick glance at Hibiki. Still alive. Good. The level of water had been reduced. It only came up to his ankles now. Not enough to hinder his movement.

Time to end it.

Bolt cupped his hands and formed a Rasengan.

Then he charged.

* * *

Hibiki could sense that glorious chakra swell. A crescendo of electricity that supercharged itself and made his hair stand on end. He weaved hand signs and leaned around the pillar to send a blast of wind at the physically ugly half the monster. He saw Bolt sprint from cover, a sphere of dense chakra whirring in the palm of his hand.

He ducked behind the pillar, weaved a single sign, leaned out the opposite side and struck the woman—the one with the dry, pasty chakra; Hibiki shivered—with a lance of water. It was enough of a distraction.

Bolt appeared before the hideous create in a blur of speed. The sphere of chakra was slammed into its belly. Hibiki expected it to be an explosive end; the Rasengan was quite famous for the secondary effects the jutsu inflicted. They were still filling in some of the pits in the Land of Frost from the Fourth War.

It wasn't.

Hibiki didn't think the creature's chakra could get any filthier. It could. From the mottled stretch of skin that grafted the two people together, inky black markings surged outward and covered their bodies and faces. The chakra was dark and tainted, full of malice, and filthy in a way he couldn't describe—like wading through muddy water. No matter how careful you were, you came out _dirtied_.

The creature in front of him was stained with filth, in the very metaphysical sense. It's chakra was like sludge. Simply being in its presence was an offense to anyone's sensibilities.

Prehensile arms—no, some sort of aquatic animal; eels, Hibiki thought—burst forth from the grayed skin. The largest eel took the Rasengan in its jaw and was reduced to a fine mist of blood. The attack continued, destroying three more eels, before hurling the creature backwards and into a wall.

But it wasn't dead.

The creature reared up, each half weaving hand seals. Bolt was already upon it, again, and lashed out with a barrage of Gentle Fist strikes. Hibiki winced. He'd been on the business end of that attack. Not pleasant. He'd expected it would be, considering it was technically made of Bolt's chakra. Not so. Definitely had more bite than bark.

Hibiki saw that their opponent was occupied, shot another blast of wind at it, then ducked for cover. He thrust a hand into the folds of his robes and withdrew the one ninja tool he kept with him: a small, wooden ocarina. He pressed it to his lips, and his fingers found the seven holes.

Then he began to play. A lilting tune, shrill and melodic and laced with chakra. His art. A song his mother had taught him, before she died. He could feel the creature's chakra resonate with his own. The fishman's, first. His chakra was easier to subjugate. Less foul to the touch than the woman's, but not by much. Hibiki chanced a glance. Their enemy was slowing. Bolt was making progress in whittling it down.

Hibiki continued to play. The woman, next. Whatever the transformation had done to her, it had only amplified her chakra's repulsiveness. It was dry and pasty, like ash, and clung to the chakra he sent forth to ensnare her in the illusion. With the transformation, it was even worse. It reminded Hibiki of snow, but not nearly as beautiful. His chakra practically had to wade through hers. Thigh deep in snow that clung to his legs and soaked through his robes. The cold as it touched his skin.

Still, Hibiki played. He chanced another look.

He was beautiful. A whirlwind of elegant and flowing strikes. Each precise and gentle, yet as deadly as any brute's punch. Hibiki continued to play his hymn. Their foe slowed more and more. Bolt increased the ferocity of his dance, pressing the offensive. The creature seemed to sense its doom approaching. Both halves of it weaved hand signs and unleashed a concussive blade of pressurized water augmented by Wind Release.

Bolt spun, weaving a sphere of whirling chakra around himself. Hibiki hastened his tune. He couldn't use any jutsu while playing. The creature staggered from one foot to the other. The genjutsu was taking hold. Bolt broke from his defense and lunged forward. Wisps of white-blue chakra billowing behind him in his wake.

Hibiki saw twin arcs of electricity crackle to life in both his hands. He had only a moment to revel in the feeling of that chakra before Bolt thrust both fists deep into the chests of their foe. Lightning danced up and down them, cooking them from the inside out. And still Hibiki played, ensuring that they would remain as oblivious and helpless as they had been rendered by his art.

Bolt pulled his fists from their enemy, and it dropped to the floor. The eel appendages withered and died and the inky black markings withdrew and faded. Hibiki could feel the sinister, hideous chakra burn itself to oblivion as it died.

Then all was still.

Bolt approached him. "You okay?" Bolt asked him. Hibiki nodded, placing his ocarina in its place of honor within his robes. "Good. Let's go. See if we can't find Hikari and Tetsu."

As Hibiki followed Bolt, he reminisced. The condition for following his heart had been to betray his village. His handler would be expecting him to report back soon. When he didn't, that would set alarms ringing in the Hidden Grass about three foreign, dangerous ninja that had passed through their country.

That would have to be dealt with, eventually.

They exited the room they had been in and took the opposite turn. Hibiki was glad to be rid of the water. It was ruining his sandals. They found Hikari and Tetsu soon after. "Find anything?" Bolt asked. Hibiki could sense the girl's chakra twist itself in knots; grim and dark. She nodded.

The duo led them to another section of the facility. Hibiki frowned as he stepped through the door. Children, no older than ten, were locked in cages lining the walls like mutts. One cowering in the corner, fabric restraints clung to her wrists and ankles that had obviously been cut. In the center of the room were a number of tables, each designed to hold and restrain people. At the far side of the room, two cylinders of green liquid held what appeared to be growing foetuses in them.

Hibiki had to take a step back as he felt Bolt's chakra wash over him. Overwhelming, electrifying. He felt his stomach tied itself into knots and his heart fluttered. He was angry. He lashed out. Hibiki didn't see the corpse for more than an instant. A thin waif of a man who had been cut into quarters; once, from head to toe, then again from rib to rib. Bolt incinerated him with a bolt of lightning.

The children cowered. As swiftly as it came, the anger receded. "Hey," Bolt said, speaking to everyone and no one. "It's okay now."

Hibiki smiled as Bolt went from cage to cage, breaking the locks. He joined Hikari and Tetsu as they worked to free the children.

He didn't regret his decision at all.

* * *

Kakashi met them at the northern border of the Land of Fire, just a few miles west of the Valley of the End. Hinata thought he looked haggard and tired. She supposed anyone would if they had been on an extended tracking mission that stretched half the width and breadth of the continent.

"Are you okay, Kakashi?" Hinata asked.

He nodded. "Just tired," he admitted. Hinata was acutely aware of the weight of the years on upon him. The life of a ninja was not an easy one, especially for one whose career was as illustrious as Kakashi's.

Kiba handed him a plastic bag full of food. It wasn't rations, as they were close enough to the Land of Fire to restock from their northern outposts. Kakashi was wide-eyed as he took the offering. "Thank you," he said. "You have no idea how much I hate field rations. I thought those years were behind me."

Kiba laughed. "I think we all did," he said.

"Any news of our target's location?" Shino asked, adjusting the mask that shaded his eyes. Hinata always thought it was odd that the Aburame all wore some form of eye protection.

Kakashi nodded as he took a bite of jerky. "I had a clone do some scouting. Looks like Bolt has been looking for something, or someone, in the Land of Sound. Came across a village where he and his team rescued some women that had been taken by some of Orochimaru's experiments that the Sound hadn't dealt with," he said.

Hinata paused. "You—you don't think he is looking for Orochimaru, do you?" That would be the worst thing she could imagine. Orochimaru twisting her son like he twisted Sasuke.

Kakashi shook his head. "No. Yamato is watching Orochimaru very carefully. We'd know if either of the two tried to contact the other. Orochimaru hasn't left his hideout or had contact with either the Sound or any known allies," he said.

Shino nodded. "Good. Why? We are not prepared for an attack against one such as Orochimaru."

Kakashi chuckled. "Believe me, if Bolt and Orochimaru were working together we'd have an international incident on our hands. The Union would be forced to get involved, no matter what strings Naruto pulled."

"He's that strong?" Kiba asked.

Kakashi sighed. "Yes. Much as it pains me to admit. I saw the full might of the Tailed Beasts during the later half of the Fourth War. We all did," he said. Hinata nodded. She had seen more than most. She'd been at the fore of the war, standing next to Naruto and supporting him. "You can imagine my surprise when I see half the desert go up in flames as Bolt and his team fought the One-Tail. They fought Shukaku and won. That alone speaks for their skill."

"Man, I just don't see it. I know Naruto beat Gaara back when the Sand and Sound attacked, but I just can't imagine anyone beating that... thing... in its natural element. No way," Kiba said, hands folded behind his head. Akamaru barked. Hinata scratched the aging ninja dog behind the ears. It was quite sad to see him in his later years. She knew Kiba would be heartbroken when he died.

"Believe me, I was as surprised as you," Kakashi said.

Shino spoke up. "I theorize that the success of Bolt is related to the redacted technique in our mission scroll. Why? Tailed Beasts are too powerful for normal techniques to work against them. Only a secret technique or a class S jutsu would hurt them."

Kakashi nodded. "I suppose Naruto was mum about it?" Hinata nodded. Kakashi sighed. "I figured he would be. He lets the Whirlpool get away with too much because they're his only living family, however distant. Probably expected me to be the one to tell you."

"Well?" Kiba asked, excited.

"It's a technique that Naruto's mother—Kushina, my teacher's wife—knew. I only saw it a handful of times. She called it the Adamantine Sealing Chains. It was supposed to be the ultimate technique of the Uzumaki clan, the physical manifestation of their skill in fūinjutsu. It could be used offensively or defensively; to seal the chakra of an opponent, bind them physically, or... erect power barriers," Kakashi explained. He looked haunted, as if replaying some scene he had witnessed long ago.

"So, what? We just avoid the chains?" Kiba asked.

Kakashi nodded. "That's the simple explanation. Kushina once told me that the chains acted a little like magnets. If you hold the opposite poles together, they attract each other. But if you do the opposite... they repulse each other. If the chains catch you, your chakra is repulsed. It's powerful enough that it can control Tailed Beasts, even the Nine-Tails."

"Damn," Kiba swore.

Kakashi nodded. "We're going to have to plan this carefully. We go in at our best, catch them by surprise, and take them out before they have a chance to fight back. Bolt and both members of his team are heavy hitters. You should be familiar with Bolt's skillset. He has a former samurai with large reserves of chakra. Don't underestimate him. And a former Mist hunter ninja who specializes in medical ninjutsu and poisons. Be warned: she is able to augment her strength with chakra," he said. Hinata saw him rub at his left arm.

"Got it," Kiba said. Akamaru barked his agreement.

"Right," Kakashi said. "I requested team eight, specifically, because of your skillset and because Hinata had been approved for active duty. The three of you will need to work together to track Bolt down so we're not exhausted from chasing his trail. Hinata, I'll be expecting you to fight. Can you handle it?"

Hinata nodded, weaving her fingers together nervously. Yes, she was ready to fight. Kakashi nodded. "Good. We'll need to be careful. From our time monitoring Bolt for safety in the Land of Water, we've got a rough estimation on the maximum range of his Byakugan. But that intel is several years old. Better overestimate and stay hidden than underestimate and reveal our hand," Kakashi explained.

"Right," Kiba nodded sagely.

"There's some combat simulations we need to go over, as well as strategies for dealing with each member of his team. I'll also need a refresher on how your skills have advanced," Kakashi said.

Hinata learned that night that despite his old age, Kakashi was still every bit the veteran ninja that was feared throughout the world.

* * *

Bolt rummaged through an old series of shelves, looking for anything of value. Not in the strictest sense of ryō, but in the more broader, more powerful sense: knowledge. These hideouts had been the lair of Orochimaru, once upon a time. He refused to believe that they had all been emptied of that man's wisdom. There had to be a scroll somewhere. A hidden passage to a secret level of the hideout that only Orochimaru would know of. Something.

He was also looking for whatever damn jutsu the snake bastard had used to throw off his Byakugan. Being robbed of his sight was exceedingly irritating. Bolt knocked a jar of green liquid from its place of honor on a shelf. The organ inside—some sort of intestine, Bolt thought—spilled onto the floor.

"Disgusting," Hibiki commented.

Bolt ignored him. "Find anything?"

"No," Hibiki answered, reluctantly helping him shift through the large number of preserved organs and appendages. Honestly, what did Orochimaru want with this stuff? Eyes, hearts, lungs, some other organs Bolt didn't recognize, even what appeared to be a preserved testicle. Which poor bastard did he cut that off of? Maybe it contained the lineage of some extinct, dead clan? Orochimaru could have been searching for a way to reproduce the bloodline.

That was the only reason Bolt could come up with.

The hideout they were searching was the nicest of the seven Bolt and his companions had cleared out. Not bad, if he did say so himself. Approaching three weeks in the country and they had cleared out seven locations and nearly eighty rebels. It was located squarely in the center of the Land of Sound, an equidistance from every other location in the country. Bolt had commandeered it as their own personal base of operations since its previous inhabitants now had a very cozy cabin in the Pure Lands.

Hikari and Tetsu stolled in. Bolt paused in his search. Tetsu was covered from head to toe in gore. "Trouble?" Bolt asked.

Hikari grumbled. She said something under her breath that Bolt didn't catch. Instead, she threw down two metal, rectangular cases. Bolt smiled. He opened one, and found it overflowing with ryō. "Two of the bounty hunter stations decided it would be more profitable to catch us instead of giving us our money," Hikari said. "We convinced them otherwise."

Bolt laughed. He had, in some small way, missed being a mercenary. Some jobs were bad. Distasteful. But some, like catching bounties, were fun and educational. Not to mention profitable. He and Hikari had been funding their group out of their own pocket and their liquid assets were dwindling. Trading in the corpses of all the rogue experiments they had killed was a nice bonus to their assets.

"No _real_ trouble, I hope?" Bolt asked. He hoped her next words didn't involve a known friend or family member, a squadron of ANBU operatives, or any known A or S class threats.

"No," Hikari answered, dropping into a chair and wringing out the sleeves of her shirt. Bolt hadn't known it was raining. Hard to tell the weather and time so far underground. She glanced around the room. "You two haven't made much progress. I'm not sleeping with all the preserved organs."

Bolt chuckled. "Yeah, sorry. Got kind of distracted looking for things," he said. Tetsu was marching off to wash himself and his sword of blood. Bolt waved to him as he went. Bolt withdrew a large, general purpose storage scroll and began to systematically seal away preserved organs, equipment, and old tools. Hibiki helped him, though he avoided anything to do with the organs. Bolt thought Hikari took great pleasure in being the one to sit back and watch him work for once.

Orochimaru had a lot of strange things. Tables with restraints in nearly every room. Old computers that took up enough space to fill his old bedroom. Cylinders of glass used to store body parts, organs, or more unmentionable things. The lower levels were full of cells and torture equipment that looked like something straight out of the warring clans era.

By the time he had finished, Bolt had burned through nearly five whole scrolls. He burned four of them—which brought to mind the great paradox of where things are stored when sealed, and where do they go if the seal is destroyed. He kept the final scroll, which was a spare food preservation scroll. He kept the organs in there. Hopefully Hikari could find someone to sell them to. Seemed a shame to destroy all of Orochimaru's work—disturbing as it was.

Bolt sighed as he dropped into a chair. Tetsu was cooking some sort of meat that the rebels had obtained—most likely stolen. Still, it was going to a better cause now. Bolt considered it payment for services rendered in clearing out the Land of Sound. He made a reminder to ask Tetsu where or who taught him how to cook.

Things were awkwardly silent. Tetsu was indifferent, but neither he nor Hikari had learned how to interact with Hibiki just yet. It made Bolt painfully aware of the groans of the facility. Walls and ceilings creaking. Drops of water dripping from a crack in the ceiling. Tetsu had cut through it with his sword, quite on accident, during one of the fight. The footsteps—Bolt paused. The four of them were seated at the table. Who was walking?

A low, eerie chuckle echoed through their dining room. Bolt was on his feet in an instant, spinning around and slipping into a defensive Gentle Fist stance in the same movement. Tetsu stood, drawing and brandishing his sword. Hikari had her fists raised and clenched. Hibiki, while slower, was no less alert than either of them.

Bolt could make out a figure in corner of the room where the florescent lights had been damaged. Dark, but not enough to hide him. Eyes a bestial yellow with narrow slits where the pupils should have been. Skin as pale as snow in the dim light of the room. Long, inky black hair.

Bolt shivered. His instincts screamed at him to flee.

Orochimaru.

The snake laughed. Dark, throaty, and condescending. "I'd heard someone was routing my old experiments. Imagine my surprise. Bolt Uzumaki, in the flesh," Orochimaru said.

Bolt took a step back. They were trapped in a fifteen by twenty foot room with one of the most legendary figures in history standing between them and the door. The kitchens of the facility were not bordered by other rooms; there was only dirt and rock through the walls. There was no escape. If they wanted to run, it had to be through Orochimaru.

Bolt took a deep breath. He wanted to avoid this fight if possible. "I thought you didn't have anything to do with the Land of Sound anymore?"

Orochimaru smiled, baring fangs that were disturbingly serpentine. "I don't. I've been a good boy since the Leaf was so generous to spare me," he said. It came out as more of a hiss.

"Then why are you here? You're supposed to be under constant surveillance. Even I know that much," Bolt said. He reached behind his back and tried to subtly sign his intentions. _Run, don't fight._

Orochimaru scoffed. "As if I couldn't sneak into and out of my own facilities," he said, sounding condescending. "No. I'm not here for my old experiments. You see, I heard something very interesting from one of my old spies. He said that a boy with blond hair and blue eyes with a surprising amount of power had gotten into a fight with a squadron of Stone ninja."

The snake chuckled. Orochimaru was fond of his laugh, it seemed, and the sound was disturbing enough to set Bolt's hair on end. "Imagine my surprise when that sounds like the friend of my son?" Orochimaru said.

Bolt paused. "You're—you're here because of Mitsuki?" He couldn't believe it. Mitsuki had said his relationship with his father was nonexistent. He had ran away because he feared being manipulated by Orochimaru.

"Oh, yes," Orochimaru hissed, taking a step forward. Bolt was not alone as he took a step backwards to maintain the distance. "You see, Mitsuki has always been a very awkward child. You've seen it, yes?" Bolt nodded hesitantly. "I was quite worried how he would fit in with the sheep of the Leaf. I was pleasantly surprised when you made friends with him. The strange foreigner with inhuman eyes and the son of the Hokage? Quite the duo."

Orochimaru took another step forward, his tongue—longer than any human's—flicking out and tasting the air. It was like he _tried_ to be as disturbingly inhuman as possible. "Mitsuki was quite devastated when his first and only friend left the village of his own accord," Orochimaru said. "I visited him after you put him in the hospital. Offered to fetch you for him. He declined. Although... I think he will forgive me for dragging you back to him. Then you two can be friends again."

Fuck.

Bolt wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this one. Bolt tensed. He didn't know what to do. Orochimaru smiled broadly, baring a mouth full of sharpened teeth. His tongue writhed back and forth.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Orochimaru was in their midst.

Bolt smiled as he, Hikari, and Tetsu collapsed on the snake at the exact same instant. Bolt thrust a hand forward, sending a hail of lancing chakra through his fingertips. Bolt could hear a lilting, shrill tune echo as Hibiki began to play and weave an illusion around Orochimaru. Tetsu brought his sword down. A thin sheen of white-blue chakra coating the blade; strengthening it and giving it a preternatural sharpness. Hikari swung a fist at Orochimaru's ribs. Even without his dōjutsu, Bolt could see the chakra radiating from her arm.

Orochimaru _dodged._ Not in any classical sense, for no human, bloodline or not, could move like the Sannin did. Bolt stumbled as his Gentle Fist struck nothing but air. Orochimaru contorted his body, leaving nothing open. Tetsu's swing went wide. A metallic ring echoed through the room as his sword struck stone and sank into the floor. Orochimaru lashed out with one of his legs, kicking the flat of the blade. The sword snapped. One of the snake's arms shot forward, stretching far beyond its natural length, encircling around Hikari's arm and gripping her by the elbow. He turned and hurled her at Hibiki. The two of them sprawled, struggling to get their footing. Bolt saw the small, wooden ocarina that Hibiki played go flying.

Bolt whirled, quickly running through the stances for the Eight Trigrams: Sixty-Four Palms. Orochimaru was surprisingly quick. Most failed to strike true, and those that did felt weak and shallow. There was something strange about the Sannin's body. It was soft, malleable, like it was made of clay than flesh. Tetsu leapt forward, a savage battle cry leaving his lips, before tackling Orochimaru and driving the ruined, fragmented blade into the snake's chest.

Bolt watched the sword sink into Orochimaru. But the Sannin didn't bleed. Orochimaru slithered downward and the sword tore a gash through his shoulder. Bolt watched, wide-eyed with disbelief, as the pale white flesh knit itself back together; as healthy and unmarred as the day it was born.

Then Orochimaru threw a fist into Tetsu's exposed ribs. The swordsman was catapulted from the floor and sent crashing into the ceiling above. Bolt descended on Orochimaru as he stood. He held a half-formed Rasengan in his right hand. With as much strength as he could muster, Bolt slammed it into Orochimaru as he stood. Bolt heard flesh tear and be rent asunder. The resulting explosion of light and pressure hurled the Sannin back into the wall.

Hikari and Hibiki had recovered. Hikari spat a lance of water into the cloud of debris where the snake's body was hidden. Hibiki did the same with a blast of compressed air. Bolt waited. It couldn't have been that easy. He helped Tetsu stand, pulling his fellow Uzumaki to his feet.

That dark, amused chuckle echoed forth. Bolt emitted chakra from every point in his body. It sparked to life in a storm of electricity just as the dust settled and revealed Orochimaru. Unharmed, unbloodied, with only a few tears in his robes to show for their combined assault.

The Sannin opened his mouth to speak, but Bolt wasn't going to let him. He darted forward in a blur of electricity and sped through the motions of the advanced form of the Gentle Fist, Eight Trigrams: One Hundred Twenty-Eight Palms. This time, augmented by his Lightning Armor, each strike fell true. He was too fast for Orochimaru to dodge.

Bolt leapt back. He smirked, watching as Orochimaru stumbled. Then Orochimaru paused, glancing at him, smiling, and laughed. Bolt felt something angry and hot boil within as the Sannin mocked with him; played with him. His Gentle Fist wasn't doing anything to Orochimaru. "All at once!" Bolt barked. They would crush him with their superior numbers.

Bolt led the charge. Orochimaru lunged forward, his body contorting and twisting as if the normal human physiology didn't apply to him. He wrapped himself around Bolt, using his arms and legs to bind Bolt's own. Bolt struggled, saw pale flesh bubble and boil as electricity burned Orochimaru alive. The Sannin didn't seem to care. Tetsu was right behind him, apparently, and enraged by the capture of his lord, abandoned his ruined sword and latched onto Orochimaru's long, black hair.

Tetsu grappled Orochimaru, throwing him head first across the room. Bolt expected that the Sannin would let go. He didn't. Bolt felt his captor binding him even tighter as the two of them sailed across the room and crashed into the far wall. Needles pierced flesh all around him as Bolt struggled to get free. Orochimaru hissed—a good thing, in Bolt's mind—and thrust his head forward. Bolt wanted to gape as the man's neck extended an inhuman length and carried his skull forward. Like a whip, Orochimaru struck both Hikari and Hibiki and threw them into one wall of the kitchen.

Bolt saw his chance. He opened his mouth and bit down on the exposed neck. Bolt hoped to catch a vein or artery. He didn't. It was a mouthful of flesh, similar in texture to clay or putty, but tasting of grass or leaves. Still, Orochimaru did not bleed. Bolt tore a hunk of flesh from the snake's neck, but it regrew and knit itself back together in an instant. Bolt growled, struggling to break free.

Tetsu came to his rescue. He had commandeered a steak knife, channeled his chakra through it, and used his people's Sabre technique to create a makeshift sword of chakra. He brought it down on the exposed neck of Orochimaru as he reeled his skull back in. The body holding Bolt went limp Bolt quickly extracted himself from the surprisingly powerful hold. "Don't let him get his hands on you!" Bolt ordered.

His eyes flicked between the body and decapitated head of Orochimaru. He didn't rise. "Is it over?" Hibiki asked, dusting himself off.

Without his dōjutsu, Bolt couldn't tell. He didn't have to wait long to find out. Almost as soon as the thought had been voiced, the pale flesh bubbled. A new head grew from Orochimaru's body, and a new body grew from Orochimaru's head.

"Shit," Bolt swore. "Quickly! Before he recovers!"

Bolt formed another Rasengan in the palm of his hand and rushed forward to slam it into Orochimaru's back before he could stand. Like a dancer, Orochimaru's body contorted and he raised both legs and spun. One of his boots caught him in the jaw. Bolt saw black for just an instant before recovering. When he did, the two bodies of Orochimaru were already standing. The one that had spawned from the decapitated head stood and faced Hikari and Hibiki. Somehow, it had produced robes identical to the ones that the original wore.

The other copy was busy kicking Bolt in the ribs. He wheezed as the air was forced from his lungs. Tetsu appeared, towering and angry. He grappled Orochimaru, again, and this time threw him to his feet. Tetsu placed a knee against the Sannin's neck and _pushed._ Bolt saw the indentation in the flesh, knew that no normal human could have survived with their neck intact, let alone breathe.

Lightning gathered in the palm of his hand. Bolt snarled the word as he thrust his fist into Orochimaru's chest. "Chidori!"

Bolt had killed a lot of people. He knew what it felt like to have fingers graze organs. It disturbed him; kept him up at night. The smell was the worst. Burnt blood and flesh and hair. But what he felt now was even more disturbing. Nothing. Orochimaru was just one, solid body fashioned of some kind of clay-like material. A material that was resistant to damage and possessed a naturally powerful healing factor.

Orochimaru, despite his crushed throat, laughed. He turned his serpentine eyes to Bolt. "Sasuke taught you that jutsu? Did he tell you I helped him master—truly master—it?"

Bolt pulled his fist free, fearing Orochimaru would somehow devour him. The moment his hand was clear, one of Orochimaru's legs lashed out and struck him in the face. Bolt felt blood bubble in his nose as he took an instinctive breath. He saw the other leg reach up, ensnare Tetsu by the throat, and began to squeeze the life out of him. Tetsu, unlike Orochimaru, needed to breathe. Bolt knew this. He recovered and pushed himself forward.

His Lightning Armored flared to life with a new intensity. It doubled in its power. Stray arcs of electricity caused his shortened hair to stand on end. Bolt appeared next to Orochimaru in a flash and placed the palm of his hand on the man's forehead. Then, he channeled the jutsu through the Sannin. Instantly, pale flesh charred and burned, bubbled and boiled. Inky black hair burned away. The eyelids went neck, and the eyes soon after them. Bolt was determined to cook him from the inside out. All the while, he controlled the current and kept it away from Tetsu.

In moments, there was nothing left by a charred, skeletal, smoking corpse. Tetsu tore himself free, the leg holding his by the neck crumbling to dust. Bolt turned his attention to the other Orochimaru. Hikari and Hibiki were abusing it as much as they were physically able. Hikari at the front, using her augmented strength to thrash Orochimaru. Hibiki covered her with Wind and Water jutsu.

Bolt charged forward. He would attack from behind and kill the second body before it knew it was in danger.

His leg was caught fast.

Bolt didn't believe his eyes. Like buds blossoming in the spring, small white bubbles of flesh were rapidly consuming the charred husk of Orochimaru and rebuilding him pound by pound. One of the charred fists was curled around his ankle. Orochimaru flailed upwards, swinging a wild fist at him. Bolt felt it catch his jaw. Even through his armor, it hurt. Another punch, this time to the ribs. Bolt winced, struggling to break free from the snake's death grip.

Tetsu charged. Orochimaru turned his head, ever so slightly, and parted his jaws. A small, forest green serpent crawled up his throat. With a hiss, the snake opened its maw. Bolt only caught a flash of steel. The blade of a sword shot forward and impaled Tetsu in the stomach before flinging his bloodied body towards a wall. There was a thunderous crash from the force. Tetsu lay against the wall, head hung, unmoving, with a crimson stain crawling across his shirt.

"You bastard!" Bolt snarled. He held his free arm aloft. A Rasengan, as wide as Bolt himself was tall, whirred to life. Bolt slammed it into the body that clutched at him. It detonated with an explosive force that tore Bolt's skin, even through his armor. Bolt saw his vision tunnel as he was thrown, ass over end, towards a wall. He slammed into it. The back of his skull struck stone. He saw the world through two pinpricks of light. The dull roar of battle was a distant noise in the background.

Bolt heard a woman scream. He blinked away the darkness and stood on unsteady feet. Hibiki was unconscious a few feet away from him. One of his arms was bent at an angle Bolt knew it couldn't bend and there was a gash that stained his black locks red. Bolt stumbled forward as Hikari fought one body of Orochimaru. The other that he had destroyed was slithering across the floor. It rejoined the original body as if there was never two of them to begin with.

Bolt lunged forward as Orochimaru backhanded Hikari across the face. Her mask shattered, a few pieces of porcelain embedded in her pale cheek. Lightning arced to life with a chorus of chirps. Bolt brought his arm down upon Orochimaru as he advanced on her, cutting him from right shoulder to left hip. The flesh knit itself back together as his hand passed through him. Orochimaru punched Hikari in the sternum with enough force that Bolt could hear her bones break.

Bolt tried again. Another Chidori. This time through the base of the neck. It fared little better. Orochimaru kicked Hikari in the face with the heel of his boot as she reeled from her broken ribs. She fell, unconscious or worse. Bolt didn't know.

Orochimaru turned, smile on his lips, tongue forking out. Bolt screamed in impotent rage. He abandoned his jutsu and began running through every stance of the Gentle Fist his mother and grandfather had taught him—and some he had invented on his own. He would pound the Sannin into dust.

Orochimaru laughed. That sound. A dark, demeaning laughter. Like the Sannin thought he was being humored. "I'll kill you!" Bolt snarled. Orochimaru was covered from head to toe in charred, smoking pock marks where he had sent lances of chakra through the Sannin.

"Many more powerful and wise than you have tried and failed, boy," Orochimaru said, advancing on him. The Sannin threw a punch at him. Bolt slapped it aside, but couldn't block or dodge the next one. He wheezed as Orochimaru threw his free fist into his abdomen.

"I'm not a failure!" Bolt screamed, getting his second wind. He stood, both hands at his side with their fingers splayed. Two whirring spheres of chakra forming in each. Bolt hurled the both of them at Orochimaru as the Sannin advanced on him with a slow, measured gait. The two jutsu smashed into Orochimaru, destroying both his arms and a good portion of his shoulders and chest.

The damage healed in mere moments. "That is the thing, Bolt," Orochimaru said. He was only a few feet away now. "The two of us? We got to where we are in life because we _are_ failures," he hissed.

Bolt lashed out, impotent and angry. His Lightning Armor was beginning to fade. Orochimaru batted away each of his strikes and giving Bolt two punches and a kick for his efforts. Finally, his Lightning Armor gave way as his chakra and concentration dwindled.

Orochimaru gripped him by the throat. Bolt gagged as he was lifted off his feet and pressed against the wall with enough force to choke him. Bolt flailed, lashing out with kicks and punches that did nothing for all the strength he could must.

Orochimaru chuckled. Bolt glared at him with hateful eyes. "Such lovely eyes," Orochimaru hissed, pressing Bolt's cheek with his free hand. He pulled away as much as he could. "I will enjoy discovering the secrets of the Byakugan. Perhaps Mitsuki will even help me? Wouldn't that be an excellent bonding activity for the three of us?"

Bolt tried to spit a reply at the Sannin but all that came up was a pained gurgle. He reached for his Yang chakra. Tried to assemble the amalgam of Yang and Yin chakra that would form the secret technique of his clan. Bolt cursed his lack of effort in mastering the jutsu. He couldn't even make a single chain when his life depended on it. He tried again. Failure. Bolt weaved hand signs instead.

Orochimaru reached down and snapped his right wrist. Bolt screamed, but it came out muffled. "Ah, ah, ah! We can't have you doing that now, can we?" Orochimaru asked with a sickening smile.

Bolt tried to scream his protests. Nothing came out. Orochimaru pressed him against the wall even harder. "Still, you're quite clever. Powerful, even. Even if I took you back with me, it would take some time until I could kidnap and smuggle Mitsuki out of the Leaf. You'd try to escape. We can't have that," Orochimaru said with a shake of his head.

Orochimaru tilted his head to the side, so that Bolt was forced to stare at the downed form of Hikari and Hibiki. He shivered as Orochimaru tore at the collar of his shirt and licked his neck. "Don't worry. One in ten survive. A friend of Mitsuki should be able to endure it," Orochimaru hissed.

Bolt caught sight of Orochimaru opening his jaws as wide as they would go. His canines were as long and sharp as any snake's. Bolt screamed as Orochimaru bit him.

Bolt knew pain, both physical and emotional. He'd dealt with emotional pain all his life. Physical, only after he abandoned the Leaf. The pain of every bone in his chest shattering as Sarada punched him. The pain of the Amekage shredding his flesh with her Rainmaker jutsu. The pain of Kakashi's purple lightning coursing through his veins.

But this. This pain eclipsed them all. As if Orochimaru had injected him with liquid fire that burned through and replaced his blood. It coursed through every vein and infected every cell like a disease. Every fiber of his being screamed as it was incinerated from the inside out and reborn with a new sinister, dark chakra tainting it.

Bolt tried to fight it. He did. But the pain was too much. The great destroyer. His mind went white even as he flailed and spasmed in Orochimaru's grasp. "That's better," Bolt heard the words echo in his mind with a hiss.

Then he knew only darkness.

* * *

 **A/N:**

And so Bleach has come to an end. What an absolute shit show. As an aspiring author, I am personally abhorred that Kubo could look at the work he has done the past five years and say "Yeah, I'm okay with this. This narrative can be published." It's an absolute disgrace to anyone that has ever held a pen or pressed a key in their life. I literally could not fit every grievance I have with the series into an author's note, let alone a chapter. I'm simply disgusted someone could defecate on their fans in the way Kubo has—some of which, like me, have followed it since its inception. I remember coming home from school in the early to middle 2000s, turning on Toonami, and watching the early days of Bleach and thinking it was the coolest shit on television. It's been, what, literally _**ten to fifteen**_ years that I've followed this series. And this is how Kubo ends it? For shame, Kubo. For shame. On your behalf, I am embarrased.

I always imagined Orochimaru as a bit of a Yandere. His idea of a fun father-son bonding moment is opening some guy up and taking out his organs one-by-one. That kind of thing. It's kind of terrifying, if you think about it.

This will probably be the last of the rapid release challenge that I set for myself. Sorry, guys. Back to weekly uploads. I will, however, be trying to go back and bring the earlier chapters up to my current standard. No content changes, just adjusting things like technique names and making dialogue a bit cleaner.


	51. Chapter 51

Mitsuki ran through the forms again. Feet spread apart at shoulder length. Right foot in front of left foot. Hands held just above the head. Arms far enough apart that they don't obstruct your vision. He swung, bringing Kusanagi down on his opponent. It struck true, cleaving the stick in half from top to bottom. He spun, turning and brandishing his blade to catch a shadow attack on the flat of the sword. He parried, knocking the invisible blade away, and ran his opponent—another stick—through. He turned, again, parrying the attacks of two more sticks, and cutting them down by slashing at the eyes of the leftmost stick and the neck of the rightmost.

All in the space of a single breath.

Mitsuki paused to catch his breath. He wiped the sleeve of his robe across his forehead to prevent his sweat from obscuring his vision. It was a beautiful day in the Land of Fire. Spring was giving way to summer. The sun was high in the sky and temperatures just below uncomfortable. Still, he persevered.

Mitsuki knew the true meaning of struggle. He struggled to fit in with the people of the Hidden Leaf. He struggled to find a place for himself; find friends. He became a ninja because it was, quite simply, the only thing he knew how to do. His memories that his father had wiped from his mind never returned. Maybe that was for the best. He had felt like a stranger for the first year. The foreigner. Until one day, quite by accident, Bolt had befriended him.

Mitsuki didn't even think it had been intentional on Bolt's part. They had been practicing their taijutsu in the Academy. It had been nothing but practicing forms and theory for weeks on end. Then, on the day it came for the class to spar, the class was forced to pair up. Mitsuki had no friends, and no one wanted to practice their taijutsu with a foreigner who looked so strange.

Everyone except Bolt. He, being the lazy genius he was, felt that he had enough experience to skip the sparring day altogether. He grabbed Mitsuki, the odd man out, and the two of them skipped school the rest of the day to hang out. Their instructor had been furious at them the next day, but Bolt took the blame, citing that he didn't need to practice because of his clan's Gentle Fist.

It was the little white lie that Bolt had taught Mitsuki a few moves that kept them out of trouble with Professor Aburame. Mitsuki didn't bother to correct the story. For him, that first day of just having someone to be with was worth ten thousand days of practice with any master.

Mitsuki smiled as he went through another half dozen stances. Those were simpler, better times.

And now he had returned to the bad times. The times when he was the outsider again. The foreigner. Sarada was his friend, true, but she was more a friend of Bolt. Their friendship had been one borne from their mutual friendship with Bolt. It didn't really count, though he did enjoy her company. But Sarada was dealing with her own issues. She rarely had time to visit him anymore. Physical therapy to recover from the Gentle Fist's damage to her pathways was exhausting and tiring. Mitsuki visited her at the hospital often. He was glad Sarada was well on her way to recovery.

If there was one thing Mitsuki was thankful for, it was that his father had constructed his body to heal from any damage efficiently and rapidly. Lady Tsunade had said he would be fine after a few days of rest. Sarada was quite jealous of him for that.

Mitsuki leapt, summoning a snake with a single hand. The serpent pulled him towards a tree. As he sailed through the air, Mitsuki cut a branch thicker than his thigh from the tree. And now his friend was in more trouble than he'd ever been in during their Academy days. Mitsuki cut the branch as it fell, cutting into five pieces before cutting all five in half before they touched the ground.

Truthfully? Mitsuki had thought, more than once, that he would join Bolt if he'd asked him to go rogue. The Leaf was a place he lived, but it wasn't his home. If he had to choose between the Leaf and Bolt, he would choose Bolt every time.

That was what he thought. When the emotions were raw and new. But now he'd had time to think on what he would do. And, he knew, that he wouldn't give up on the Leaf because deep in his heart, Mitsuki knew that Bolt didn't want to give up on the Leaf either. Mitsuki had front row seats to the slow, methodical emotional death of his friend. It ate at him. And yet, there was nothing he could do. Nothing in his power that could bring father and son together. Mitsuki couldn't even bridge the gap between him and his own father, so how could he know how to fix Bolt?

But he knew one thing. So long as Bolt continued to roam the land and sow destruction and fear wherever he went, he would never repair his relationship with the Hokage. For that to happen, he had to come home—to the Leaf, to Sarada, to his sister, and to him.

Mitsuki would become strong enough to reach that goal, or die trying.

A flock of birds took to the sky as he landed on the balls of his feet. They flew, crested overhead, then descended. Mitsuki turned. The flock had settled atop the head and shoulders of a tall man with a mohawk of brilliant orange hair. Mitsuki stilled. He recognized him. He worked for his father. What was his name? It started with a 'J', something short—

"Jūgo," Mitsuki said.

Jūgo took a step forward and the birds scattered to the wind. Mitsuki cast a quick look around. He knew that Jūgo shouldn't be in the Leaf. He was training near the outskirts of the training grounds. The barrier that covered the entire village was especially powerful near the training grounds. Someone should have noticed his arrival.

"Can I help you?" Mitsuki asked.

Jūgo nodded. "Lord Orochimaru requests your presence," he said.

Mitsuki didn't think his father was requesting his presence. It was more of sending his thugs out to fetch him—by force, if needed. Still, Mitsuki had no plans to return to the lair of his father. Especially if his theory about being the next vessel was true. He brandished Kusanagi.

Jūgo looked delighted that he had chosen to resist. His body began to change. It tinted a dark, brown-gray color. Like he had bathed in mud. Two growths, almost like horns, grew from his temples. The whites of his eyes turned black.

Then he charged.

Jūgo was _fast._ Streams of chakra trailed behind his feet, pushing him forward. Mitsuki raised the flat of his blade and caught Jūgo's fist as he punched him. Mitsuki grunted, shoving his shoulder against the opposite side of the sword. He resisted the force of the punch.

Then the flesh of Jūgo's forearm rippled. Three appendages, operating like vents, exhaled raw chakra. Mitsuki felt the air be driven from his lungs as he was sent hurtling through the air. Damn, he was strong. Mitsuki crashed through a tree and rolled through two bushes before coming to a stop.

Mitsuki stood, sheathing Kusanagi in the ground, and weaved rapid hand signs. Jūgo came charging through the underbrush, and Mitsuki spat a fist of water at him that struck with an audible slap of flesh meeting water too quickly to dissipate the liquid. It was like running full speed into solid rock.

Jūgo was dazed, reeling, as Mitsuki tore Kusanagi from the ground and lunged forward with an arcing slash. One cut and it would be over, he hoped. That, or it would buy him enough time for the border guards to show up and save him. Jūgo held his right arm aloft. The flesh rippled, forming a crude axehead. Kusanagi struck the edge of the axe with a metallic ring. The axe was as hard as any steel.

Jūgo swung his free arm at him, throwing a telegraphed punch. Mitsuki dodged, reaching up with his own free arm and wrapping it around and up Jūgo's arm, shoulder, and finally neck. He squeezed as he avoided an unskilful swing of Jūgo's axe. With Jūgo's guard down, Mitsuki swung himself around so that he had the man's back. His legs twisted and ensnared Jūgo's own, preventing him from moving.

With his only limb not contorted inhumanly, Mitsuki brought Kusanagi up to nick Jūgo. There was a rustle of wind against his chest. Mitsuki only had an instant to fret before he was struck in the chest by a blast of raw chakra that sent him flying. As he flew, he could see more vent appendages growing on Jūgo's back that glowed a subtle blue-white.

Mitsuki was flung back into the clearing he had been training in. With nothing to crash into, he recovered, sliding backwards on the balls of his feet. Jūgo emerged from the forest, looking more monster than man.

It was disturbing how similar their transformations were. Jūgo was more monster, where he was more man. A fleeting thought passed through his mind. Did he get his Sage Transformation from Jūgo? Was he some hobbled together experiment with a little piece of each of his father's servants?

Mitsuki pushed those thoughts aside and reached inward for the roiling mass of chakra within. He felt power blossom within him, surging through his body. It was as exhilarating as it was painful. He winced as his skull produced more bone in his forehead. It formed a single, curved horn that was stained red with his blood. Mitsuki knew, if he looked in a mirror, that the skin around his eyes would have darkened and become black. Voluminous, wispy incorporeal snakes, crafted entirely of natural chakra, formed around him.

Jūgo charged like a raging bull. Mitsuki threw an arm forward, commanding two of his four serpents to strike. Jūgo barreled forward, heedless of the danger.

"Jūgo, dodge!"

Mitsuki turned and saw a woman with rosy red eyes and hair. Half her head had been shaved, and she wore red glasses.

Jūgo obeyed her.

He leapt and avoided the snakes. Shit. How did the red haired woman know? Mitsuki hadn't even sensed her.

"Thanks, Karin!" Jūgo shouted. His voice was shrill and tinged with madness.

Mitsuki commanded two other snakes to strike while he slashed at Jūgo with Kusanagi. Jūgo evaded the two snakes and blocked with his axe.

The red-haired woman was shouting again. "And hurry it up! We only have a few minutes before they realize we're here!"

Was the woman—Karin—how they managed to infiltrate the Leaf undetected? If so, would taking her out alert the guards? Mitsuki didn't know. But it was better than having a slugging match with Jūgo. He was stronger and more durable than Mitsuki was. His arsenal—attacking with raw chakra—was more flexible than his was.

Mitsuki knew that the odds of him emerging victorious were slim. And, even if he did, he would have to defeat Karin too. And there could be more opponents lurking in the forest. No, if he wanted to win here he needed to call for reinforcements.

He parried a slash of Jūgo's axe, kicked the orange-haired man in the stomach with his augmented strength, and then lunged for Karin.

It was like she knew he was going to attack.

She had already moved out of the way. Kusanagi plunged into a tree's trunk. Mitsuki had only a moment to tug at the hilt before a pillar of earth erupted beneath his feet, sending him skyward.

Mitsuki broke the single most important rule of swordsmanship: never let go of your sword.

Kusanagi remained where it had been lodged as he flipped end-over-end through the sky. He swore, turning and weaving hand signs. Inhale. Exhale. He breathed a great blast of wind downward that uprooted trees and gouged the ground. It broke his fall, and Mitsuki was content to ride the lazy breeze downward and avoid slamming into the ground.

A primal scream tore that dream from his mind. Jūgo, more monstrous than ever, shot up into the sky with an explosive leap that upturned a good twenty feet of earth behind him. Mitsuki weaved hand signs. He knew it would be too late, but he did it anyway. He would go down fighting. There was no way to dodge in the air.

Jūgo slammed into him with an explosive punch, augmented by both his leap and the vents of chakra propelling an explosive stream behind the punch. It was like having a mountain slam into him.

Even with his unique physiology, Mitsuki reeled. His vision narrowed and darkened. Jūgo hit him again, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the ground rapidly approaching, and Karin rushing out to catch him—he hoped.

* * *

Bolt had only gotten drunk once in his short life. A year, maybe a little more, after he joined the Crimson Tide. Eiji had thrown a celebration for the success of their most recent job: swindling a landowner in the Land of Steam out of their property which, incidentally, had a large underground hot spring waiting to be tapped into.

He procured—most likely stole—enough rice wine for nearly every member of the company to have a full keg to themselves. Eiji then demanded everyone get absolutely shitfaced or he'd be confiscating their cut of the pay. Bolt, not wanting to stand out and also wanting his portion of that three hundred million ryō, did as he was commanded.

He woke the next day. His head ached something fierce, like he had somehow managed to sneak a small pebble inside his skull and then shake his head back and forth until his brains were scrambled. More than that, he was physically ill to a degree he hadn't thought possible. He didn't get sick. Never. His sister and father didn't, either. He trumped it up to be an Uzumaki thing.

But the hangover that next morning? He wanted to die.

When he woke, strapped to a cold, metal table and staring into a bright light shining in his eyes, he felt like he had died. Died, and then been brought back only to die again.

Everything hurt.

He'd said the phrase before. Heard others say it. People didn't realize how much _everything_ consisted of. They meant it metaphorically. Bolt meant it literally. Every single bone, every single muscle, every single tendon, every single cell. He was in agony.

Worse, it wasn't just his body that had been ravaged.

His chakra pathways were in ruins. Like a vine strangling a tree of its life, _something_ wound around his pathways. A leech. A disease. A virus. Slowly subsuming him and making itself a part of his body in a way that left Bolt feeling violated at the most intimate level. And it was foul. Disgusting. Like he had fallen asleep in his bed, only to wake in a bathtub filled with shit to the brim.

He felt dirty.

He'd felt dirty before. When he killed so many people in the Land of Rain. Bad memories. Don't think about that. But he'd felt dirty. Couldn't wash the blood off his hands. Both physically and metaphorically.

But what he felt now? He felt soiled. Like he could never, ever go back to the way he was before. His purity had been taken from him.

Bolt groaned. He tried to rise. Failed. Something was holding him down. He tossed his head to the side, nearly falling unconscious from the effort of simply turning his fucking skull. Pain arced through him as tangible as any electricity. It radiated from his shoulder; where his neck and shoulder met. It burned. Like liquid fire was pumping through his veins.

"Oh, shit!"

Bolt stilled.

"Hey! Don't move, kid," a voice said. Bolt heard footsteps. The light that had been shining in his eyes was mercifully dimmed and moved away. He blinked. He could see again.

He was a tall, thin man. Hair as white as snow. No. There was the faintest hint of blue there, too. It reminded him of Tsuchigumo. Purple eyes; an interesting genetic quirk. What alarmed Bolt the most was the giant steel sword on the man's back. More of a butcher's cleaver than any respectable swordsman's weapon.

Bolt struggled. "Hey, hey! Don't do that. The boss'll kill me if you die while he's resting."

Bolt glared at him. "Name's Suigetsu!" Suigetsu introduced himself. "For the duration of your stay with our illustrious boss, I'll be your babysitter!"

Bolt wanted to snap at the man, but he didn't have the energy. Then he stilled. Memories came back. The Land of Sound. Hibiki. Their new base of operations. Progress.

Orochimaru.

The very name evoked a shiver of dread.

The fight.

His friends were dead. He was sure of it. Orochimaru had dismantled them like they were green Academy students. They hadn't even challenged the man. He didn't use a single jutsu the entire fight. He simply crushed them. Took down three—four, if he was counting Hibiki—of the most powerful young men and women he'd seen in all his travels.

All their power, all their experience, and they hadn't even managed to challenge Orochimaru.

It hurt.

It wasn't a physical pain, this time. An emotional one. He'd lost his friends. The only ones he'd ever have now that he was a criminal. Fuck. It didn't even matter, really. He wasn't going to leave this place alive. Wherever he was. Orochimaru was going to dissect him like a frog in the medical ninjutsu class. Pluck out his eyes and discover all the secrets they held.

He'd failed his friends. He'd failed his clan.

Most of all, he had failed himself.

Bolt felt tears pool in his eyes. He blinked them away. He was not going to cry in front of—of his captor. Suigetsu. Orochimaru. It didn't fucking matter. They'd robbed him of some of the most important people in his life.

He would make them pay.

Of that, Bolt knew. It was a certainty.

He'd play nice. Play the good little experiment. They could have his eyes. So long as he had his chakra and his arms. That was all he needed. The moment they freed him—if they freed him—he'd act.

No.

No, that wouldn't work. That was the kind of thinking that got him into this situation. He'd been brash. Arrogant. Hadn't thought things through. He'd been confronted with a threat he knew was beyond him, beyond his team, and he had still fought anyway. Knowing full well they would lose.

It was his fault Hikari was dead. Tetsu and Hibiki, too.

Dead because he'd been arrogant. Because he had been so eager to prove himself. To no one, really. Prove he wasn't a failure. To his father? No. His sister? No, not her. His friends? No, not them. They believed in him.

He wanted to prove to himself that he wasn't a failure.

Yes, that was it. He wanted to prove to himself he wasn't that scared little boy standing in front of the whole world with his shame bared.

His pride had cost him everything. His family. His home. His friends. And, now, his freedom. His life.

No more.

Bolt discarded it. Locked it away. Deep inside where it would never see the light of day again. He had to be better than that. Better than he'd ever been. Better than he had ever hoped to be. No more throwing himself into battles to prove himself, to himself. No more putting his friends, his allies, in danger. He would _think_ before he acted. Cold. Methodical. Ruthless.

That was how he got out of this situation. That was how he got revenge for the death of his friends.

That was how he would kill Orochimaru.

The tears came again as the weight of everything he had lost settled upon him. Bolt tried to hold it in, but couldn't.

His captor cleared his throat awkwardly. Bolt steeled himself. Stopped the tears. Avengers didn't cry. "Hey, kid. Look, don't be afraid. I know this whole thing looks... bad. It isn't, really. The boss is a real upstanding guy once you get to know him. He's just—" Suigetsu paused, looking over his shoulder. Bolt follow his gaze. A door. "—not all the lights are on upstairs, you get me?"

Bolt stared at his captor. Not glared. He was being—not nice, but civil. Bolt could do civil. This would be the start of his vengeance. Bolt nodded. Suigetsu smiled, baring row upon row of sharp, pointed teeth. Like some sort of shark or exotic fish. Bolt stilled. Right. Orochimaru. His people would be deceiving. Monsters clothed in human flesh. He'd nearly made a mistake.

Suigetsu was not his ally. Not his friend.

His captor moved out of his vision. Bolt heard the clink of metal-on-metal. "Alright, so this is probably going to look bad. It's not, I promise. You're taking to the seal badly. I gotta pump you full of this shit to make sure it doesn't kill you," Suigetsu explained.

Bolt stilled. His captor turned to face him and was holding a large syringe with a needle nearly a foot in length. Bolt didn't fear needles—he feared what Suigetsu had said. He was... taking to the seal badly? What seal?

Memories.

Orochimaru. Sinking his fangs into his neck. The pain. Orochimaru had placed a Cursed Seal—oh, fuck. Was he going to turn into one of those monsters he'd spent the past month killing? Orochimaru was going to turn him into some sort of abomination? Take the Byakugan. Twist it to his purposes?

Bolt didn't even feel the needle as it dug deep into his neck. The pain faded, ever so slightly, and then returned with a vengeance. More painful, more agonizing, than ever before.

Bolt glared at Suigetsu hatefully before darkness took him.

* * *

When Bolt woke, he was, thankfully, not strapped to that metal table.

He was in a dark room. Soft bed. Light spilling out from beneath the door. He blinked. He felt better. Still wracked with pain, but he could manage it. He'd felt worse. He wasn't in agony. That all-consuming pain that destroyed rational thought. The medicine Suigetsu had given him worked, apparently.

Bolt threw his legs over the side of the bed. They felt weak. He was pretty sure he'd fall if he stood. He tried strengthening his body with chakra. It didn't help any. He was too weak. He didn't know how long it had been since Orochimaru had taken him. It could have been hours or weeks. But his chakra hadn't replenished itself. That was worrying.

Bolt managed to pull himself to his feet and braced one arm against the wall. He was wobbly, knees weak, but he could stand. He hobbled to the only other door in the room; the one without light. He hoped it was a bathroom.

It was.

Bolt flicked a switch and a sterile white light filled the room. A small, efficient shower and toilet sat in one corner. A sink and mirror in the other. He hobbled to the mirror. Bolt stared.

He was pale. Unnaturally so. Like he'd lost a lot of blood. But he hadn't, as far as he knew. He was dressed in a wispy hospital gown. His clothes had been torn in the fight, he imagined, and disposed of. Just another way to dehumanize him.

Bolt winced as the fabric of the gown brushed against his neck. With great care, he leaned forward and gently tugged at the collar of the gown. Bolt suppressed the instinctive urge to panic. A seal had been placed neatly between where his neck and shoulder met. An inky black pattern; three small dots with the smallest of tails. It reminded him strongly of the Sharingan. The pallor of his skin made the seal stand out in all its horror. Around it, the skin was red and inflamed. Bolt traced the pattern with his fingertips.

Pain coursed through him at the slightest touch. He removed his hand.

Alright. He could work with this. He was an Uzumaki. Fūinjutsu was in his blood. He could remove it. It would take time, Bolt knew, but he could remove it. He hoped.

The lure of untapped power was there. But Bolt wasn't a fool. A Cursed Seal traded power for freedom, pound for pound. If he used it, he would slowly but surely become a slave to Orochimaru.

Bolt realized why his chakra was so diminished. The seal was leeching his chakra to make itself stronger. To force himself to use it. To become dependent on its power. He would have to fix that. Soon. Somehow.

Bolt let a ragged sigh escape his lips as he ran a hand through his hair.

There was a knock at the door.

Bolt stilled. He crept back into the bedroom—his bedroom, Bolt assumed. A moment later, the door cracked open. Light spilled into the room. Bolt saw the silhouette of the butcher's cleaver before he saw the man. Suigetsu. "Hey! You're up. That's good. Lord Orochimaru wants to see you," he said. He pushed a handful of neatly folded clothes into his arms. Bolt nearly fell to his knees. "Put these on."

And then he was gone. The clothes he had been given were simple, yet fine, robes. The top cut lower than Bolt thought was decent; baring his chest and neck. He couldn't hide the Cursed Seal. A sash of thick, woven purple rope. It was dated. Fashion from fifty years ago. He'd seen something similar in the history textbook his class had.

Suigetsu was waiting for him outside. Walking was difficult, and it seemed the white-haired man knew it. He walked slowly. Bolt both appreciated the gesture and hated it in the same breath. Bolt wondered how good he was with that sword. Suigetsu was thin and lanky with hardly any bulky muscle. He doubted it was easy to swing the massive sword.

Bolt supposed he would find out the hard way, eventually.

Bolt wished he had remained conscious. He didn't know where he was. The lair of Orochimaru was surprisingly modern and immaculate. Clean, really. Like a hospital. Bolt supposed that didn't bode well for him or any other guests.

He was led by Suigetsu to a wing of the facility that was less hospital and more barracks. Row upon row of doors, some open. Inside where beds and lockers. A few doors were sealed with large, heavy locks. Something to keep in mind. If it was worth locking, it was worth breaking into.

Suigetsu opened a door and held it open for him. Bolt entered. He was aware of Suigetsu shutting the door behind him, but he didn't care. His attention was focussed solely on the man seated at the head of one of the dining tables in what he could only assume was a mess hall.

Orochimaru grinned. That predatory grin that bared fangs as his tongue darted out. It was exceedingly disturbing. "Take a seat," Orochimaru hissed. It wasn't aggressive. Just the way he spoke. Almost like a lisp.

Bolt did. Not because Orochimaru asked, but because he didn't think his legs would keep him upright for much longer. He'd let the snake have this small victory. Orochimaru grinned even wider.

Bolt was silent. And still. What exactly did you say to make small talk with the veritable monster who kidnapped you and killed your friends?

Orochimaru chuckled. It was that dark, grating, eerie chuckle. The one that sounded like he found your very existence—it was difficult to describe. Comical? Pointless? Like you were an insect and you were lucky to be in presence.

It was irritating. Bolt grit his teeth.

The silence between them was doubly awkward. Bolt had no doubt Orochimaru was enjoying it. He seemed like the type to enjoy watching people squirm and struggle. Bolt felt trapped; cornered. Like a fly in the spider's web.

Fine. If Orochimaru wanted to play, he could play too.

"What did you mean?" Bolt asked. Orochimaru hummed, as if to ask for clarification. "You said we both got to where we are in life because we're failures. What did you mean?"

It was the little emotions. That predatory grin faltered for just a moment and something pained took its place. Then, it was replaced; the predatory grin was back, tinged with just a hint of pride. "It's simple, really," Orochimaru said with clear enjoyment. "We're quite similar, you and I. You are the monster parents tell their children to be wary of. I was that monster many years ago. We both came to be that monster for one, simple reason: we failed."

Bolt didn't believe that. He had nothing in common with Orochimaru. Nothing. "And what did you fail at?" Bolt asked.

Orochimaru smiled. "There was a time when I wanted to be Hokage. I was passed over—for your grandfather," he hissed.

Bolt stilled. Well. That was awkward. Bolt hoped Orochimaru didn't have any hard feelings. "I had nothing left after that. So I left. It's the same for you. Exposed in front of all those foreign dignitaries? The Kage. The samurai. Your friends and peers. If you hadn't stayed, you would have had nothing, too. You would never be trusted by your peers. The civilians would curse your name. Your team would suffer, too. No one would hire the team with the cheater on it. So you left," Orochimaru said.

Bolt didn't like how logical that sounded. He liked to think he had _something_ left. If he'd stayed. If he'd been strong enough to stay. Sure, he'd never have a good working relationship with any ninja in his—or any—village. He would quit his team so they weren't dragged down with him. His father—his father might have accepted him. Maybe. But his mother and sister? They would have loved him no matter what. His friends? Sarada wouldn't leave him alone. He liked to think that Mitsuki wouldn't either.

So, no. He and Orochimaru weren't the same. He had to believe that. Yes, he had been too weak to stay. But so had Orochimaru. The difference was he accepted his weakness. The question was: did Orochimaru? Would twisting the knife in this situation be worth it? He peered over the table at Orochimaru.

No.

Bolt had already resolved to be better than he had been. He had always been eager to prove himself and that had gotten him injured and nearly killed more times than he would like to admit. Orochimaru had already proven he was superior in every way. Bolt didn't want to find out what would happen if he tested him.

If he wanted to escape the viper's den, he wouldn't do it through strength—he'd do it through cunning.

Orochimaru grinned. "My turn for a question, it seems. Why haven't you used my gift yet?"

Bolt stilled. How to handle this. 'Gift' was not a hard analogy to understand. The Cursed Seal. Bolt settled for a shrug.

The grin faltered. "I thought you would have used it by now. At least once. You'd feel better; stronger. Your chakra reserves would be bolstered," Orochimaru hissed. "Enough power to fight even _me_."

Bolt didn't rise to the bait. "I'm not an idiot," Bolt answered.

Orochimaru chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you aren't. Fūinjutsu is in your blood, isn't it? I must admit, that seal on your forearm was quite intriguing. The security measures were quite impressive," he hummed.

His breath caught in his throat. Had Orochimaru figured out what was inside? He kept the security measures the Uzukage had originally imposed on him. Only an Uzumaki could access the seal. He'd just upgraded it to store more objects. No. bolt would have faith in the Uzukage. If Orochimaru knew what he had hidden inside—the treasure trove of Akatsuki—he wouldn't be sitting here so calmly.

Bolt just nodded.

Orochimaru seemed displeased he hadn't expounded upon his answer. "We both tinker in the sealing arts, it seems. Fascinating. Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two," the Sannin offered with a chuckle.

Bolt wasn't sure if he was serious. It sounded like he was. He wasn't sure if he wanted to accept either way. Nothing Orochimaru could teach him that he couldn't learn on his own—no, that was arrogant. There was nothing Orochimaru could teach him that his clan couldn't teach him. Bolt believed that. "Thank you," Bolt said. The snake's grin widened. "But I'll have to decline."

The grin fell. Orochimaru hadn't expected that. "A pity. Perhaps something else, then, if not fūinjutsu? I've spent decades collecting and mastering every jutsu known to man. The most destructive elemental ninjutsu? Medical ninjutsu that even the Slug Princess would envy?" Orochimaru pondered aloud.

Bolt shook his head. What did Orochimaru want? That was the question.

He continued on. "You don't seem like the type to use illusions. No matter. The Sharingan makes such things pointless. Perhaps assistance with the evolution of the Gentle Fist? There are many secrets the Hyūga have forgotten over the years," Orochimaru hissed.

Tempting, but no. Bolt shook his head. Orochimaru wanted to—to recruit him? The allure of promised power? He wasn't that foolish. Even he could see that Orochimaru would never truly give him what he wanted. Sure, the snake would feed him a technique or two every once and awhile—just enough to keep him interested; loyal. But never enough to step out of the shadow of the Sannin.

Orochimaru frowned. Paused. Grinned. "Kinjutsu, perhaps?"

Bolt stilled. Was it worth it? A single kinjutsu technique for feigned loyalty? Forbidden techniques that no village permitted to be learned or studied? The Union classified his augmented Gentle Fist as such because of its permanent damage to chakra pathways—but, in reality, that was a simple technicality. A real kinjutsu was a technique whose very name evoked fear.

Was it worth being indentured to Orochimaru? The man who murdered his friends?

No.

Bolt shook his head. This time Orochimaru frowned. "A pity. I had hoped we could come to an agreement," he said, forming a single hand sign with one hand.

Bolt tensed. An instant later, the pain came. Not quite agony, but it still ate and whittled his world away until the only sensations he knew were the pain, the cold stone of the floor, the fire coursing through his veins, and the way his muscles tore as he spasmed.

When the pain receded, the first thing he was was Suigetsu looming over him. He looked uncomfortable. The white-haired man picked him up, as gently as he could, by the armpits and placed him back on the bench of the table.

Bolt rested his head on the cool, wooden surface. He didn't care if Orochimaru saw. The Cursed Seal fucking hurt—

His eyes found his arm. Inky black patterns, like flames, flowed down it. The influx of chakra. Adrenaline coursed through him. The pain was forgotten. Instead, he was left with a pleasant high he felt only in combat. And he felt _good._ Better than he had in—in a long time. Not just stronger, but happier. Being away from his sister didn't bother him as much as it did. The aching wound that was the death of his friends was raw but numb. There, but not debilitating.

The Cursed Seal wasn't so bad—

Bolt crushed those thoughts. This was Orochimaru fucking with him. He closed his eyes, focussing on pushing the Cursed Seal back. If he let it take hold of him now, he would never be free of Orochimaru.

And—fuck. It was hard. It would be so easy to just give in. To pull instead of push. To give himself over to that high. To immerse himself in it fully. Bolt knew that if he did, all the pains—physical and emotional—would go away.

But he knew he would be a slave to Orochimaru.

The seal receded. The markings, once inky black, flared a bright red and flowed back up his arm and coiled within the Cursed Seal on his neck.

Bolt let out a long, ragged breath.

Orochimaru chuckled. He sounded _pleased_. Bolt wasn't sure if that was a good pleased—as in he had just passed some sort of test pleased—or pleased as in he had just given Orochimaru another excuse to cripple him with a healthy dose of agony.

"You are fascinating," Orochimaru hissed. His tongue darted out. Bolt looked away. High praise, even if it came from a psychopath. Orochimaru was still a Sannin.

Orochimaru stood. Bolt tensed. As he passed, Orochimaru set his hand on his shoulder. His fingers ghosted over the Cursed Seal. "We'll talk again, soon. I think you'll be more receptive to serving me then."

Bolt didn't know why Orochimaru wanted him. Something about Mitsuki? His memories of the battle were hazy. Bait? Bait to draw Mitsuki out? A weight settled in his stomach. No. That would be one of the worst things he could imagine. Orochimaru had already killed his team. Now he was going after his friends in the Leaf? After Mitsuki? His own son?

Then Orochimaru was gone. Bolt breathed a sigh of relief. Suigetsu appeared. He was smiling. "Not bad, kid. Most people snap, or Lord Orochimaru snaps them. Usually it's the latter," he said.

Bolt shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to talk. "Come on! Back to your cell!" Suigetsu barked. From the tone of his voice, Bolt could tell he was trying—and failing—to impersonate a brutish prison guard. It wasn't funny.

Bolt didn't move. Suigetsu hauled him to his feet and half carried, half dragged him back to his room. Bolt let him. His legs felt like jelly.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Little bit shorter chapter this time. I really disliked how few disadvantages the Cursed Seal had. That, or nobody ever decided to explain them. I took a different route.

So, I finished Worm. Wow. What a blast. If you're into "superhero" stories, I highly recommend it. Long, high quality writing, excellent pacing, and focusses on a believable anti-hero.

In other news... how many of you guys branch out to other fan fiction sites? I was thinking of expanding. AO3 (don't really care much for it), Wattpad, Spacebattles, etc.


	52. Chapter 52

The scream echoed in her skull.

A gurgling, bloodcurdling scream. The kind that ripped from your throat until it was raw and bloody and left you unable to speak.

Darkness swam in her vision as she watched the monster pin Bolt to the wall and tear out his throat with its fangs. She wanted to get up. Her spirit was willing, but not her body. Unconsciousness had her in its grip and refused to let her go.

Hikari didn't want to die. Didn't want Bolt to die. Didn't want to let the viper kill them.

Her eyes closed.

When she opened them again, she was cold and her body ached. There was a pounding in her skull. Hikari blinked. She was dazed and confused. She couldn't breathe through her nose. Hikari raised her hand to her face and recoiled as her fingers brushed against her mangled nose. She ran soothing chakra through the broken cartilage and shredded flesh. As she did, Hikari glanced around the room.

Hibiki lay a few feet from her. He was sprawled on the ground, laying face down. One arm was bent at an awkward angle; clearly broken. A pool of dried blood spread from beneath his skull. It dyed his inky black locks red. And Tetsu...

Tetsu was the worst of them all.

He was dead.

Hikari swallowed and crawled over to him. More dragging herself than a crawl. Orochimaru had pinned him to a wall with a sword hard enough to shatter stone. Dirt spilled in through the cracks in the wall. Hikari could see where the sword had pierced him; between the sixth and seventh ribs. His robe top was stained a deep, muddy red color.

Hikari reached out and pressed two fingers to Tetsu's wrist. She waited. One second. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

 _Lub-dub._

Hikari exhaled a shaky breath. He was alive. If only just. She examined him. Heavy blood loss; at least fifteen to eighteen hours old judging by texture and coloration. Dextral sixth rib partially fractured by Orochimaru's sword. Collapsed lung. Hikari leaned in and could hear Tetsu take a gurgling, shallow breath.

She pulled her knees underneath herself and raised both hands. They glowed with a soft green light that illuminated the destroyed kitchen. The table and chairs had been turned to splinters, and the remnants of their meal had been strewn across the floor. A forgotten stove glowed cherry red.

Hikari moved the healing chakra through Tetsu. Extracting the shard of bone. Repairing the lung; extracting the blood through the open wound. Knitting the flesh back together. Stimulating the body's Yang energy to promote healing.

It was all she could do. He would live, she hoped. The Uzumaki clansmen were notoriously difficult to slay. Their natural vitality would, Hikari hoped, allow Tetsu to pull through. She crawled over to Hibiki.

His right arm was clearly broken. It jutted out at an unnatural angle that made her wince in empathy, remembering her own broken limbs. Her fingers ghosted over the injury. Dislocated shoulder. Humerus cleanly broken in two places. Stress fracture of the scapula. Hikari went about her work. Removing shards of bone too small to be grafted back together. Setting the broken bones. Grafting them in place. Reattaching muscles and ligaments. Pushing the limb back into its socket.

The head wound was worse. A depressed parietal fracture. Intracranial hemorrhaging. No brain damage, as far as Hikari could tell. She desperately wished she had taken more field medic training. The hunter corps just slit your throat if you were dealt a brain injury on a mission. Too much of a liability. Hikari placed the palm of her hand over the depression and began to heal Hibiki. He was dying. Would die, if she didn't make an attempt at stopping the bleeding.

It was a long, tense half an hour. Hikari didn't have the strength to crawl. She removed her hands, the glow fading, and lay on the cold, hard floor.

Then she closed her eyes.

* * *

"Is she alive?"

Hikari threw her fist forward and struck the person looming over her. It caught wispy strands of hair as it sailed past. Hibiki flinched out of the way, perhaps sensing her sudden burst of chakra. Her breaths came rapid and shallow as her eyes darted to every shadowed corner of the room. Her mind was racing as memories and thoughts assailed her in equal measure.

She was alive. Hibiki was alive. Tetsu, looking worse for wear, was alive. Bolt was—Bolt was gone.

Bolt was gone.

Bolt was gone. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

How had she missed that? The most important detail. She'd healed two of her teammates. Not three. Fuck. Oh god. Orochimaru. Orochimaru took him. Or worse: he was dead. No. No, it would be worse if Orochimaru took him. Experimented on him.

"Calm down," Hibiki whispered.

Hikari opened her mouth to snap a reply, but the words came out garbled. Hibiki placed a hand on her shoulder. "Whilst I'm thankful you deigned to heal me, you should have healed yourself first. You're a beautiful woman; it's a sin to let that face scar," he said in that too smooth, too confident way.

Hikari twitched. She raised a hand to her face and channeled healing chakra through it. Her jaw had been dislocated and was sporting a nasty purple-yellow bruise. Her nose was broken and her features caked in dried blood. But worst was the soft tissue damage. Her mask had been shattered when Orochimaru struck her. Shards of porcelain had been imbedded in her face.

" _Fuck,"_ Hikari swore. It came out as an intelligible, warped noise.

She pumped healing chakra through her system. A healthy dose to kickstart her body's Yang energy. Reattached her jaw and worked out the kinks in her muscles so he could speak again. Picked out the mangled cartilage of her nose and knit the flesh back together as best she could. Hikari swore. She'd need a mirror and time to properly fix her appearance. Then she set about removing the shards of porcelain and repairing the soft tissue that had been slashed to ribbons beneath.

"What happened?" Hikari asked, her voice hoarse. She found the mangled ruins of her mask. It had been destroyed except for the upper left portion. It wouldn't cover anything more than her left eye, part of her nose, and her cheekbone. Still, she slipped it on and the jutsu held it fast. She felt more comfortable with it on.

No one answered her. _"What happened?"_ Hikari growled.

"We don't know," Hibiki answered. "I just woke up a few minutes ago."

Tetsu looked deeply ashamed as he hung his head. He hadn't moved from where Orochimaru had left him.

"Can—can you sense Bolt?" Hikari asked.

Hibiki's face contorted with effort. "No, but—wait. Yes? The chakra signature is remarkably similar. More pure than Bolt's own. It's... warm, bubbly almost. Timid, too. Does he have a sibling?"

"Fuck!" Hikari swore, slamming a fist into the floor. The stone spiderwebbed with cracks.

"I take that as a yes?" Hibiki asked.

Damn it. Bolt's little sister was chasing after him again. Fuck. That made everything more complicated. They couldn't even fight her, now, and they didn't have Bolt or an explanation for where he was or what happened to him. What did she do? What did she do? What did she do?

Tetsu swayed on unsteady legs as he stood. "What are you doing?" Hikari snapped. He wasn't well enough to stand.

"This one shall fetch reinforcements," Tetsu spoke. "The family of my lord shall assist us in rescuing him, or extracting vengeance. That is my sacred duty."

"Judging from her reaction, I don't think that's such a good idea," Hibiki said.

"It's not," Hikari hissed. "Bolt doesn't want to fight his sister. His sister wants to bring him back to the Leaf. He would be furious with us if we hurt her, if he's even still alive. Besides, if she is hostile we aren't in any condition to fight her off."

Tetsu paused.

"Hibiki, how many people are with her?" Hikari asked.

"Three—one with a very powerful chakra signature, two with middle jōnin levels of chakra. The two of them are... odd," Hibiki answered.

"Odd how?" Hikari pressed.

Hibiki paused for a moment. "One feels feral. Wild, almost. More like an animal than a man. The other... I don't know how to describe it." Hibiki shivered. "He is—is disgusting. His chakra makes my skin crawl."

That didn't sound like any of the people they had met on their journey from the Land of Rain to Wind. "And the other one? The one with the powerful chakra signature?" Hikari asked.

"Oh, _him._ Very powerful. His chakra is beautiful; dark, looming over his head like a stormcloud. But beautiful all the same. Like watching a thunderstorm," Hibiki said. His eyes took on an unfocused, glassy quality. Hibiki shook his head. "Not nearly as beautiful as Bolt, though."

Hikari sent a glance at Tetsu. He seemed to understand. "A new team, then," Hikari decided. "None of those people were ones we fought. At least, I don't think they were. Tetsu?"

Tetsu grumbled. "This one agrees with you, my lady," he said.

"We need a plan of action. Hibiki, can you try to sense any remnants of Bolt's chakra? Or Orochimaru's. Anything that could tell us what happened or where they went," Hikari said.

Hibiki went silent. His eyes stared forward, unseeing. Hikari waited on bated breath. One minute. Then two. Then three. He blinked, paused, then shook his head. "Nothing," Hibiki answered. "These bases are hold. It's possible Orochimaru has him hidden in a modern, more well protected facility. One my senses cannot penetrate."

Hikari growled. She was the interim leader of their band of misfits until Bolt could be rescued. It was up to her to get him back safely. She had no idea how to find Orochimaru. Many more skilled and powerful have tried and failed—and paid the ultimate price. Hikari had to get him back. Had to. Had to. She paused. "What about—"

Hibiki collapsed as spasms shook his body. Hikari rushed to his aid. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. Something had gone wrong when she healed the bleeding in his brain. Damn it. She knew this was going to happen. Her hands glowed with the green chakra of the Mystic Palm. Her fingers ghosted through his inky black locks—

A moan escaped Hibiki's lips. Not one of pain, but one of pleasure. Hikari paused. "Oh, God," he managed to rasp. "I've never felt chakra like this before."

"... What?"

* * *

Bolt woke, as he normally did, to Suigetsu having zero sense of privacy and decency. The white-haired man kicked down his door—sometimes literally—and slammed it against the wall. "Rise and shine, kid!" Suigetsu proclaimed for the entire facility to hear. "You're getting new accommodations!"

Bolt grumbled and reluctantly rose to his feet. He slipped into the one outfit he could wear; the outdated and slightly suspicious robe Orochimaru had given him. Bolt certainly wasn't about to take an Akatsuki uniform out and wear those.

He yawned as he trailed behind Suigetsu. He was led to another wing of the base, one that he hadn't yet had the chance to explore. Bolt stretched, relishing in the experience of nearing half his full strength. He was slowly learning how to separate his own chakra from the Cursed Seal's. Another few days and he'd be back to one hundred percent capacity. If not sooner, if he got even better at purifying his chakra.

"Here we are," Suigetsu announced, inserting a key into the door and pushing it open. He gestured Bolt inside with a theatrical flourish of his arms.

It was a nice room. Larger, more ornate. Two beds. They were large, yet strictly utilitarian in their appearance and function. Like barracks. A desk. Two bookcases. And—and not empty.

"Mitsuki," Bolt said.

Mitsuki turned from where he stood before one of the bookcases. He sported a nasty bruise on his right cheek. It was an angry purple-black color, tinged with yellow. He wore a similar set of robes to Bolt himself.

"Bolt!" Mitsuki exclaimed, jogging and wincing in equal measure as he made his way over to him. Mitsuki looked like he wanted to hug him, but stopped short as his eyes came to rest on the Cursed Seal.

Bolt quickly turned away, using what meager collar the robe top provided to shield the seal. "Are you okay? What are you doing here?" Mitsuki managed to huff out in a single breath.

"I—" Bolt paused. Suigetsu had disappeared. "I could ask you the same thing. Why aren't you in the Leaf?"

Mitsuki looked saddened and angry in the same moment. "My _father,_ " he spat the word. "Requested my presence, apparently."

Ah. Bolt understood. "Same thing, basically. He ambushed my team and I. We didn't stand a chance," he said with a shrug. That fact stung more than he'd like to admit.

"Was," Mitsuki hesitated. "Was your team okay?"

Bolt felt the weight on his shoulders that he had been trying to forget grow heavier. "I don't know. I don't think so," Bolt answered, kicking at the floor. "Orochimaru isn't really the type to show mercy."

Mitsuki nodded. "I'm sorry," he said.

There was an awkward pause. "What do you think he wants with us?" Bolt asked, if only to find something to talk about. He had missed hanging out with Mitsuki. He wished, not for the first time, that he could have retained the relationships he had in the Leaf.

"I don't know," Mitsuki said.

Bolt sighed. "I thought he was using me to lure you out," he explained.

Mitsuki stilled. "If he captured you, and he captured me... he could be trying to kidnap Sarada. His fascination with the Sharingan, remember?"

Bolt felt something hot bubble in his chest. That would not happen. He wouldn't allow it to pass.

A dark, gravelly chuckle.

Bolt whirled around. Mitsuki mirrored him. Orochimaru stood in the doorway. Bolt hadn't even heard him approach. "Nothing of the sort, I can assure you," Orochimaru hissed. "I already have access to a cloned set of eyes, and I am not so foolish as to attack the daughter of Sasuke."

"But you're foolish enough to attack the son of the Hokage?" Mitsuki asked with a wry grin.

Orochimaru bared his fangs in an unnaturally wide grin. "Bolt himself shrugged the protection of his father when he became a rogue ninja. Daddy dearest won't be coming after him anytime soon. He and Sasuke have much more important matters to prepare for."

Bolt sucked in a breath. It hurt more than he would have thought to hear that thought voiced aloud. In some deep, dark part of him he had wished his father would come after him. He never did. And apparently, wouldn't.

Mitsuki frowned. "Why not?"

Orochimaru chuckled. "They didn't tell you?" He paused. When neither him nor Mitsuki answered, Orochimaru hummed. "Interesting. You should ask about what _really_ happened at the end of the Fourth War. Sasuke should be returning any day now. Last I heard, he found something quite... _fascinating_."

"What do you want?" Bolt growled. He wasn't in the mood for mind games. He berated himself for allowing Orochimaru to get under his skin. That was what he was supposed to avoid. He had to be better; stronger. For his team.

Orochimaru chuckled again. Fuck, Bolt hated that sound. He thought the snake did it just to annoy him. "A father is allowed to dote on his son, is he not?"

Bolt didn't believe that. From his expression, neither did Mitsuki. Orochimaru chuckled. "I, too, have an important duty I must perform. Come," he commanded.

Bolt followed after him. No sense in making whatever Orochimaru wanted harder than it already was. Mitsuki followed beside him.

Orochimaru led the two of them to a large room beneath the floor they had been staying on. It was huge, easily a thousand feet in diameter. The floor was made of stone and covered with a thin sheen of dirt and dust. The ceiling was vaulted and ribbed with arches of rock that seemed to grow from the walls; an Earth jutsu.

It was a sparring arena.

Orochimaru spun on his heels, a wide grin already on his face. His serpentine eyes darted between Mitsuki and him.

Bolt knew what the Sannin wanted. And he was happy to give it to him. Bolt glanced at Mitsuki. The two of them nodded in agreement.

His eyes faded from blue to a pale violet as he emitted a shroud of chakra. Bolt didn't think that the two of them would defeat Orochimaru. If him and his three companions couldn't, there was no way he and Mitsuki could—at half strength, if that. But Bolt hoped they could _hurt_ him. He hoped that body felt pain.

His Lightning Armor sparked to life with a crackle and a chirp. Pain coursed through him, emanating from his shoulder. Bolt pushed the Cursed Seal back. Next to him, the wispy, incorporeal serpents formed around Mitsuki as a single horn erupted from his forehead.

Together, they leapt forward.

Bolt was faster, if only just. He pushed himself, leading the charge. He'd make an opening for Mitsuki. He knew his friend would see the opening and press their advantage. Bolt could feel it. Years of fighting at each other's side as both an Academy student and a genin. Old instincts never really died.

Bolt sent a flurry of Gentle Fist strikes at Orochimaru. A few to the left shoulder, a few to the right. Then, he knocked the Sannin's right arm away and broke his guard. Mitsuki was right behind him. He slammed a fist, aflame with one of the incorporeal snakes, into his father's chest.

Orochimaru didn't even grunt as he was pushed ten feet backwards. A cloud of dust had been kicked up in his wake. Still, he appeared no worse for wear. Mitsuki was weaving hand signs. A Water jutsu, Bolt didn't know which. He simply raised his hand, and the moment the jet of water left his friend's lips, electrified it.

A wave of water rushed forward, white-blue electricity coursing through it. Orochimaru smirked and simply strode forward, wading through the wave. The electricity didn't even seem to bother him.

What was the point?

Bolt already knew that Orochimaru was immune to everything they could throw at him. Why did he want to fight them? What was the purpose? Bolt knew that Orochimaru knew they weren't a threat. Why fight? Was he bored? In some ways, yes. But that wasn't enough. An opportunity to force him to use the Cursed Seal? Plausible, but why? What was the point in branding him?

There had to be a _reason._

Bolt spun into a Revolving Heaven as Orochimaru launched himself at him. He was batted backwards and away as Mitsuki crashed down upon him with all four of his incorporeal snakes. Still, any injury that he was dealt quickly healed.

Why bring the two of them together? If Orochimaru wanted to push him to use the Cursed Seal, he could have just beaten him black and blue until he had no other choice but to tap into its powers. But Mitsuki? Why risk sending agents to the Leaf to kidnap him? What if they had been caught? Why would Orochimaru risk bringing the might of the Leaf and the Union down on him when the powers that be were content to let him roam free?

It didn't make sense. Bolt was missing something. An itch at the back of his mind that he couldn't quite reach.

Orochimaru broke away from Mitsuki and charged him. Bolt slipped into a defensive Gentle Fist stance. He slapped away punch after punch and evaded kick after kick. Bolt could tell Orochimaru was holding back. If he used his full strength, his full speed, Bolt had no doubt the Sannin would crush him. All the while, he pondered.

Why?

Mitsuki had drawn Kusanagi. Bolt didn't catch where he had produced the sword from. Orochimaru, at least, was avoiding their attacks for once. He didn't let Kusanagi touch him; not even a scratch. Still, the Sannin pressed the assault on him. Bolt grunted as one of the snake's fists caught him. He was throwing stronger and stronger punches.

Bolt slapped away a kick with his left hand and raised his right. Lightning gathered in a storm of chirping. A low-powered Chidori. He lunged forward and thrust it through Orochimaru. The Sannin saw it coming, could have dodged or blocked, but didn't. He let it sink into his chest cavity before gripping Bolt by the wrist tightly.

The snake tilted his head, ever so slightly, so that he could look at Mitsuki. Orochimaru inhaled. Bolt lifted a leg to kick him in the skull. Mitsuki lowered the tip of Kusanagi and charged. Orochimaru exhaled a blade of wind that cut deep into the shoulder opposite the Cursed Seal. Bolt whimpered in pain. The injury robbed his kick of its power, but Orochimaru released him all the same.

Mitsuki screamed a battle cry and attacked with a newfound zeal. Orochimaru just chuckled, attention now firmly on Mitsuki.

 _Why?_

Bolt cauterized the wound with an uncontrolled arc of electricity. Then he darted forward and sent a barrage of Gentle Fist strikes at the Sannin. He aimed for the heart, the lungs, the liver, and the brain. Or the areas of the body that would normally contain the vital organs. Orochimaru seemingly didn't have any.

"Don't touch him!" Mitsuki barked, sending a flurry of slashes at Orochimaru.

The Sannin chuckled in that same dark, gravelly voice that irritated some deep, primal part of Bolt. Then, Orochimaru turned and attacked him again. Bolt took several hurried steps back as Orochimaru came at him again and again with increased strength, speed, and agility. Attacks that once didn't hurt now did. The snake slithered faster than he did before. Orochimaru would dodge Gentle Fist strikes that once landed true.

His body, once on the mend, was quickly sporting bruises, scrapes, and cuts once more. Bolt wheezed as Orochimaru caught him in his wounded shoulder with a kick, tearing the wound open once more. Bolt reeled, staggering away as he held his good arm to the wound. He should have asked Hikari to teach him some medical ninjutsu, even if he didn't particularly enjoy the discipline. He regretted that, now. He regretted a lot of things.

Orochimaru was not a merciful man. He pressed his advantage, mercilessly beating him to a pulp at an agonizingly slow pace.

Mitsuki appeared in a burst of wind. Two of his incorporeal serpents were coiled around the blade of Kusanagi as he swung. The slash carried forward, imbued with the power of natural energy. Orochimaru beat a hasty retreat as he avoided the attack. Bolt held a hand aloft as a sphere of whirring, blue-white chakra formed in the palm of his hand. He hurled the Rasengan forward, catching the Sannin as he retreated. The attack sent Orochimaru flying as he was ground into the floor.

Bolt watched as Orochimaru rose with that same wide, predatory grin that bared his fangs and unnaturally long tongue. Mitsuki stepped in front of him and brandished Kusanagi. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him! At the hospital!"

Orochimaru chuckled with, what Bolt considered, to be genuine mirth. "I said I would not harm him—for _now_ ," he hissed. "Now has passed."

Mitsuki growled something unintelligible. The wispy, nebulous snakes around him became almost agitated. The veritable cloak of natural energy he wore spread. Another two serpents joined their brethren and numbered five. The horn protruding from his forehead dwindled until it was no longer so severe or pronounced. Even the inky black markings around his eyes became more focussed and less messy.

Orochimaru sported his widest grin yet; a twinkle in his eyes.

And then Bolt understood. Orochimaru didn't care about him at all. This was all for Mitsuki—just like the Sannin had claimed. Orochimaru kidnapped him, branded him, all to put Mitsuki in this position. To force him to grow, regardless of the pain inflicted.

 _ **But why?**_

Bolt didn't know. That itch in the back of his mind bothered him less, but it was still there. Something still missing. But he didn't know what it could be. Mitsuki leapt into the fray faster and stronger than ever before. Orochimaru actively evaded his son's attacks, now.

But Bolt did know something. He knew that Orochimaru was hurting Mitsuki. A father hurting his son. Bolt knew that feeling well. And he wasn't going to let Orochimaru inflict that kind of pain on Mitsuki.

He felt the pressure pulsing through his entire body that originated at his shoulder. A good deal of his focus had been directed towards suppressing it. Pushing it away.

Now? Now he reached for it and _pulled._

The influx of chakra was as pleasurable as it was empowering. A rush of chakra, more than Bolt had ever felt before, filled him to the brim—and then some. And it wasn't just his capacity, it was the _quality._ Each ember of chakra burned brighter and with a greater intensity; individually empowered beyond his normally produced chakra.

The same feeling from when he suppressed the Cursed Seal assaulted him. A wave of power that swept all his burdens and worries away. The little aches and pains, both body and mind, were conveniently placed out of sight and forgotten. He wasn't the scared little boy with a mangled honor running from the world, from his father. He wasn't a brother that had abandoned his sister. He wasn't a friend mourning the loss of the only friends he could ever, would ever, have as a rogue ninja.

He wasn't a failure.

Now? He was Bolt Uzumaki: infamous rogue ninja, slayer of the One-Tail, and more powerful than he had ever been in his short life.

His Lightning Armor snapped into its upgraded form with an audible crack of thunder. Locks of blond hair floated skyward as stray arcs of static electricity escaped his control. The cloak of chakra that surrounded him was flooded with electricity. So much that he could barely maintain control of it. Muscles gorged and enlarged. Beneath his feet, the stone floor of the arena cracked.

The world crawled forward at an agonizingly slow pace. Bolt could see, individually, each muscle and tendon flex and move as both Orochimaru and Mitsuki began to turn and look at him. The little details. Eyebrows rising. Eyes widening. Hair standing on end. Goosebumps spreading across skin—fascinating to watch as each little bump erupted one-by-one. All in that some agonizingly slow pace that only Bolt could perceive.

He walked forward. A slow, casual walk as his mind calculated and formed a plan of attack. To his target, Orochimaru, it would appear as if no more than a handful of seconds had passed. To Bolt, he had nearly a full minute to decide how, exactly, he was going to make the Sannin _hurt._

Bolt stopped before the father and son duo. He raised a hand, and with great caution, pushed the brandished blade of Kusanagi out of the way. Bolt made sure to keep his armor from letting the steel touch flesh. With room to work, he raised his right arm and pressed his fist to Orochimaru. White flesh, nearly waterlike in its consistency, rippled outwards from the blow. The snake's body was slow to follow, but it did. Arms and legs raised as the force of the strike catapulted his body backwards.

Already, Orochimaru was bringing his hands together to weave signs. Bolt stilled and raised his free hand aloft; palm up, fingers splayed. He began to gather chakra. An enormous quantity of chakra. Far more than he could have ever dedicated to the technique before. He startled slow. He had the time, after all. Orochimaru was just finishing weaving his first hand sign nearly fifteen feet away.

 _Rotation._ He formed a mass of chakra so dense that his arm struggled to keep aloft. Bolt bent the chakra to his will; forcing it to whirl clockwise faster and faster until it made the telltale whining whirr of the Rasengan.

 _Power._ More chakra. His arm dipped, unable to hold the quantity of chakra he was pushing into the technique.

 _Containment._ Form a shell of ultra dense chakra around the Rasengan. Tame the forces at work. Harness them, and turn them towards destruction.

Then came the most difficult part. Nature transformation. Bolt reached out and felt each wisp of chakra and began to phase each one into Lightning Release chakra. The blue-white color of the chakra darkened until it was a cloudy gray. It was a process. The longer he transformed his normal chakra to Lightning chakra, the more powerful the jutsu was. Bolt held the sphere of gray chakra in the palm of his hand. No larger than his fist. That would have to change.

Orochimaru had completed three hand signs and was now forty feet away and gaining speed as his body reached maximum velocity.

More rotation. The telltale whirr of the Rasengan drowned itself out until it was nothing more than a low rumble, like thunder booming in the distance. More power. Even more chakra. The sphere of gray chakra darkened until it was nearly black. A halo of pure white chakra erupted from its circumference and then collapsed in on itself; from a sphere to a disc. More containment. Prevent the jutsu from losing any of its power in transit. More transformation. Every single particle of chakra attuned to the destructive element of Lightning.

It was done.

Orochimaru struck the wall at the far side of the arena. The impact shattered stone and kicked up a cloud of dust that obscured the Sannin. A great wall of metal erupted from the ground in a wisp of smoke. Then a second, and then a third. Each with demonic faces and colored red, green, and blue.

Bolt hurled the perfected Rasenshinsei forward.

He turned and left the room.

For all his power, all his strength, and all his speed, Bolt knew that he could go faster, be stronger. A second level of power existed. Waiting for him to grasp it. He had only reach out and take it.

But he didn't. He wouldn't become reliant on the Cursed Seal. But he would use it, just this once, to prove his point. Bolt strode through the halls of the underground facility. An alarm was blaring and the lights were flashing red.

He came across the first room he hadn't been able to spy into with his Byakugan and shredded the door. Inside were stacks of wooden crates. A simple wave of his hand sent a storm of electricity through the room that destroyed the boxes and set them, and whatever was inside, aflame.

The next room was a locked laboratory. Several rows of tall glass cylinders filled with green, bubbling liquids lined the walls. Bolt hurled a Rasengan into their midst and strode from the room before it detonated.

The next room was more akin to an operating room. Metal slabs in the center of the room. Tables and trays filled with surgical implements. One of the walls was lined with what appeared to be fridges. It was a morgue, Bolt realized.

He destroyed it with another Rasengan and then continued on his path of destruction. Another storage room. A barracks with row upon row of bunk beds. An ornate bedroom—Bolt hoped it was Orochimaru's. A room filled with growing fetuses. A room with—

The pain came, then. More agonizing than anything Bolt had ever felt. Nearly as incapacitating as the moment Orochimaru branded him with the Cursed Seal. Bolt fell to the floor, limbs sprawled, as his body spasmed beyond his control. His Lightning Armor faded into nonexistence and time came rushing back with a tangible strike of a hammer.

Bolt curled into a ball, whimpering, as the Cursed Seal receded and coiled within its housing branded onto his flesh. Chakra, wild and uncontrolled, ripped through him and shredded organs as easily as it crushed bone.

Darkness came, and Bolt couldn't fight it.

* * *

It happened in the blink of an eye; an instant too small to be perceived by the human mind without augmentation.

One moment, rage coursed through Mitsuki as he dueled his father. For daring to hurt Bolt, for daring to break his oath to him. The next, a great, oppressing wave of chakra rolled over him like nothing he had ever felt before. His eyes were seared with the sheer intensity of the light that was, Mitsuki assumed, Bolt's Lightning Armor.

The explosion rocked him. Catapulted him backwards until he slammed against the wall near the entrance to the sparring arena. Mitsuki groaned. He had only caught glimpses of the impossibly fast attack. Three demonic gates rising; the triple rashōmon.

The first gate, the red one, was simply gone. There was nothing left. No warped shrapnel nor tile from the gate's roof. Just gone; utterly destroyed. The second gate, green in color, was a ruined, mangled mess of steel. Like something had bored a hole through the center of the gate and exploded outwards, destroying its supports. The only thing recognizable was a small pile of tiles, a single dented bell, and spiked base. The third and final gate was dented and scratched beyond recognition. The demonic visage that it bared on its door was gone. As if it had been ground away.

The damage to the room had been extensive. Mitsuki remembered a momentary flash, a nova of white chakra, expanding and touching all corners of the room as the jutsu impacted the first gate. Mitsuki traced it with his eyes. Everywhere the nova touched stone had turned to molten rock. Globules of magma dripped from the walls as a swathe of rock nearly three feet tall circumnavigated the room and glowed an uncomfortable cherry red color. From the gash of molten rock, the stone fractured with spiderwebbed cracks that maimed the floor and ceiling in equal measure.

"Mitsuki!" Orochimaru shouted.

Mitsuki turned, dumb, as his father grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from the training arena. He was unharmed. As he did, a colossal boulder fell from above. The room, more of a man-made cavern, was collapsing. Coming down all around them.

The echoing boom of explosions and the crackle of fire sounded from every room in every direction. Looking down, Mitsuki could see a vaguely human footprints scorched onto the floor. There were screams. People flooded the halls, shouting in alarm and barking orders. A few had metal canisters that sprayed a thick, bubbly foam over the fires that raged from a room every couple of doors.

Jūgo and Karin came barreling down the hall. "Lord Orochimaru!" they called out.

"Jūgo. Karin," his father acknowledged them. "Am I assume it was you who sounded the alarm?"

Karin nodded. Her hand was shaking, Mitsuki could see. "Excellent work," Orochimaru hissed. "Do you know where he is?"

Karin ran a shaky hand through her crimson hair. "I—the chakra signature dwindled in the southeastern wing of floor five, near lab thirteen," she informed him.

His father ran. Mitsuki followed him. So, too, did Jūgo and Karin. Mitsuki spotted the dismembered head of Suigetsu riding a wave of water as he rolled through each of the fires. Their group descended a set of stairs, then another, as they ventured deep into the bowels of the facility. The power was out. The only thing that lit their path was the red, rotating lights of the alarm. Fires raged, uncontrolled, from several rooms.

Orochimaru spat water at them when he could. Mitsuki could have lent his assistance, but declined to do so. A small, petty vengeance. Mitsuki saw Bolt. He lay on the ground, a fire crawling ever closer to him. A tongue of flame lashed out and licked at his robe top. It caught fire. Mitsuki spat a wave of water over Bolt and then directed it to the nearby fires. Now, he regretted not helping put them out. They would need to bring Bolt to the upper levels to escape the smoke and flame.

Bolt was spasming uncontrollably. Frothing at the mouth. Blood leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes.

He felt cold. "What's happening to him?" Mitsuki demanded angrily.

His father kneeled. His expression, for once, was serious—and grim. "Karin!" Orochimaru barked.

The red-haired woman kneeled and tore at the collar of her shirt. Jūgo helped his father press Bolt to her chest. Jūgo managed to part his jaw so that his teeth dug into Karin's skin. A flash of green chakra leapt between them. Bolt stilled, his body sagging. He was pale and shaky and damp with cold sweat.

"What's happening to him?" Mitsuki demanded as Karin covered herself.

His father, for the first time, frowned.

"The Cursed Seal is rejecting him," Orochimaru said.

"He is dying."

* * *

 **A/N:**

So... yeah. Not too much to say this time. Remember: if the death isn't on-screen, no one is _officially_ dead. Sasuke chapter coming up soon, but not next! There is... maybe three or four more chapters of this arc. I hope to have them done sometime in the next two weeks. Then we're on to a mini-arc, an interlude, and, finally, the timeskip.

Mariposa — Bolt's headband in the manga is Sasuke's original one that Naruto defaces. He gets it from him during the movie.

Shiki Shiori — I was considering writing a Worm fic after I'm done here, but I'm honestly pretty happy with how Worm wrapped up. Wildbow did an excellent job with it. Normally, I find it easier to write for worlds where I'm not satisfied by the ending or some key aspect of the story. Worm doesn't fit that. My favorite part of the story was the early arcs, up to where Coil died. The whole "street-level" villainy was fun to read. If I did write a fic, I'd probably do an AU where the whole Golden Morning thing doesn't happen and Taylor focusses her efforts on becoming the warlord of Brockton Bay. Probably with an alternative power.


	53. Chapter 53

The fit lasted only thirty seconds. Hibiki shuddered, then went still. Hikari realized he had fallen unconscious. She pressed a finger to his forehead and channeled healing chakra through him. Hibiki woke with a start; wide-eyed and frantic.

"What happened?" Hikari asked, removing her hand.

"I found him!" Hibiki shouted. He struggled to get to his feet, stumbling several times. Hikari was forced to hold him by the arm so he could stand. His knees were weak.

"How?" Tetsu spoke up. He had fetched the hilt of his shattered sword and sheathed it.

Hibiki had a wide, pleased grin. "Oh, the _chakra_. I don't know how you two cannot sense it. An overwhelming explosion of power, for just an instant, and then it was gone. Whatever technique Orochimaru uses to shield his bases wasn't strong enough to suppress Bolt in that instant."

"... So you know where Bolt is, exactly?" Hikari asked for clarification.

Hibiki nodded. "Thirty-three miles to the southeast. One mile from the Land of Fire border, approximately," he rattled off.

Hikari looked to Tetsu. "Let's go," she said.

"Yes, my lady," Tetsu responded resoundedly.

"Wait!" Hibiki exclaimed. Hikari paused. "We're not in any shape to help Bolt right now. He's alive, I know that much. We need to rest and get help."

"We don't have time," Hikari growled.

"If we go now, we'll die. You know as much as I do that Orochimaru was playing with us. If we're going to challenge one of the _Sannin_ then we need professional assistance," Hibiki said.

Hikari scoffed. "Professional assistance? There are ninja who specialize in fighting the Sannin?"

Hibiki smiled. "If you know where to look, yes," he said. "Orochimaru made many enemies. Some of them are always looking for an opportunity to even the score."

Hikari considered it as her eyes flicked between Tetsu and Hibiki. She wasn't faring much better than either of them. "Fine," she agreed.

The three of them quickly gathered what meager possessions and supplies they had before slipping out into the light of day. Hibiki led them northeast, towards the Land of Steam.

* * *

They arrived at a small town that lay several miles from the border of the Land of Steam. The white crags of the Land of Steam loomed over them on the horizon. It was a quaint little town, set atop a rising hill. Before it lay mile upon mile of rice paddies, and after it was nothing but rolling plains of grass until the border.

"Who are we meeting, again?" Hikari asked, for the third time. She had yet to receive an acceptable explanation.

"Well," Hibiki hesitated. "I don't know. He, or she, takes a different identity every few weeks. Or days. No one really knows. It's not like I know the contact personally. But you hear about these people in the right circles."

Their "contact" was a man or woman whom, according to rumor, had a fierce grudge against Orochimaru for wiping out their entire family. A mercenary for hire—often spy or bounty hunter— of extraordinary skill. His entry in the bingo book left much to be desired; no name, no photograph, no history, no listed contacts or associates, and only the vaguest rumors of his skillset. Their contact was, according to hearsay, a spirit.

They were walking into a meet-and-greet blind. Hikari didn't like it. That was how good field operatives ended up dead, or worse.

"And how are we supposed to know the contact when we see him?" Hikari asked. She could feel Tetsu silently agreeing with her. He was equally irritated by their need to recruit outside help and the anonymity their potential employee enjoyed.

Hibiki shrugged. "All I know is that he has serious money problems. Likes to gamble. Intel says the contact likes to frequent gambling parlors. This is the largest in the country—underground, of course," he explained.

An illegal black market gambling parlor. Not the worst place Hikari has had to meet a contact. But definitely not the best. "Let's go," she grumbled, following Hibiki to a small warehouse near the outskirts of the village.

Hibiki waved the two guards off; two burly men with swords on their hips. Each one sported a collection of headbands whose fabric was woven together to form a sash. There was one from every major village, at least, though most consisted of minor villages. Hikari saw two from the Mist and idly thumbed her headband that was tied around her neck.

They descended down a set of stairs hidden under a large pile of wooden crates. Hikari expected a spartan underground shelter or panic room. Instead, she was greeted by a lavish underground retreat that bordered upon palatial. A utilitarian display of wealth and comfort. Hikari didn't particularly care for such things but she thought it had been one of the nicer hideouts she'd seen in her career.

The three of them came to the end of the entrance hall where they were stopped by another pair of guards. In front of them was a wall of stone and metal with a small window in it. Behind it stood an older, graying man in a suit. Hibiki passed him a small case of ryō—most of which was hers. Or, rather, the pool of wealth that she and Bolt shared. The man counted the money behind his reinforced glass window that was nearly as thick as her forearm. Then, he pushed a stack of chips to Hibiki.

Hibiki took them and the guards allowed them to pass deeper into the gambling parlor. Surprisingly, no one asked them for their weapons. Granted, Hikari kept her in the seals Bolt had placed on her palms and Tetsu only had the mangled remains of his sword. But still. Did the guards think they could take them, or did Hibiki have that much of a reputation among the underworld? He was a spy for the Hidden Grass. How much did he know? How much weight did his name and that knowledge carry?

He had taken to wearing the scarred headband proudly ever since Bolt had all but forced him to deface it. It now sat at its place of honor around his neck, just like her own. No one had given either of their former symbols of loyalty a second glance. Impressive, really, considering the defaced symbol of the Mist and Grass outed them as rogue ninja.

Maybe they were planning to report them to the nearest bounty hunter station?

Hikari wished them luck, if that was the case.

The room they were ushered into was long and narrow. More of a second hallway than anything. A long, low table occupied the length and breadth of the room. Small pillows were spaced at varied intervals for seating. Men and women of all ages and nationalities were arranged around the table. Games of chance were bet upon with the chips they had bought earlier. Each game was officiated by a man in a professional suit.

Hikari coughed under her breath. It was smoky. Several handfuls of people were smoking. More were drinking. She already couldn't wait to leave. To do something productive. To get back on the Hunt. They needed to be rescuing Bolt, not visiting some farflung gambling parlor on a whim.

"Do you see him?" Hikari asked.

Hibiki shook his head. "No. But I can _feel_ him."

Hikari let her eyes trace over the forms of everyone in attendance. She saw no telltale signs of formal military training; no rigid stances, no outlines of hidden weapons, no one positioned so that the doors and guards were always in their immediate line of sight. If Hibiki was right, their bounty hunter was good.

"This one was told that you were unable to sense the bounty hunter," Tetsu spoke softly. It was meant to come out as a whisper, but rumbled through the room for a few feet. Hikari tensed as several gamblers turned their way. She hushed him.

"I can't," Hibiki said, smiling coyly as he sat and began to play a round of cards with three other older gentlemen and a woman in her late forties. Hikari took up her position as a guard to his right. Tetsu kneeled to her left. "But I can sense the abnormally large and calm pool of chakra that no one without some form of training would possess. He's here, I can assure you."

Hibiki quickly, somehow, cleaned out two of the four players within three hands of cards. The rest quickly folded and moved on to other games of chance. Hikari thought—knew—he was cheating, but she didn't know how. Hibiki stood and moved to a game of dice. She and Tetsu followed him, playing the dutiful bodyguards. Hibiki lost more money than he won. Hikari thought the dice were weighted, but she couldn't tell without handling them.

The next was a game of cups where a nugget of gold was placed under one of five cups. The host was surprisingly dextrous with his hands as he switched the cups around faster than the eye could follow. Hibiki smiled and pointed out the nugget of gold had been palmed and placed up the sleeve of the dealer. Apparently, that was the sixth and legal place to hide it.

Hikari didn't see a single person acting out of place the entire time. Hibiki moved on. Determined and calm as ever. Another game of cards; a different set of rules. One Hikari hadn't heard of—which was impressive, considering the Crimson Tide had a particular fondness for card games.

Hibiki stilled, then smiled. It was that faux smile; the insincere one. The one people had to practice and learn to wear. Hikari had seen him wear it several times. Around her, around Tetsu, but never around Bolt. That was the only reason she trusted him as much, or as little, as she did.

"Hello," Hibiki said. He had eyes for only one person: a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties. Plain, with soft features and long, wavy auburn hair.

The woman quirked a brow. "Hello," she replied demurely, taking her cards the dealer dealt.

The dealer placed three cards face up on the table. One of the players folded. Hibiki pushed a small pile of chips forward. The woman called him, as did the other players. "I've heard that we have a mutual enemy, of sorts," Hibiki whispered. His voice was so soft that it was barely a whisper. Hikari wouldn't have heard if she hadn't been standing between the two of them.

The woman, to her credit, didn't flinch; didn't blink, didn't breathe abnormally. The dealer dealt another card face up. Another player folded. Hibiki pushed more chips forward.

"I'm afraid not," the woman said. "I have no enemies. I make sure to pay my debts." She doubled the amount of chips Hibiki had bet.

Hibiki smiled, calling the raise. The only other player at the table folded. "Oh?" Hibiki said, as the dealer dealt the final card.

Hikari saw him frown. The dealer pushed the mountain of chips toward the woman. Hikari quickly went through the mental calculations of how much ryō Hibiki had just lost them; ten black chips, fourteen yellow, five green, two blue... one hundred and seventy-seven thousand. She clenched her fist. That was nearly half the money they received for the bounties in the Land of Sound.

"Yes," the woman said.

Hibiki made a small noise in the back of his throat and shrugged. "Too bad. I guess we'll have to find someone else to help with our snake problem."

Hikari caught the slight twitch of the fingers as the woman passed her cards back to the dealer. Even the best professionals had a tell. Hibiki seemed content to continue to gamble. The dealer started another round. Three more cards. A fourth. A fifth. Hibiki won, that time. The pot was worth a little under forty-eight thousand ryō. At least they had made a little of their money back.

The third round started shortly after. Hibiki folded when the fourth card was dealt. The woman folded on the fifth and excused herself. Hikari watched as she strode from the room and deeper into the parlor. Hibiki played one more round; he won twenty-seven thousand ryō, that time. The sting of loss was lessened.

Then he excused himself and followed after the woman. Hikari followed him, with Tetsu bringing up a brisk pace behind them with his hand on the hilt of his sword. The gambling parlor was a maze. Its bowels were hall after hall of luxury and sin. Hibiki, however, never seemed to lose his sense of direction.

They came to a section of the underground facility that was obviously apartments. Hibiki knocked once, ever so lightly. The door opened a moment later and they were ushered inside. The woman's room was spartan and absent of any trinkets; the only thing of note was the copious amount of chips and ryō. "Sit," the woman said.

Hibiki did so. Hikari and Tetsu remained standing, playing their role. There was an awkward, tense silence as both parties judged the other. Hikari didn't miss the way the woman's eyes lingered on her and Hibiki's headbands; proclaiming where they heralded from, and their disloyalty.

Hibiki smiled. "So," he spoke first. A sign of weakness in such negotiations, but it was no secret they were bargaining from a position of weakness. "Orochimaru."

The woman fidgeted at the name. "So you told me," she said.

Hibiki nodded. "I've heard you have quite the grudge against him. Know how he works better than anyone else. Well, anyone who is still alive, that is," he said.

"And if I do?" the woman asked.

Hibiki flashed her one of his false, charming smiles. "If you do, my friends and I would be very interested in hiring you," he said.

"And why would you have a problem with Orochimaru?"

Hibiki paused. Considered his answer. Then he shrugged in indifference. "One of our friends was taken captive by him. He's still alive, as far as we know. We want to rescue him," he answered.

Hikari could see something soften in the woman's face. Empathy, maybe. Hibiki continued speaking. "We'd try to rescue him ourselves, but Orochimaru is far too powerful. And we have no disillusions that we could infiltrate his main base of operations without being discovered. Naturally, when one has your particular skillset, you can see why we would come to you," he finished.

There it was. Situation bared. Now to see if their offer was accepted.

A small pause. "You know where _his_ base of operations is?" the woman asked.

Hibiki nodded. Another pause. The woman looked between them again. Noting the defaced symbol of the Grass and Mist. Her eyes paused on Tetsu; roving up and down before settling on the hilt of his sword. A conclusion was reached. "You're rogue ninja. Why?"

Hibiki smiled one of his false, reassuring smiles. "We present no danger to you, I can assure you," he said. "We each have our reasons for severing the bonds between us and our former homes. I cannot speak for the others. It's not my story to tell, you understand. But, personally, I found something—someone—more worthy to follow than my village," he said. Hikari thought he could be quite eloquent when he wanted to.

"And that is?" the woman asked.

"Love," Hibiki stated with a nod of conviction.

Hikari twitched under her new mask. What the fuck did that mean? The bounty hunter didn't seem to know what to make of that, either. She shrugged the answer off. "What crimes have you committed?"

Ah. Now that was a difficult question to answer. Hibiki turned to look at her. Hikari cleared her throat. "Perhaps it would be easier to ask which crimes you would find unforgivable?" Hikari asked.

That seemed to upset the woman. Hikari could tell that they had just lost some amount of leverage in their dealings. "I won't work for scum," she said with absolute conviction. "If you've ever murdered an innocent in cold blood, committed rape, or deliberately brought harm upon a child, you can leave now. No banditry, either."

Hikari paused to consider her answer. They'd certainly never raped anyone. Eiji had—quite literally—castrated a man, publically, for groping a woman they had captured to turn in for a bounty. Tetsu was too honorable for that. Bolt was a privileged little brat, but he certainly wasn't evil. He would never have stooped so low.

But they had murdered plenty of men, women, and even a few children. In cold blood, though? Never. It had been war, or work. Their work had been for the greater good, too. Would that absolve them of their sins? And they tried to avoid murder when at all possible.

"We haven't," Hikari answered with a nod.

Another pause. Hikari could practically see the gears turning in the woman's mind.

"What are your names?" she asked.

Hibiki smiled, taking control once again. "I'm Hibiki. These are my associates, Hikari and Tetsu," he answered for the three of them.

"And the friend that Orochimaru captured?"

Now, this was where things got complicated. If they told her who they wanted to save, there was a risk. If the bounty hunter didn't approve of Bolt, or wanted to capture him for his admittedly impressive bounty, there would be little they could do to prevent it. On the flip side, it would be _much_ better to learn that _now_ rather than when they rescued Bolt from Orochimaru. Having that discussion in the lion's den was not conducive of a long life.

Hibiki looked suitably nervous. "Bolt Uzumaki," he said, with only the barest tremor in his stoic countenance.

A look of disbelief flashed across the woman's face. It was gone in the next instant, replaced by warring expressions of approval and distaste.

For a moment, Hikari feared they were about to be told to leave. That they had wasted their money, and more importantly, time. When they had precious little to waste.

"I want five million up front," she said. "Ten million upon delivery. Anything I find in the base is mine."

"Deal," Hibiki agreed. Hikari blinked. They barely had five million. They most definitely did not have ten million. Unless Hibiki was hiding a fortune in the folds of his robes somewhere.

The woman nodded. Then, she tilted her head back and parted her lips. A wispy, pink-colored smoke spilled forth. Hikari yanked Hibiki backwards by the collar of his robes. Tetsu had the mangled remnants of his sword drawn and brandished as he stepped forward to defend them.

The smoke continued to spill forth. It coalesced upon itself, forming a vaguely human shape. Then it solidified. A young boy, perhaps in his early teens, no older than fourteen or fifteen, appeared. Short and thin with pale skin. He had dark brown hair and eyes, with a light dusting of freckles across his nose. He looked feeble. Not frail, like Tsuchigumo, but feeble. Weak of body.

"I'm Yasuo Iburi, last scion of the Iburi clan," he introduced himself.

* * *

Mitsuki blinked.

Bolt was lying in a hospital bed. The pungent, sterile scent hit him hard. Mitsuki hadn't remembered how he had gotten there. The rhythmic beeping of the machinery was all that assured him his friend hadn't slipped away.

He was pale and clammy, and his breaths came slow and shallow. No less than five medics were watching over him at any one time. Mitsuki could tell things were bad, even with his minimal training.

Mitsuki stood and made his escape. He didn't want to dwell on the future any more than he had to. He wandered, letting his feet guide him. He stopped when he heard shouting; a raised voice so similar to his own. Mitsuki pressed his back to the wall and crept forward.

"... how many?" Orochimaru was asking.

"Estimates... generations twenty-one... thirty-two lost," Mitsuki heard his own voice, deeper and raspy, answer.

Mitsuki flinched as the sound of flesh striking metal echoed. His father made a growling noise of anger. He'd never seen him lose his composure before.

"What about generation thirty-six?" Orochimaru asked.

"Labs two, four, five, nine, twelve, and sixteen were all destroyed," his 'brother,' Log, said. "Ninety-three percent of generation thirty-six was destroyed in the attack. Labs six, eight, ten, and thirteen contained nonviable embryos that were lost when generators one and three were destroyed. We lost eighty-seven percent of the data."

Orochimaru sighed and slumped in his chair. The two of them did not speak again for a full minute.

"We knew this was a possible outcome when we initiated phase four," Log said, softly. "Despite the loss of generations twenty-one through thirty-two, and the damage to generations thirty-three to thirty-six, generation two has shown remarkable growth. Enough to warrant the losses."

Mitsuki stilled.

"Yes, he has, but this incident has cost us months, perhaps _years_ , of work. Time we do not have, Log," Orochimaru said. "And _this_ was never supposed to happen. It was completely outside our parameters for—"

"Hey!" Mitsuki flinched. The red-haired woman, Karin, was standing a few feet away from him. The conversation inside the room had abruptly stopped. "What are you doing out here?" Karin asked him.

Mitsuki didn't answer. He couldn't think of a convincing lie. Karin just shrugged him off. "Come on. You might as well be here for this," she said, pulling him inside. Mitsuki caught a flash of her scarred skin; indentations of teeth marring her pale flesh.

His father and brother didn't appear to have been offended to learn he had been spying on them.

"Patient A-zero-zero-one is stable," Karin reported. "We've managed to contain the Cursed Seal of Heaven and repair the internal damage it inflicted. He's no longer in critical condition."

Mitsuki breathed a sigh of relief despite the clinical diagnosis. Bolt would be fine.

"Thank you, Karin. Dismissed," his father said.

It was clear to Mitsuki that his father and brother wanted to continue their discussion from before. But he had no intention of leaving. Not until he got answers.

"Why?" Mitsuki asked. The question needed no explanation.

"... It was necessary," Orochimaru hissed.

"Necessary? Necessary. It was necessary to kill Bolt? That is your excuse?" Mitsuki hissed back. More human than serpentine; opposite his father. The anger he felt earlier reared its ugly head.

His father shook his head. "All simulations pointed towards a ninety-four point seven percent chance of survival, or higher," Orochimaru said. "He is an Uzumaki. Their natural Yang energy makes them harder to kill. He has an unnaturally high pool of chakra to draw from, reducing the risk of introducing natural energy into his system. Finally, and most importantly, his father was an exceptionally powerful Sage. That genetic quirk alone should have allowed Bolt to adapt to the Cursed Seal, not including the rest. It seems... Bolt was not lucky enough to have that passed on to him."

"So, what? He was unlucky?" Mitsuki demanded.

Orochimaru hesitated. "Sometimes, luck is the largest determining factor," he said.

"That is shit and you know it," Mitsuki said. "Fix it. Fix him. You can remove the Cursed Seal. Help him recover."

"We can't," it was Log who answered him. "The Cursed Seal of Heaven was never designed to be removed. It originated as a life extension technique before it evolved to a power augmentation fūinjutsu. It integrates itself with the host's pathways, like a parasite, and begins blending the host's chakra with our father's. It takes that blend of chakra and adds a third of its total potential power as natural energy."

"It's not that it cannot be removed," his father said. "It's that removing it kills the host or otherwise damages them irreparably. That is if the natural energy coursing through them doesn't petrify them first. The best we can do is attempt to stabilize it. I would have caught the rejection sooner had Bolt not been an Uzumaki. He was remarkably resistant, right up until he exceeded the limits of his pathways."

Mitsuki was silent. "So there's nothing you can do? Nothing to save Bolt? Keep him alive?"

He didn't like the hesitation he saw in his brother and father. "There are things worse than death," Log said. "Techniques that would keep him alive in body if not in mind or spirit."

Mitsuki was horrified at the suggestion.

"I thought not," Log said.

"There has to be _something_ ," Mitsuki begged.

Log and Orochimaru shared a look. It was his father who answered him, this time. "We could ask the White Snake Sage to administer his test. It would give Bolt the ability to control natural energy, and thus the Cursed Seal." Mitsuki felt a flicker of hope. "However... given that his inclination towards natural energy is extremely low, the test would almost surely kill him. Far more painfully than the Cursed Seal, I might add." His hope was dashed.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing his father or brother could do.

Bolt was going to die.

* * *

Bolt drifted amongst the darkness.

It was cold.

He thought he might be dying. It felt eerily similar to the times he had been severely injured. He couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't use his dōjutsu. He simply drifted, like a stray cloud in an otherwise clear sky. Aimless and cold amongst a sea of blackness.

Sometimes, he would feel pain. It coursed through him with every beat of his heart. When he had his fits, every thought and emotion fled and the only thing left was the all-consuming pain. After awhile, he learned to enjoy it. When the pain came, he forgot about the cold and the dark. His mind went white, a pleasant experience after an eternity of sensory deprivation. The pain that tore through him didn't leave him capable of experiencing the cold.

It was nice.

Sometimes, he heard voices. Mitsuki, most often. Once, even, he thought he could see him. Concerned bestial eyes staring down at him with worry and regret and fear. The other's voices were less frequent. His mother and sister at their clan's gym as they ran through stances of the Gentle Fist and reminisced of the happier times. Hikari, frantic and scared as she pulled the remnants of his team together. Hibiki, determined and resolute as he used his silver tongue to cheat his way through a game of cards.

The voices were the best and the worst. Best, because they distracted him from the great nothing. Worst, because he wished, more than anything, that he was there talking with them.

Worse, even still, were the times when the hours stretched on and on with no distraction at all, like now.

Bolt sighed as best he was able to. He wasn't physically able, of course, but it had the same mental release.

He drifted. Another hour—or what he thought was an hour, it was hard to tell—passed.

A spark.

The sudden light was blinding. A small wisp of blue-green fire.

The pain came back. More intense than ever before. Different, though. His mind didn't white out. Bolt underwent the painfully odd experience of being stretched too far in every direction. It reminded him of hazy feeling he got when he fought the One-Tail and constructed his chakra chains for the first time.

Like then, he doesn't fight the feeling. He goes with the flow. Fighting it only leads to more pain. Bolt can recognize the feel of the chakra. He had only touched it for the barest moments, but it was burned into his memory.

 _Orochimaru._

He is drawn towards the blue-green fire.

In the Crimson Tide, some of the older mercenaries liked to wax poetic. Talk philosophy. The nature of good and evil. The ethics of their profession. That always brought them to a heavy topic: death.

They always said death was seeing the light. Bolt never thought of it that way. Death was the all-consuming oblivion. Pain was the light; the white.

They always said their lives flew before their eyes. Bolt never experienced that—unless the voices he heard counted. Did they?

They always said it was a third-person experience. An out-of-body experience. Watching yourself lay there, on the ground, bleeding and dying and moaning in agony.

That, that Bolt could relate to.

" _We're losing him!" the red-haired woman screamed._

 _A man in mint-green scrubs and a pastel blue mask ran over. He had a large syringe of black fluid in his hands. He stabbed Bolt in the chest and pumped him full of the drug. The red-haired woman took a scalpel and cut a long, clean cut from her wrist to her forearm as she forced Bolt to drink her blood. Bolt spasmed. "Hold him down!" the red-haired woman barked, even as she forced more of her blood down his throat._

Bolt winced. He rubbed his chest where he could feel the pain. His throat was warm.

 _Another doctor, a woman, in the same scrubs but wearing a white coat, stormed in with a metal cart. Three other medics followed her, their hands already glowing with a soft green light. The doctor in the coat withdrew two metal instruments and placed him on his chest. She weaved hand signs and electricity surged through them, and into him. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. "It's not working!" she cried._

Bolt was dizzy with the sensation of foreign chakra coursing through him. Unlike Orochimaru, the medics' chakra was cool and soothing. He felt the urge to follow it, but resisted. The red-haired woman's chakra was almost painfully nostalgic; brimming with Yang chakra. He frowned as the doctor continued to try to resuscitate him with electricity. It seemed his body's natural conductivity was working against him rather than for.

" _Where is Jūgo!" the red-haired woman screeched._

 _The doctors were too busy, or too terrified, to answer her. A moment later, the doors of operating room swung open revealing Suigetsu and Jūgo. Suigetsu found a corner of the room in which to lean and watch. Jūgo marched over to the red-haired woman._

" _Use your cellular ejection technique! Quick!" the red-haired woman commanded, even as she gave him more of her blood._

 _Jūgo frowned. "Karin, my technique only works with those compatible with the seal," he said softly._

 _The red-haired woman, Karin, was almost hysterical in her response. "Do it! I can't keep him alive on my own much longer!"_

 _Jūgo lifted a hand and placed it on Bolt's abdomen, just over his navel. The orange-haired man's skin glowed a fiery red color as his flesh slopped off his body in great waves and assimilated into his own biomass. Jūgo began to shrink in on himself; regressing to a childlike appearance._

Bolt felt queazy. Like he had eaten some old food or drank spoilt milk. He wanted to vomit, but couldn't.

 _Bolt vomited. It came up as blood. A spray of red liquid and mist. One of the medics recoiled. "Don't stop!" Karin screamed. She medic returned to healing him. Karin dropped one of her arms and added her own Mystic Palm to the arsenal._

 _Orochimaru bustled into the room at a sprint. He had a number of tags in his arms. He and an assistant quickly went to work. They plastered the tags on his arms, legs, chest, and head. The Sannin himself then weaved hand signs before his entire body began to glow a brilliant green color. He placed his hands on Bolt's chest._

Bolt sighed in relief as the nausea passed. The now intimate feel of Orochimaru's chakra flowed through him. He wanted to recoil, to push the chakra away. He couldn't.

 _The newly added biomass from Jūgo didn't hold. It sloshed off. Orochimaru growled. "He's rejecting my chakra!" the Sannin hissed._

 _The doors swung open again. Mitsuki. His blue hair was dishevelled. Yellow eyes shining with tears. "Get him out of here!" Orochimaru screamed, glaring at his son. Suigetsu moved from the wall and gently, but firmly, dragged Mitsuki from the room._

Bolt frowned. The question he asked himself during their sparring match resurfaced. Why? What did Orochimaru want from Mitsuki? Why push him so hard? So far? Why hurt his own son? Bolt had to know.

The machinery around his body was whining and blaring. Red lights blinked.

It finally hit him. He was dying. Bolt was watching himself die. It was an odd feeling. He felt strangely detached; uncaring. He was ready to die, Bolt realized.

But not quite yet. He wanted an answer to his question. The question that was, quite literally, his last thought.

"— _Why?" Bolt croaked. Blood spilled from his lips._

 _Orochimaru snapped his head up. "Damn it, brat! Don't fight it! Do you want to die?" the Sannin screamed._

 _Karin collapsed to the floor. She was unnaturally pale._

Bolt pondered the question. Did he? No, he didn't. But he wouldn't mind. He felt tired. Tired and warm, like he was ready for a lazy afternoon nap.

But he had to know the answer to his question, first.

Bolt followed the feeling of Orochimaru's chakra. It was a bit like swimming. Carried off by the currents. He was vaguely aware of panicked screams in the operating room. He ignored them. Submersed himself in the chakra. Let it sweep him away. He found Mitsuki and Suigetsu. They were standing opposite each other in rough stances. Mitsuki had brandished Kusanagi.

Bolt wondered why Orochimaru's chakra had brought him here.

Mitsuki lashed out, angry and frightened all at the same time. His sword caught in the now liquified arm of Suigetsu. A wave of chakra rushed forward from the slash and buffeted him. Which was strange, really, because Bolt knew his body was spasming on a metal slab several rooms behind him.

Mitsuki hacked the arm off, kicked Suigetsu aside, and sprinted back down the hall.

Ah.

That was it. Bolt berated himself for not understanding it sooner. He followed Mitsuki back to the operating room. Orochimaru had stepped back and was dragging his son away. It was half an embrace.

Their relationship was unconventional, true, but Orochimaru still loved Mitsuki. Loved him enough to hurt him to make him stronger. To prepare him for what was to come. To prepare him for—

The world went dark. All he could see was darkness. For miles and miles. Yawning on for an eternity. The landscape was dotted by billions of small, warm fires.

Bolt closed his eyes.

* * *

 **A/N:**

So, yeah. This chapter was fun. I was considering writing more but this felt like a good place to stop. Ah, also, this story has past 100k views! Happened last chapter. Pretty happy about that. Nearly a fourth of them were from this month, too, which is cool because of the writing challenge I did.

Yasuo Iburi is an OC of reader SimplyLokajad who is based upon the Iburi clan from the Kakashi/Yamato ANBU arc in the anime. If you're a manga reader only, I recommend watching it (episode 352). For those who haven't watched or don't plan to: the Iburi clan possesses a unique bloodline which allows them to turn into a pink-colored smoke. Orochimaru experimented upon the clan and eventually drove it to near extinction with one sole survivor.

Friskey — Bolt, in particular, is immune to most ocular based drawbacks of high-speed movement due to the Byakugan. On the flip side: the Lightning Armor is notable for its ability to augment the nervous system with Lightning chakra which, among allowing the brain to function at a higher cognition, _includes_ the eyes. This is how ninja like the 3rd and 4th Raikage are able to move at such high speeds without a dōjutsu. In terms of non-Lightning Armor based high-speed movement... the Eight Gates removes the brain's limits; physical speed has a hard cap both in body and mind which can be bypassed with a dōjutsu (most notably the Sharingan); being a jinchūriki seems to bestow some form of heightened senses that allow for high-speed movement (Bee and Naruto); and the Flying Thunder God is less of _speed_ and more of _teleportation_ —there isn't a need to process the "speed."


	54. Chapter 54

In front of her, Hibiki hesitated. "We have a problem," he said.

"What?" Hikari whispered as her eyes scanned the forest for potential threats.

"Two things. One, Orochimaru has a powerful sensor of his own. I just blocked her from sensing us, and I'm not sure if she took that as hostile or not. Two, there is a powerful chakra signature less than a mile away from our position who appears to be spying on Orochimaru," Hibiki said.

Hikari swore. "Okay. The spy is probably someone from one of the Great Five who is monitoring him. Probably from the Leaf," she said. "We avoid him. Has their chakra sensor sounded an alarm? Tried to sense us?"

Hibiki frowned. "No. She has... huh, that's interesting. I don't think she can move. Might be injured?" Hibiki said. "I don't think she was aware that she was spreading her senses. We should be okay, but we need to be careful. I'm worried about the spy, too. His chakra is... well, I've never felt anything like it. It reminds me of the forest. Old, powerful, yet full of life."

A rolling cloud of pink-colored smoke flowed through the trees towards them. Yasuo coalesced and took human form once more. He'd taken to scouting the area for threats; traps and guards. He explained that Orochimaru had been famous for them. "One guard to the south. Jōnin from the Leaf, as far as I can tell," he said with obvious distaste. Hikari didn't know why Yasuo disliked the ninja villages as much as he did. "Very powerful. We want to avoid fighting him if at all possible. Also, he knows we are here."

"What?" Hibiki snapped. "How? I didn't sense him spying on us."

Yasuo nodded at the tree they were hiding behind. "As difficult as it is to believe, I think he possesses some form of Wood Release," he said.

"Fuck," Hikari hissed. "I know him," she explained, at her team's look of expectancy. "Bolt and I fought him before. You're right. Jōnin from the Leaf with Wood Release. We need to avoid fighting him at all costs. We only won because Bolt was too fast for his techniques to catch. We're in his territory and he would destroy us if we got into a fight now."

She really didn't want to fight a Wood Release user in a forest. That was how you ended up dead in a shallow grave.

Their attention was drawn as a tall orange-haired man erupted from the mouth of the cave. A follower of Orochimaru. He looked frantic with wide, wild eyes. He looked left, then right, then settled on a vague point to the south. Towards the jōnin from the Leaf. He took off at a sprint.

"I'm taking him," Yasuo informed them.

"—Wait!" Hikari hissed.

He was already gone. The boy phased into a wispy smoke cloud and surged forward. He weaved through the trees, leaving behind the ghost of pink-colored smoke. Hikari chased after him, following the barely visible wisps and the faint howl of wind as Yasuo flew. The orange-haired man paused on a branch not fifteen feet ahead of her. He went still, turned, and saw her. He opened his mouth to yell, and that spelled the end of him.

Yasuo appeared from thin air as if a ghost. In an instant the pink-colored smoke flowed down the orange-haired man's throat and nose. He gagged, hands flying to his throat, and fell to the forest floor. He struggled, gasping for air, but only for a few moments. Ten seconds passed, then fifteen, and then the orange-haired man stood and dusted himself off. "Jūgo," Yasuo explained. "A servant of Orochimaru. One of his most trusted. An ideal body for infiltration."

Hikari nodded. The two of them quickly made their way back to their hiding spot. All the while, Hikari kept a wary eye on the trees and bushes. She tensed at every falling leaf and every rustling branch. Hibiki and Tetsu tensed as Yasuo, wearing Jūgo's body, entered the clearing. She waved them off.

"We'll have to play this by ear," Yasuo said. "This guy is trying his best to throw me out. We've got one, maybe two hours. In and out before the snake knows we're there."

"Right," Hibiki agreed a little too quickly. "What's the plan?"

Yasuo looked between the three of them with quick, furtive glances. "Hibiki, stay here with Tetsu. Use your abilities to hide the two of you from being detected by the sensor. Her name is Karin, and her sensory abilities are some of the most unique in the world. Hikari," Yasuo said, fumbling through his pack. He withdrew a glass vial. "Drink this."

Hikari took the vial. Inside was a single drop of red liquid; blood, if she was right. "Why?" Hikari asked, suspicious.

"It's nothing harmful," Yasuo said. "Just a drop of my blood. It will temporarily allow you to assume the same incorporeal form as I do. We will infiltrate, rescue your leader, and escape using the same method. If we're careful, Orochimaru will be none the wiser. If we are discovered, Hibiki and Tetsu will provide a distraction as means of escape."

Fuck. Hikari did _not_ want to get into that kind of shit. For all she knew, drinking that blood would turn her into a cloud of smoke and she'd be cast off to the wind in a thousand pieces and die.

But this was the best chance she had to save Bolt. And she wasn't willing to risk his safety by trusting in a bounty hunter whose only loyalty was to cold, hard ryō. So the question was: did she risk death by drinking the blood, or did she risk Yasuo failing to rescue Bolt?

Hikari uncorked the vial and threw it back. She was still for a few moments until the barest hint of copper flashed across her tongue. The feeling was difficult to describe. It was like opening her eyes, except with her body. She felt free. Hikari stiffened, waiting for her death to come.

It didn't.

"Now what?" Hikari asked.

"Now," Yasuo said, looming over her in the body of Jūgo. He weaved hand signs. Ones she didn't know. "We go."

Hikari was pulled forward on unsteady legs. Then she realized she didn't have legs at all. She was nebulous and wispy and without form and hiding between the folds of the cape Jūgo wore. Even though she had no body, her heart was racing with a thunderous beat.

Yasuo strode into the mouth of the cave that led to Orochimaru's underground base with a swagger. Like he belonged. Good. At least he was professional.

They had only walked a few feet before a white-haired man stepped out of the shadows. "Give him the message?" he asked.

Yasuo simply nodded instead of trying to talk his way out of it. Smart. Hikari tried to pull herself together. All it would take is one look under the cape to see her wispy form.

The white-haired man let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Man, we are in such deep shit. You think the Hokage is going to be pissed?"

Yasuo just grunted and shrugged. Hopefully he knew the mannerisms of this Jūgo. They were hardly inside the facility. If they were caught now, they'd be on alert for future attempts.

The white-haired man let a nervous chuckle slip. "Man, I hope Lord Orochimaru is right about the Hokage being able to heal him. I mean, you saw what he could do during the war, right? If his son died, he'd level this mountain and the entire countryside for ten miles in every direction," he said.

Hikari went cold. What were they—

"Is he okay?" Yasuo asked. Thankfully, it came out in the rough baritone of the man he was possessing.

"Bolt? Yeah, he's stable for now. Lord Orochimaru grafted his left arm to the kid. Said it should keep him alive until the Hokage got here. Freaky cells or something, you know?" he said.

Yasuo nodded. "Thanks, Suigetsu," Yasuo said.

The white-haired man, Suigetsu, looked at him a little strange. Oh, fuck. Was Jūgo supposed to be rude? Did Yasuo fuck up? Hikari focussed on that thought, instead of the thought that Orochimaru had, apparently, nearly killed Bolt.

"Karin okay?" Yasuo asked with a grunt, deflecting and changing the subject.

Suigetsu shrugged. "Yeah, she'll be fine. Never seen her so panicked before, you know? She lost a lot of blood. I guess I'd be panicking too if I killed the Hokage's kid," he said.

Fuck. Fuck everything. Hikari knew a bad situation when she saw one, and this was it. What happened? She needed to know. But she couldn't talk. Couldn't get answers. And Yasuo was content with keeping his mouth shut after the earlier slip.

The three of them walked through the darkness of the cave, going deeper and deeper underground. Eventually, sterile white lights illuminated the cave and the entrance to the base. Two guards, unassuming in attire, stood watch. Suigetsu and Yasuo, disguised as Jūgo, walked through without hesitation. Hikari tensed, worried that some sensor would detect her. There were no alarms or flashing lights.

But there was destruction.

The halls were charred and blackened. Metal was warped and burnt. Paint had been burnt away or otherwise stained and ruined. Doors had been kicked off their hinges or left mangled shrapnel. Inside the rooms with destroyed doors was even worse. It looked like someone had placed several handfuls of explosive tags and detonated them.

A sort of fierce pride blossomed in her chest. Hikari knew that Bolt had been responsible for the damage. He had fought back, against all odds, and whilst he might have lost, he had been given as good as he'd gotten.

And he had paid dearly for it, according to Suigetsu.

Their group went their separate ways. Suigetsu gave Jūgo another odd look as Yasuo steered them down a hallway and took a set of stairs deeper into the facility. "Same layout," Yasuo said, his voice a ghost of a whisper. Hikari knew it was meant for her. She hoped Orochimaru hadn't installed any audio devices in his base. Even the slightest whisper could give them away.

They went down several floors. Yasuo took them through a door. The hallway they were in was neat and clean and well lit. The lights were powerful and emitted a sterile white light that cast no shadows. The air was noticeably different; stale, yet unnaturally clean. Purified, Hikari realized. The tang of disinfectant lingered. A hospital, or whatever passed for one for the legendary rogue ninja.

Yasuo was casting nervous glances left and right as he walked through the hall with a calm, steady stride. He made the effort to look like he belonged; eyes forward, back straight, shoulders square. He walked at a brisk pace; not too fast, and not too slow. Hikari saw a nurse skitter out of the way to avoid meeting his gaze or even being within a few feet of Jūgo.

They passed a door. A quick glance revealed an empty gurney. Then another door, then three. All were empty hospital rooms. A fourth door—this one had someone inside. A man, judging by the lack of breasts, wrapped from head-to-toe in bandages. The bandages were wet with some sort of pungent smelling salve. Hikari wanted to wrinkle her nose at the cloying scent of burnt flesh.

A fifth and sixth door, nothing. A seventh. An eighth... a ninth.

The tenth room. A flash of blond hair. Hikari vaguely tugged forward in her wispy smoke form. Yasuo seemed to understand, for he was already slipping inside. Before she understood what was happening, Hikari tumbled forward and coalesced into her human form.

"Shit," Yasuo swore, helping her to her feet. "Blood wore off."

Hikari nodded and took a step forward. Bolt was lying on the bed, eyes closed, with an unnaturally deathly pallor. His skin was as white as bone; a pale milky color. A machine beeped softly in the corner of the room. A sky-blue sheet covered him from foot to neck. A strange bulge made a tent from his chest to his navel.

Gingerly, Hikari peeled the sheet off of him. She had to bite her tongue. Some sort of tumorous growth of white flesh had been grafted to him. Half a skull was growing from just above his navel; an ear, a single closed eye, a mouth with no lips and nubby teeths, sparse growths of green hair.

Hikari fell back on her training. Don't feel. Don't think. There was no emotion, no thought. There was only the mission. There was only the Hunt. She took a deep breath, inhaling for four seconds. She held it for seven seconds. Then exhaled for eight seconds.

The tremors in her hands stilled. "Look around. Find his charts. We can't move him until we know what the fuck this is," Hikari commanded. The words sounded hollow in her ears. She was mechnical. It was like she had never left the hunter corps. Only the mission. Only the orders. Only the Hunt.

It didn't take long. The medical charts were hastily scrawled, half-formed thoughts. There was no clear or concise medical terminology for what Orochimaru had done to Bolt. Only that he had been forcibly stabilized until, presumably, the Hokage could come and somehow heal him. And then they had come along and scrapped that plan. Yasuo had possessed the person that was supposed to pass the message on to the Leaf. The Hokage _wasn't_ coming to heal Bolt.

More than that, Hikari didn't know if Bolt would want to be healed by his father. What they did next depended on him. She placed the charts back where she had found them and loomed over Bolt. She placed a single finger on his forehead, resisting the urge to shiver at the feel of damp skin, and channeled healing chakra into his brain.

One second. Then two. On the third, his eyes snapped open. They were a shiny blue that reflected only one thing: pain. They settled on her and cleared ever so slightly. He croaked something unintelligible.

Hikari shushed him. "You're safe," she whispered. Bolt seemed to relax. "We're going to save you," she said. His eyes started to close. Hikari pushed more Yang chakra into his system. "Bolt, you have to stay awake. Just for a minute."

Bolt looked up at her, weary and so very tired, and nodded. Hikari leaned closer. "You're very sick, Bolt. Orochimaru is trying to heal you, but he can't. He's called for the Hokage to come and heal you. I don't—what do you want me to do? Tell me what to do." Hikari whispered.

She waited. His eyes took on a faraway, glassy look. "Dad," Bolt croaked, eyes closing.

Hikari grabbed a syringe of adrenaline and stabbed him in the thigh. His eyes fluttered open. "Concentrate, Bolt. Tell me what you want me to do," she urged him.

His eyes took on a strange, white-blue color. Hikari could see the veins in his face writhing and bulging. Bolt struggled. Hikari reached forward to hold him down. His hand lashed out and gripped her by the wrist, hard. "Uzukage," he wheezed. "Uzukage. Uzukage."

His eyes closed and his body relaxed. Hikari turned to Yasuo. "We need to get him out of here," she said. "Do you have anymore blood?"

Yasuo shook his head. "Not on me. Too dangerous to carry," he said.

Hikari took a glance around. She saw a wheelchair in the corner of the room. Near the bed was a storage cabinet with glass panes. Inside, Hikari could see a pair of mint-green scrubs. She quickly disrobed and changed into the scrubs. She hid her clothes and mask—loathe as she was to leave it—inside the supply cabinet. Yasuo had moved for the wheelchair and had unfolded and prepped it. Carefully, Hikari hoisted Bolt into her arms and set him in the wheelchair. She grabbed a spare sheet from the cabinet and wrapped it around him for warmth. She folded one end into a makeshift hood to help hide his distinctive blond hair and scarred cheeks.

"Follow me," Yasuo said as they left the room. "Look like you belong and nobody will stop us."

Hikari nodded, more to herself than him. They strode from the room and down the hall. Yasuo led them to a part of the floor that they hadn't been to yet. Yasuo stopped before a door and pressed a button. Hikari realized it was an elevator. The doors opened with a soft chime. Inside, a man and a woman in scrubs were talking and laughing. Upon seeing Yasuo, in the body of Jūgo, they went pale and scurried out of the elevator. Neither paid any attention to her or Bolt.

Hikari pushed Bolt inside after Yasuo. He pressed a button, and after another soft chime, the elevator rose. Hikari felt her heart flutter as her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. They were so very, very close to either victory or defeat. Another soft chime. The doors opened. They were on the first floor. The damage wasn't quite as severe in this portion of the facility. Still, a handful of workers scurried to and fro as they worked on repairing the damage.

Yasuo strode forward and Hikari pushed Bolt behind him. They were forced to travel back on their path, circling around to the entrance of the facility. Which just so happened to be the area in which the most damage had been done. More and more workers gave them odd glances as they passed. Hikari focussed on her breathing. Focussed on the Hunt.

Her heart beat faster as they approached familiar territory. Ahead, just around the corner, Hikari knew the hall branched off and opened to a subterranean cavern. Their freedom was moments away.

"Hey! Jūgo!"

Hikari immersed herself in the Hunt. Even as she wanted to turn and see who had called out to them. Even as she wanted to sprint forward and flee.

It was Suigetsu. Blue hair so light that it appeared white. "Jūgo! I've been looking for you forever! Lord Orochimaru—" his eyes drifted from Yasuo, to her, to Bolt.

In that moment, Hikari knew the Hunt was over. The white-haired man's eyes opened ever so wide. His hand went for the hilt of the massive, unwieldy sword on his back. Yasuo threw his hand out in a motion that couldn't be called a slap or a punch. A small creature, no larger than her finger, fell from the ceiling and savagely bit at the swordsman's face and neck. Hikari hadn't even noticed it.

"What the fuck!" Suigetsu roared, temporarily shifting into a living wave of water. The creature fell to the ground, where the smashed it with the flat of his blade. Shards of plastics and steel, with miniature gears and springs. A puppet, Hikari realized. Different from any she'd seen in her time in the Land of Wind.

Hikari smashed her fist into the still-forming water. Suigetsu exploded in a spray of mist and foam. In an instant, Hikari lunged backwards and pulled Bolt into her arms before sprinting for the exit. Yasuo was right behind her. Alarms began to howl and what few lights still worked began flashing red.

She made it to the entrance of the underground cavern just as a large, steel wall began to descend. Hikari picked up speed. She slid under the door, pulling Bolt along with her. The stone licked at her skin and left her with long scrapes and nasty bruises, but she would live. Hikari cast a glance backwards. Yasuo was deflecting a wave of water from Suigetsu as he ran. He wasn't going to make it. Too slow and too large.

The metal door slammed shut with an echoing rumble. Yasuo was still on the other side. Hikari cut her losses. There was only the Hunt. If you died, or fell behind, the hunter corps left you to your fate—barring the destruction of your body to prevent village secrets from falling into enemy hands.

Hikari sprinted forward, quickly clearing the cavern and approaching the maw of the cave. She heaved Bolt over her shoulder, twitched her fingers, and withdrew a kunai with an explosive tag wrapped around its hilt. She hurled it backwards and upwards. The cave came down with an echoing crack of stone and fire just as she cleared the entrance. Tetsu and Hibiki were waiting for her, tense and ready for combat.

"We need to leave. Now. Destination is the Land of Whirlpools," she barked, already strolling into the forest.

The sound of churning water drew her attention. With a great explosion of frothing waves, Suigetsu burst forth from the ruined cave. He was giant. A wave of water nearly fifty feet in height acting as his body. The only human part of him was his skull. Luckily, he had been unable to bring the massive sword with him.

Tetsu launched a vicious Flash at him with his mangled sword. The attack bisected the wave of water but dealt minimal to no damage. Suigetsu sent blasts of pressurized water into the forest. They struck trees which exploded in a shower of splinters. Hikari ducked, using her body to shield Bolt from harm. She hid him in a depression in the ground where bushes and ferns had taken over.

Then she turned around and weaved hand signs. A lance of lightning tore itself free from her fingertips and found its way through the trees and the water-body of Suigetsu. He screamed. Steam drifted skyward in wispy plumes, but it didn't stop the living force of nature.

Everything went to shit as the collapsed cave exploded with fire, light, and chakra. "I'll fucking kill you!" Jūgo was screaming, his voice a primal, guttural roar. All semblance of humanity had fled him, and in its place, only the monster remained. All dark brown, hardened flesh with bestial horns and vent-like appendages that radiated pits of flaming chakra.

Yasuo had released his control of the beast, and now it was rampaging.

Jūgo turned his bestial eyes on the pile of rubble. He obliterated it with a roaring inferno of raw chakra that melted rock and superheated the air. Hikari had to close her eyes as the heat blistered her skin. "I fucking killed him!" Jūgo howled like a rabid dog.

Suigetsu was reforming his body out of boiling water that had been heated by the explosion. "Jūgo! Calm down!" Suigetsu was shouting. Jūgo turned, saw him, and flew as an explosive blast of chakra propelled him forward. The two crashed into each other, with Jūgo thrashing violently in the wave of water that Suigetsu had formed.

Tetsu sent another vicious Flash forward. It came out as more of a pillar than a crescent; the sword had no blade to form the distinct shape. A shrill, haunting tune echoed through the trees. The leaves seemed to rustle to the music as the trunks groaned and swayed in the wind. Hibiki was weaving a genjutsu.

Hikari leapt from behind the tree she had been hiding behind and slammed her fist into the back of Suigetsu. His body exploded in a spray of foam, and she kept going. Jūgo blocked her punch with a strange, fleshy shield made out of his left arm. He was sent careening back into the pile of rubble and rock for his efforts.

From the vague depression in the ground where the entrance to the underground base was, another person erupted onto the battlefield. A pallor that surpassed her own, vaguely blue hair, and bestial yellow eyes. He wore a set of antique robes and had a sword gripped firmly in his right hand. Hikari recognized him; one of Bolt's friends, the one that had been on his team. Mitsuki, she thought his name was. Hikari was pretty sure—Bolt had told her a story about how he impersonated Mitsuki for the first month or two of his defection.

There was a distinct difference between a fight between normal soldiers and ninja, or even samurai. It wasn't at all like the battlefields in the Land of Rain; no rank and file, no general barking orders.

It was pure chaos.

No strategy survived contact with the enemy. Ninja broke down into one-on-one fights or small, squad based battles. The battlefield was littered with mangled, ruined corpses and discarded weapons. The earth was scorched and salted. Techniques flew back and forth in an elegant symphony of death and destruction.

And that was what happened.

Jūgo roared back to life with a screeching vengeance. He unleashed blast after blast of raw chakra that scoured the land and destroyed swathes of forest. Suigetsu was doing his level best to control Jūgo and fight their team at the same time. Mitsuki looked lost and confused and exhilarated all at the same time.

Hikari batted away Jūgo as he swung a massive, meaty fist at Tetsu. Tetsu was forced to create a makeshift blade out of chakra and was sending Flash after Flash at targets of opportunity. Meanwhile, Hibiki was covering them with an odd combination of genjutsu and Wind Release ninjutsu whilst he hid in the forest and kept mobile to avoid the combined onslaught of Suigetsu and Jūgo.

Mitsuki chose that time to snap from his reverie. "Where is Bolt!" he demanded, brandishing his sword. Hikari could see the determination in his eyes. She could also see the challenge reflected in Tetsu's face as he was confronted by another swordsman.

Hikari made a judgement call. Mitsuki was a friend of Bolt. A good enough friend to risk his life fighting them, twice, to bring him back to the Leaf. Hopefully, he would do it again. "We're rescuing him! Help us!" Hikari snapped.

Mitsuki took one look between her, Tetsu, and Suigetsu. Then he nodded and took a slash at Jūgo while the monster's back was turned, cutting a long, clean gash from hip to shoulder. Jūgo wailed and screamed his fury as he tried to backhand Mitsuki. He dodged, and Hikari brought both hands above her head, clasping them tightly, and brought them down upon Jūgo's skull with all the strength she could muster.

With a clap of thunder, Jūgo went down. He gurgled and flailed, sending off blasts of chakra randomly. "Damn it, Jūgo! Get a fucking grip!" Suigetsu screamed.

Then everything went to shit.

A storm of purple-colored electricity rolled across the battlefield. Suigetsu went down with a scream as he coalesced back into his physical body. Jūgo was simply enraged that much more. He unleashed a titanic wave of raw chakra, nearly ten feet in width, from an array of vents on his back. The monster flailed and erased entire swathes of the mountain and forest around them.

"Fang Passing Fang!"

Hikari grunted as two—two _things_ —slammed into her. They were whirlwinds of force that would not be denied. She resisted damage with her chakra enhanced strength, but could not resist being bodily thrown from the battlefield and into what remained of the surrounding forest. As she flew, Hikari saw Tetsu being swarmed by a veritable cloud of insects.

Hikari scowled as she landed, spotting Kakashi Hatake moving through their ranks. He was in a fist fight with Jūgo and—against all fucking odds—winning. Their situation went from bad, to worse, to shitstorm.

But where was—Hibiki came flying from the forest. Behind him, a woman with flowing purple-black hair and soft violet eyes gave chase. It didn't take a genius to figure out who she was. Bolt had her chin and cheekbones, to say nothing for the eyes; pale violet with writhing veins in the temples. Hibiki had felt her chakra—Hikari had thought it was his sister, Himawari. But, no, it wasn't. It was his mother.

To make matters worse, Mitsuki had switched sides. He turned his sword on both them and the minions of Orochimaru.

Hibiki spat an arcing blade of wind at Hinata. Hikari could survey the battlefield more easily, now. Hibiki wasn't fleeing from the wife of the Hokage. He was trying to keep her from moving deeper into the forest—keep her away from where Hikari had hidden Bolt.

Then the fucking trees rose up and started fighting.

It was pure, undiluted chaos.

Hikari kicked a root as it reached up to ensnare her ankle. She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes. She reached inward, towards that great pool of chakra that dwelt between her Gate of Opening and Gate of Healing. It dwarfed anything she had ever felt before, and yet Hikari knew it still had years and years of maturation to go before she would manifest the diamond seal on her forehead.

But that was in the future. And their future hinged on getting out of this battle alive and with Bolt and head towards the Land of Whirlpools.

Hikari submerged herself in that pool of chakra she had stored for nearly three months. This was not the time for half measures. She drunk her reserves dry. Hikari raised both hands above her head and slammed them down with a raw physical force that no living creature ever had any right to possess. Her work on chakra control paid off, as her bones did not shatter. But they groaned in protest.

The ground beneath her feet was simply obliterated from the sheer force of the strike. The wave of force rippled outwards and crushed stone as easily as it pulped wood. A concussive blast of wind knocked her off her feet and continued outwards, throwing every man and woman on the battlefield to their asses. Great cracks erupted in the stone beneath them as the walls and ceiling of the underground facility caved in. Dirt flowed down, and with it came the trees. The entire land was in an upheaval; like water flowing down a drain.

"Let's go!" Hikari screamed. Tetsu was waving his sword, in vain, trying to get relief from a swarm of insects that harried him. Tetsu was shaking and sweaty and breathing harder than Hikari had ever seen him before. Hibiki appeared, weary and dishevelled.

And shit, Bolt's mother was right behind them. Determined and angry. It was a look that Hikari had seen all too many times on Bolt's face.

"Run!" Hikari barked, sprinting over rocky terrain that was more liquid than solid. She scooped Bolt up, thankful that he hadn't been buried too deeply, and fled.

"Ha!"

Hikari turned and was struck in the face by a roaring construct of chakra that beared the visage of a lion. Her world went black, but her training wouldn't let her fall unconscious on the battlefield. The Hunt. There was only the Hunt. Keep moving. Keep fighting. Don't feel. Don't think.

She blinked, catching herself as she stumbled, and hurled Bolt towards Hibiki—who was, surprisingly, the one who had the most energy and strength among them. Hikari winced as she felt how difficult it was to move her chakra in the fine, acute movements she had become accustomed to. Hinata must have closed a handful of her chakra points.

A stray root lashed out at Hibiki. Hikari crushed it with a vicious stomp whilst she produced two fistfuls of poisoned needles and hurled them into the few remaining trees that had survived the clash of no less than ten ninja. It was truly a surprise that any had survived at all.

Hikari winced as she failed to dodge a barrage of Gentle Fist strikes. Fuck, she hated being on the business end of those. The difference between Bolt and his mother were as clear as night and day. Hinata, all fluid, languid grace and precise forms; where Bolt was ruthless and surgical. Being struck by Hinata was like being prodded by a feather. Being hit by Bolt was like being cut by a knife. And yet, for all their differences, their clan's taijutsu proved itself as damaging as its reputation.

But the biggest difference between Bolt and his mother was experience. Bolt had been in the field, fighting to survive day-in and day-out. That mentality honed him to a fine edge, an edge which Hinata lacked. Too many years as a mother and not nearly as much as a ninja. Not for a long time, anyways.

Hikari ducked an open-palmed strike, earned three more blocked chakra points for her efforts, and punched Hinata in the stomach as gently as she was able to while putting her down. Hikari heard the whush of air as it was knocked from the older woman's lungs. She turned and sprinted after her team. Behind her, the landscape was altered once more as a colossal eruption of chakra burst skyward with a manic scream. It was silenced by a flash of lightning that was distinctive in its purple color.

And, Sage of Six Paths bless her, Hinata was back on her heels. Again. That woman simply did not stay down. Hikari avoided fighting her as best she could. Without applying more lethal measures, she didn't have anything in her arsenal that would put down Hinata—and Bolt would be rather displeased with her to learn that she had hurt his mother.

Hikari leapt forward, away from Hinata, and towards her team. The ground shattered beneath her boots and the wind licked at her exposed skin. The mint-green scrubs she had stolen from Orochimaru provided little in the way of warmth.

Ahead, Tetsu was sending a massive, roiling wave of fiery chakra towards a swarm of insects that hissed and buzzed with an almost inhuman voice. "Fang Over Fang!" Hikari dodged as two whirlwinds of teeth and claws tore through the space she had been occupying.

Hikari knew. She knew they weren't going to be able to escape. To outrun their pursuers. They would have to fight. Fight against Kakashi Hatake? Alone, maybe. But not with him having allies. The wife of the Hokage, mother of Bolt, and what Hikari presumed was her team? Along with the Wood Release user and Mitsuki?

They didn't have a chance.

Hikari felt the unshed tears pool. She blinked. Don't feel. Don't think. There is only the Hunt. She put on a burst of speed in an attempt to create some distance between her and their pursuers. Tetsu had finally incinerated the swarm that had been harassing him and Hibiki was still leading the charge with Bolt nestled safely in his arms. Behind them, Hinata was hot on their trail with a tall man wearing a strange visor and two identical men with beards. Hikari had no doubt that Kakashi had dealt with Jūgo and was now giving chase. She did not see Mitsuki nor the Wood Release user.

They ran at a breakneck pace. All the while, Kakashi and his team were right on their heels. And even if they weren't, they couldn't escape. Bolt's mother was a pureblood Hyūga. Her eyes would see for miles and miles more than his own. They had an Aburame, whose insects had no doubt leeched much of Tetsu's preternatural chakra reserves. And, if Hikari was correct, the man and his twin were, in reality, one of the Inuzuka clansmen.

There was no escaping that team. And when Kakashi Hatake caught up to them...

Still, they ran. Hibiki led them east. Towards the Land of Steam. Towards the Land of Whirlpools. In fact, if Hikari was right, they were passing through the northeastern province of the Land of Fire and skirting the border of the Land of Steam. They were no more than a day's hard journey from the Land of Whirlpools. Less if they kept up their pace. Could they keep it up for a day, though? All the hundreds, if not thousands, of miles. All the way to the Hidden Whirlpool?

The answer came two hours later. They couldn't. The white-stone crags of the Land of Steam rose above them to the north, and the woodlands of the Land of Fire to their east, south, and west. Only the mountains to their west gave their position away; no more than one hundred miles from the ocean. Hikari had grown up in the Land of Water. Her nose picked up the fresh salt in the air from the ocean.

They were close, and they were exhausted and ready to drop. "We've got to fight," Hikari wheezed, even as she cast a glance backwards.

It seemed the unshakable determination Bolt so often displayed ran in the family. His mother was right behind them, only fifty feet back. The Inuzuka clansman's dog had reverted to its canine form and was panting heavily. The Aburame had replenished his swarm. And, through the branches and the leaves and the bushes, Hikari could see a flash of silver hair.

"Right," Hibiki choked back, adjusting the unconscious Bolt.

They came to a stop at the top of a cliff overlooking a swathe of forest. Far in the distance, Hikari could see a bank of fog and the churning waves of the ocean. The beach was a mere speck in the distance. Hibiki cradled Bolt gently as he lowered the unconscious blond to the ground. The three of them took up a defensive position around him. In a matter of moments, Kakashi and his team had assembled before them.

There was only silence.

"You're under arrest. Hand him over," Kakashi said, stepping forward. He looked old and weary, despite not being as old as he looked. And he was as intimidating as his reputation was. If not more so.

"Please," Bolt's mother said.

Hikari realized neither Tetsu nor Hibiki was willing to speak on their behalf. That duty fell to her. As loathe as she was to accept it. "We can't," she managed to wheeze out. "He's hurt. Dying. We need to get him to the Uzukage."

Hikari could see the frown behind that mask. Kakashi shook his head. "No. If he's hurt, we'll take him to the Leaf. We have the best healers in the world," he said, taking a step forward. Their formation closed tighter.

"I asked Bolt where he wanted to go, when he was lucid," Hikari explained. "He told me to take him to the Uzukage. That's where he's going. Over my dead body."

"Have it—" Kakashi said, his entire body tensing. Hikari shivered as she felt goosebumps blossom across her skin as her hair stood on end. She had felt the sensation often enough. A powerful Lightning jutsu was being prepared. Was it more of that purple-colored electricity, or the famed Raikiri?

"—your..." Kakashi trailed off, eyes wide.

Hikari turned.

Bolt stood.

* * *

His Lord rose. Unbending, unbreaking, he rose to face the challenge. Like Tetsu knew he would. A spirit stronger than any steel. His Lord stood on unsteady legs, hand grasping sheets to preserve his modesty. And, for the first time, Tetsu caught sight of the aberration of nature that Orochimaru had attempted to inflict upon his Lord.

Tetsu felt the cold of his mountainous home howl. His honor demanded he bathe his blade in the blood of the one who dared raise his hand against his Lord.

His Lord shambled forward. His Lady offered a steadying hand. "Please," his Lord rasped. "Please. Let them go. You can take me. I—I won't make it much longer, anyway. Just let them go. Please."

The fiery rage warred with the cold fury inside him. His Lord was dying? Impossible. Tetsu had never met a stronger soul in all his travels. All his battles. That death could come to his Lord was unthinkable. Unacceptable. If his Lord perished, Tetsu would follow him into the Pure Lands with an honorable death.

The mother of his Lord—for that was all that she could be—stepped forward. Tetsu tensed. He would not hesitate to strike her down to prevent his Lord from coming to harm. Even if his Lord would hate him for it. If he so demanded, Tetsu would pay with his life. But he would not allow his Lord to come to harm. His Lord bade them to ferry him to the Uzukage; to the land of their clan. Tetsu would see his will be done.

"Please, don't fight us, Bolt. Please. Just come home," she begged.

"I—I will," his Lord spoke. "But only if you let them go."

His Lord was a man of honor. Even in the face of death, in the face of family, in the face of a cage, he had honor. The honor to see those in his service their dues. Tetsu respected him for that, and much, much more.

His Lord's mother looked to the silver-haired man; Kakashi Hatake, the Sixth Hokage. He shook his head. "We can't, Hinata. It's too much of a risk, Bolt. You've frightened people. Angered others. We need to know what you've done with Shukaku," he spoke softly.

His Lord shook his head. He gasped for air. "No. Never. Won't let you free him," he rasped. "Shukaku was a demon. Hatred given physical form. He killed thousands of people. You didn't do anything. I did. We did. I won't let you take that from us."

More than just those in his service, his Lord looked upon the common man with benevolence. A true, righteous ruler. A Lord worth serving in every meaning of the word. To wade into battle against the demons which haunted the darker corners of man's mind. A courage beyond that of many a man.

"Just let them go, and you can have me," his Lord begged. Such grovelling was beneath him. The cold rage howled back with a vengeance. That these commoners had brought his Lord low was a great shame to him as a samurai.

Kakashi shook his head, and the mother of his Lord trembled sadly as a lone tear ran down her cheek. "I love you, Bolt. I love you," she whispered.

"Don't. Please, mom, don't. Don't take them from me," his Lord whispered back, even as he fell to his knees. Tetsu realized his Lord was in pain of the mind, not of the body. That was unacceptable.

The battle began.

Tetsu leapt forward with a savage battle cry. Let all know the strength of the vassal of Bolt Uzumaki. Tetsu drew his sword and sent a roaring inferno of fire towards the dishonorable bug-user. That he would hide behind an army of the lowest creatures of the low to do battle was dishonorable. There was no honor in taking a man's life without looking him in the eye and seeing the light fade.

Hibiki exhaled a mighty gust of wind to feed his flames. Tetsu nodded his thanks to the man. A man as devoted to his Lord as he was. That, Tetsu could respect. His Lady collapsed, screaming and convulsing. The mother of his Lord stood over her with a sad, tearful frown.

What to do? To fight the one who gave birth to his Lord, to save the Lady of his Lord's heart?

Pain.

That same pain. Lightning coursed through him. Tetsu growled; low, feral, guttural. Still, the pain came. Tetsu would not bow. Would not be defeated. For his Lord, he was a sword. For his Lord, he was a shield. Not even Death would halt his blade. Tetsu marched on the Sixth Hokage. Chakra coalesced upon his tattered sword. He would strike the silver-haired man down. Give his Lord and Lady their chance to flee. Even if it cost him his life.

A howl of pure fury.

His Lord rose, wreathed in fire that spread across the skin. In its wake, it left the pale skin a dark, sickly gray. Ears were drawn to a point. Canines becoming pointed fangs. The whites of his eyes, as black as coal. Nails becoming claws. Blond hair lengthened and standing on end. And, from his back, a strange appendage. White as bone, a ring sprouted. Upon which grew six drums, each with three tailed dots.

Raijin—the god of lightning, thunder, and storms—made flesh to walk upon the mortal plane.

He erupted in a storm of electricity that was as black as night. His Lord raised his hand, the commoners struck dumb. He rapped his knuckles upon one of the drums, and it echoed forth with a rumble of distant thunder.

The entire forest was awash with chirping black electricity; blinding, like the darkness. The commoners bent their knees to him, then. Spasming as arcs of lightning leapt from body to body. His Lord stumbled forward, going to his mother. He cried, as all good sons would, and held her close.

They were alive, Tetsu knew, but the pain—the pain he could only imagine. His Lord cradled his mother to him, rocking back and forth, before placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. Then he stood, stumbled, and fell. His body reverted to that of a mere mortal as he vomited blood. Tetsu lunged forward, catching his Lord before he could fall. The abomination that the snake had attempted to transform him into was rotting and falling away. And, with it, came more blood.

"Tetsu!" his Lady screeched. "Go! Go! Get him to the Uzukage!"

Tetsu scooped his Lord into his arms and ran. He ran, as if Death itself snapped at his heels. But, perhaps, that was not such a foreign claim. His Lord's blood ran in rivers. He trembled, so very small now, and cried. The fear was there, Tetsu knew. But not the fear of death. His Lord, brave and powerful, knew he invited death upon him when he reached for that forbidden power. Still, he did not fear it. He embraced it. To save his Lady, to save his vassals.

Tetsu waded into the water, climbed atop it with his chakra, and resumed his mad sprint. Something tugged at his spirit, urged him onward. He knew where it was he needed to go. An island on the horizon. The bay between the Land of Fire and Whirlpools churned and spat wave after wave at him.

But Tetsu would not bow to nature. He leapt over the waves, barely breaking his stride as he ran forward. Towards his ancestral home, however foreign it was. Towards his Lord's ancestral home.

A great wave, towering above all others, rushed forward. It spun upon itself, whirling and whirling. A Water Release barrier ninjutsu based upon the sake of his surname? Tetsu grunted, holding his Lord close, and leapt. He cleared the wave in a single bound, and encountered resistance. Like swimming, only in the air. It lasted only a moment before allowing him passage. Tetsu landed with a towering splash and sprinted forward.

As he broke upon the beach, a man and a woman rushed out of the sparse forest of palms at him. Tetsu batted them aside. No commoner would bar his Lord's passage. To the Uzukage, he bade them. To the Uzukage, he would go. Tetsu ran forward.

He cleared the trees and the rolling hills of grass and followed the river inland. A sprawling city in the making, built upon the corpse of its predecessor. Men and women, commoners all, milled about. Most whose hair and eyes matched his own.

"Help!" Tetsu beseeched them. "I need help! The Uzukage!"

A commotion amongst the commoners. A woman, older than even his teacher, appeared. Back straight, shoulders square, and chin held high. A woman of power, of honor. Tetsu beheld the Uzukage. She took one look at him before her eyes fell to his Lord. She gasped and blanched. "This way!" she barked, scurrying off with a surprising speed. "Kohaku! Minori! With me!"

Tetsu ran after them. The Uzukage took his Lord from his arms, but Tetsu would not leave his side. Not in his hour of dire need. The three of his clansmen, two elders and a young man, led him deep underground beneath the ruins of the Hidden Whirlpool. None barred him passage. He would let none bar him passage.

Tetsu felt a chill crawl up his spine as they descended lower. They came to a room, a shrine, far beneath the earth. A cavern. Great pillars of stone, etched with the symbol of the whirlpool, held the ceiling aloft. It was an old place. Very old. The shrine was lit by a fire as black as night, yet it did not flicker nor cast light nor emit heat. At the base lay a sword of unparalleled beauty; a deep crimson, so deep as if to appear black. It was crude, having no hilt or guard, and lacking all finesse of a katana. But it spoke to Tetsu on a primal level. Above, a myriad of strikingly beautiful porcelain masks hung.

"You are one of us," the Uzukage spoke. She was talking to him. "And a companion of Bolt," she said, as she fetched three masks. The black flames licked at her, but did not burn. "You must never speak of what you are about to see."

The Uzukage held one mask to the young man, and the other to the elder woman. Together, the three of them placed the masks upon their faces. Tetsu watched. Saw them go still. Saw them act with a grace and skill not of their bodies.

The Uzukage kneeled before his Lord. Her eyes, cold and red as blood, gazed upon his neck where a brand had been laid upon him. "Fear not, my child," she said. An echoing voice, as if spoken by two women. "No son or daughter of the Whirlpool has ever lost their life to our clan's noble art. You shall not be the first."

"It is a disease," the man spoke. "A plague upon his chakra. We must excise it."

"It will kill him," the other, older woman spoke.

"We shall beseech Him, then," the Uzukage spoke.

"Agreed," the man and woman spoke.

Tetsu tensed as the man held a hand out, palm down, and summoned force spectral chains of pure gold that shone with an inner light. They held his Lord down, even as he whimpered in pain. Yet Tetsu did not act. For he would have to trust in them to save his Lord, now.

The older woman clapped her hands. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Above her, the shadow of a man appeared. Skin a mottled, black-gray with hair as white as snow. Atop his head, like a crown, sat two curved horns. He was dressed in a robe of white with flowing sleeves.

Tetsu felt the chill of Death fill him.

"This will hurt, child," the Uzukage spoke. "But you shall survive."

Then the screams began.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Looking for some feedback. If you're not a regular reviewer, that's okay, now is the best time to review if you want to contribute to the story! If you would answer some questions, I'd really appreciate it.

1) At what point did you feel like the story had truly hooked you?

2) What parts of the story did you skim or skip over?

3) Which location was your favorite setting so far? Which countries/villages would you like to see in the future?

4) Which character(s) would you like to see or know more about?

5) What has been your favorite moment in the story so far?

6) Conversely, what has been your least favorite moment of the story?

7) If you had to pick one character who is your least favorite, who would it be?

8) What has been the largest flaw you've noticed in the narrative so far?

9) If you had one idea you had that would make it into the story, what would it be?

10) What event are you looking forward to most happening?

* * *

Man, I missed writing Tetsu chapters! I really enjoy him as a character. Probably my favorite character out of the entire cast that is being assembled.

Unfortunately, Bolt won't be keeping his Cursed Seal. I know there were several people hyped about it, but it's just not in the cards.

Also... next chapter is the last one before the interlude-slash-timeskip? Maybe? If so, next chapter will be extra long. So if it's late, that's why.


	55. Chapter 55

Bolt opened his eyes.

He frowned. It was dark. He blinked as his vision adjusted to the darkness. Where was he? It was cold. Cold and dark and wet. A ploy of Orochimaru? Bolt sat up. It took a supreme effort of will to force his ragged body to move. He felt... sore and tired, yet not. He felt better than he had in a long time. Not the euphoric state of mind the Cursed Seal left him in, but simply _light_. The weight of the world had been removed from his shoulders.

He was in some sort of cave. Underground, he guessed. Formations of rock hung from the ceiling where a steady drip of water fell from above. In the corner of the cavern was a small pool of water that rippled with every drop. In front of him was a strange shrine. A wall, upon which sat countless masks each depicting a different character or role. At the base of the wall sat a small, crude anvil covered in red cloth. Upon which sat an even cruder sword. It was a mangled piece of steel that was colored a deep crimson color. So deep that it appeared to be black. Surrounding the shrine was an eerie black fire that burned without crackling, heat, or light. The only reason he could see was the dull illumination of three torches; two on the wall of masks and one behind him.

Wherever he was, Bolt felt safe. It was an odd feeling. He hadn't felt safe in—in years.

His limbs weren't obeying him. It was irritating. He had to consciously focus on his legs and arms to get them to do what he wanted. It was an odd experience. Bolt didn't like how he stood, bowlegged, with his arms bracing his knees as they trembled from exertion. He wobbled forward, carefully stepping over the bedding that he had slept in.

By the time he had managed to stand, Bolt was breathing hard. His Yang chakra was out of balance; a telltale sign of medical ninjutsu used to stimulate cellular growth. Bolt furrowed his brows as he tried to think of when he had been injured. He came up blank. Taking an unsteady step towards the shrine, he began to regulate the balance of Yin and Yang back to something more healthy.

He already felt better by the time he reached the foot of the shrine. More steady. Bolt reached out and gingerly passed a finger through the black flames. They were cold. He shivered as he felt a chill sing in his blood. Satisfied that he wasn't going to burn himself, Bolt stepped through the fire. It was like being submerged in icy, frigid water. The feeling lasted only a moment before it passed.

Bolt glanced at the sword, admiring it, before raising his eyes to focus on the masks. He'd seen something similar before in the Leaf. An old section of the forest that had been walled up and closed off from the public. He snuck in, once, at night on a dare with Inojin and Shikadai. Some of the masks were frightening, especially with little to no light. It had scared the shit out of him as a kid.

He reached up, gently touching a mask that was as white as snow that depicted a fearsome looking dragon baring its fangs. He moved to the next. A vaguely human face, a woman, wearing a veil. Bolt curled his fingers beneath the mask and it came free with ease. Its craftsmanship was surprisingly perfect. No tool marks. Every inch of porcelain was smooth and flawless. Not a single chip in the material.

Bolt turned the mask over in his hands. The inside was formed in a very general way. Able to be worn by anyone. With a shrug, he held it up and pressed it to his face. Panic blossomed in his chest as every muscle in his body locked up. A foreign chakra surged through his pathways. His heart fluttered as he recalled in vivid detail Orochimaru doing the same thing to him.

"Hello," a voice said.

Bolt whirled around. A woman stood behind him. Young, in her late twenties, he guessed, with long, flowing crimson hair and green eyes. She was dressed in strangely ornate robes of white and red with translucent ribbons wrapped around her arms and shoulders.

"Hello," Bolt replied warily.

The woman quirked her head. "I am Hanako Uzumaki. Who are you?"

He hesitated. What to say? Was he being attacked? Bolt tensed as he felt an influx of chakra surge through him. "Bolt Uzumaki," she said with a small smile. "Nice to meet you." She bowed, dipping at the waist ever so slightly.

Fuck. Could she read his mind? How did she know his name?

Hanako frowned. "Can I help you?" she asked.

Bolt didn't want her to read his thoughts again. "Uh, no," he answered.

She quirked her head again. "Are you sure? I am the thirty-fourth head of our clan. Many of our kin have sought me out for my wisdom and power," she said.

Bolt furrowed his brows. Thirty-fourth Uzukage? That couldn't be—the current Uzukage was only the third. "Oh," Hanako said, pausing a moment. "No. I am not the one you call 'Uzukage.' I—" another pause. "I led the clan long ago," she said sadly.

Bolt froze. She was the leader of the Uzumaki clan during the warring clans era? That would mean she was several hundred years old and that was—

"Impossible?" Hanako said. She smiled. "You have much to learn, son of the Whirlpool. Perhaps some day you will have need of me. Until then, farewell."

Bolt blinked. He was holding the mask in his hands. He shivered. His hand shook as he placed the mask back on the wall in its place of honor.

"Interesting," Bolt tensed as he heard the Uzukage speak. He turned. She leaned forward, stepping out of the shadows.

"Interesting?" Bolt asked. He didn't know what to say. That itch in the back of his mind came back. He scratched at his neck. Damn Orochimaru.

The Uzukage nodded. "Your Uzumaki blood is thin, but strong. I didn't think you would be able to pass the flames," she said.

Bolt shrugged. "You should really have some kind of warning. Strange masks that possess you? Definitely needs a sign or something," he quipped.

It was a lame joke, but the Uzukage smirked ever so slightly. "So," she said, moving to stand next to him before the shrine. "Now you know why our clan was so feared."

Bolt looked over at her. "That wasn't a genjutsu, was it? She was actually real," he said.

The Uzukage nodded. They were silent for a moment. "Have I ever told you the creation myth of our clan?" she asked, eventually.

Bolt shook his head. The Uzukage hummed. "It's quite unbelievable, truthfully. I don't tell it often," she shrugged. "They say the first Uzumaki was a woman. A woman of such peerless beauty that no woman has been born before or since of such fairness. The only thing that exceeded her beauty was her prowess in battle. It was said that our clan's distinctive crimson hair and eye color came about from her. She fought war after war, battle after battle, and murdered man after man. Eventually, her hair and eyes became stained with blood."

"Years passed, and day after day she murdered more and more. Rivers ran red with blood in the wake of her passage. Entire lands were laid barren and unable to bear crops. She became more a force of nature than a woman. That was the origin of our name. 'Uzumaki' for 'maelstrom.' Eventually, however, she grew discontent with the world. She had bathed herself in the blood of her enemies and still she could not find meaning in life," the Uzukage said.

"Do you know what she decided to do?" the Uzukage asked him. Bolt shook his head. The Uzukage chuckled. "It's quite simple, really. She decided to find a husband. But she would only wed a man who could defeat her in single combat. So she roamed the land far and wide, killing and killing and killing. Decades passed and she could find no man who could cross swords with her. Until one day, she did."

The Uzukage paused in her tale. Bolt waited. "I didn't believe it myself. Not until I became Uzukage," she sighed. "They say she came to a realization one day. That there was no _mortal_ man whom she could love. So she fell in love with the only man she knew. Death himself. She professed her love to Death by murdering an entire country. Tens of thousands died by her hand in a single night. And, from their royal family, she extracted the iron from their blood and forged a single blade."

Bolt followed the Uzukage's eyes as she stared at the crude sword that laid at the foot of the altar. He shivered. There was no need for an explanation.

"They say Death came to her that night, and the two of them were wed amongst a sea of corpses. Death taught her the art of fūinjutsu, so that she might send more souls to him. And, nine months later, the first son of the Uzumaki clan was born. She taught fūinjutsu to her son, and it was he who wielded it like a sword. He roamed the land, sealing great beasts into masks so that he might tame them and call upon them in battle. And, before he died, he sealed himself into a mask. The first death mask," the Uzukage whispered.

The Uzukage fell silent. Bolt couldn't find the words. "Now you know why Cloud and Mist destroyed us," she said. "The death masks bestow us the power and wisdom of the men and women sealed within. Most were clan heads, or other heroes and paragons of the Uzumaki clan through the ages. An army, hundreds strong, of Kage caliber warriors armed with more chakra than a thousand ninja and the knowledge of jutsu long lost to us in this day and age."

Bolt felt very, very small. The two of them stood there, watching the black flames that danced but did not crackle.

Bolt spoke first. "What happened to me? How did I get here?"

The Uzukage looked at him. "What do you remember?"

"I—" Bolt paused. His memory was hazy. "I was fighting Orochimaru and then..." The endless abyss and the fires and the itch in the back of his mind. "Nothing," Bolt said.

"Your friends brought you here," the Uzukage explained. "A good thing, too. The Cursed Seal was destroying you from the inside out."

Bolt flinched and his hand flew to his neck. His fingers ghosted over the spot where the angry black markings should be. They were gone.

"You reacted poorly to both the foreign bodily fluids—which were highly unstable and volatile when exposed to chakra—and large amounts of natural energy," the Uzukage said. "Your body simply couldn't handle the alterations to it. When combined, the two foreign entities create a sort of rapid cellular growth in the body to augment itself. You weren't compatible with it, and it became cancerous and necrotic."

Bolt nodded slowly. "And you managed to remove it? I didn't think that was possible," he said.

"It took some time and effort," the Uzukage admitted. "But, yes, we did. You can thank Minori for her part in preventing your body's death until we removed the seal."

Bolt nodded. He'd be sure to do that.

"The good news is that I believe I've discovered a way to remove the Cursed Seal without damaging the host's body," she continued. "After consulting with several of my predecessors—" Bolt didn't miss the connotation. The death masks. "—we created a counter seal that should reverse and expel the Cursed Seal over a period of time."

"That's great!" Bolt said. "You can give it to the Union, or the Hidden Sound, and they can use it to remove the Cursed Seals the rebels use."

The Uzukage nodded. "Already done," she said, withdrawing a single scroll from the folds of her robes. "The instructions and theory on how this new counter seal works," she explained. "In case Orochimaru attempts to use the technique on you again."

Bolt took the scroll and placed it within the storage seal on his forearm. He would go over it in detail later. "Thank you," Bolt said. "For everything. Not just the scroll," he added.

The Uzukage smiled. "You _are_ learning," she said.

Bolt ran his eyes over the sword and the death masks again. There was an odd, but comfortable silence. Bolt felt that itch in the back of his mind again.

"Get some rest, Bolt," the Uzukage told him. "We will talk again tomorrow. It is imperative you do not leave this chamber until I fetch you. Do you understand?"

Bolt nodded. "Yeah," he said.

The Uzukage left him in the cold dark. The itch was gone.

* * *

The cold didn't bother him when he woke. The dark didn't, either. Strangely, his Byakugan couldn't see anything outside the chamber he was temporarily confined to. Nothing by a blur of inky darkness.

Bolt felt stronger than he had the prior night—day? It was hard to tell what time it was without a clock or the sun. The makeshift bedding he was given was comfortable, though. That was nice. Someone had delivered food—real food, not rations—and water while he slept.

He was bored, though. Bolt whittled away the hours by reading from the scroll the Uzukage had given him. Orochimaru was a true fūinjutsu genius. A prodigy without peer. He may have studied the Uzumaki fūinjutsu script but he had evolved and created something far more intricate and powerful. The Uzukage likened the Cursed Seal to an arrow; once lodged in flesh, removing it would cause more harm than when it went in. Removing it was both dangerous and simple at the same time: push the arrow through the wound, cut the head off, and pull out the shaft.

That was the concept, anyway. The scroll also contained detailed information on how Orochimaru created the Cursed Seal—or, at least, how the Uzukage thought he did. Which, if Bolt was being honest, he trusted her over the snake. That was doubly interesting. It wasn't often Bolt got to peek inside the mind of another fūinjutsu user.

The itch was back. That was how he knew the Uzukage was coming.

She appeared, carrying a torch, with her features stern. Bolt knew something had happened—something bad. He struggled for words.

"Feeling better?" the Uzukage asked.

Bolt nodded. "Yeah—"

She slapped him.

Bolt blinked and raised a hand to his cheek. He tasted copper.

"I have never seen a more reckless, selfish rampage in all my life," the Uzukage berated him. "Did you not think at all? You endangered yourself, your allies, your family, your village, and your clan when you foolishly decided to attack a Tailed Beast."

"I—"

"No," the Uzukage hissed. "You've brought about the change of an era. The political landscape has shifted due to your actions. Leaders are asking why they shouldn't attack the Tailed Beasts within their borders and take them for themselves. Mercenaries are looking to attack and seal them to sell to the highest bidder. If we return to the time before Hashirama Senju due to your actions, Bolt, all the blood that will be spilled will be on your hands."

Bolt swallowed.

"That is to say nothing of the danger you've put your family in, or the shame you have brought to the Uzumaki clan. The Hokage has been forced to deflect attacks on his person and office due to you. The first thing people think of when they hear the name 'Uzumaki' is you and your infamous deeds," she said.

Bolt couldn't meet her gaze.

"Give me a single reason why I shouldn't report you to your father, or better yet, the Union," the Uzukage demanded.

The itch became a buzz. Bolt swallowed. "I—" he began. "I didn't think, you're right. But my actions weren't selfish. I was trying to help people. I _did_ help people. The One-Tail was a menace to the people of the Land of Wind. Killing them by the hundreds. Destroying crops. Wiping out whole villages. Someone had to do something!" The words flowed forth.

The Uzukage's frown softened, ever so slightly. "Be that as it may," she said. "It wasn't your duty to do so. The Hokage and Kazekage had and were dealing with the One-Tail. You may have saved hundreds, even thousands, in the Land of Wind. But you may have also doomed thousands more in the future when the wars for the control of the Tailed Beasts erupt. Do you understand?"

Bolt inhaled. He nodded. "Yes," he said. "But I—I couldn't just do nothing," he offered weakly. He hung his head.

The Uzukage placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you were, Bolt," she said. "You have great power and an even greater potential. That is why I am being hard on you. You have to be better. You have to be perfect, because the world will look to you and the next generation to be its example. To set the tone of the age. To decide whether peace or war will reign."

Bolt nodded.

The Uzukage sighed. "You have a choice to make, Bolt. A very difficult one. You can keep running and running, and hoping the powers that be never catch up to you. You can travel far and wide and help as many people as you can, while you can. And, eventually, your friends will die. You will die. Or you'll end up in some prison that doesn't officially exist where the guards beat you mercilessly and feed you only enough to keep you alive," she said.

"Or..." the Uzukage added. "You can do real, lasting good for the entire world by turning yourself in." Bolt snapped his head up. "You give up your life as a rogue ninja, and you become an official ninja of the Whirlpool. I will negotiate with the Union and the Leaf on your behalf to excuse your crimes. And, in return, you agree to become the Fourth Uzukage."

Bolt gaped at her. What? She—she wanted him to be her successor? Why? How could she? "Why?" Bolt asked.

The Uzukage chuckled. "I meant what I said, Bolt. You have great power, and an even greater potential. You have a natural talent for fūinjutsu and a fierce loyalty to your family. And, above all, you have a righteous sense of justice. All are traits the Uzukage should embody. Your appointment as the Fourth would ensure the ties between the Leaf and the Whirlpool would endure a hundred years. You would defend the clan against its enemies. Your children would be powerful, descending from your father, who descended from your grandmother—one of the most powerful members of our clan in generations," she explained.

His heart fluttered and the buzz in his mind made it hard to think. "I—" Bolt hesitated.

"Don't answer now," the Uzukage told him. "Think about it. You would be sacrificing a lot. Your personal freedom. Perhaps paying restitutions to the Union for the damage you have undoubtedly caused. You would need to take a wife and produce children—the sooner the better, and as many as possible. Our clan is not yet secure in its future."

Bolt nodded. "But—but what about Kohaku? Isn't he your grandson? He should be Uzukage, not me," he said.

The Uzukage snorted. "The brat," she said affectionately. "He is more than qualified to be the Fourth. He just doesn't want the responsibility. I'll beat some sense into him if you decline, I'm sure."

Bolt smiled a little at that.

"Now, it's been four days and nights since you were brought here. Your healing should have finalized. I think it is safe for you to leave. You'll be weak, so be careful and don't stress yourself," the Uzukage said, gesturing for him to follow her as she began to ascend the stairs.

Bolt followed her.

* * *

The Uzukage was right. The moment he crossed the threshold and stepped into the light of day, it felt like he had run into the face of a mountain at full speed with his Lightning Armor. They stood before a small, winding river that ran between two hills. Bolt looked back. He could find no trace of the cavern, even with his Byakugan.

Just using his dōjutsu for three seconds caused pain to pulse through his brain and eyes. Bolt shambled after the Uzukage as she led him back to the village—which could now safely be called a city. Homes were erected with running water and electricity. The rubble of the previous Hidden Whirlpool had been cleared away or salvaged. It was small, true, but it had more wealth in three city blocks than nearly every major village or town on the continent aside from a capital or ninja village. Bolt thought there were more people, too. Most appeared to be recruited, but there were a few young children too.

Bolt smiled. Tetsu stood off to the side, holding a large branch, with a squadron of kids no older than five before him. Each held a small stick. He was drilling them in swordplay. They were taking the lesson very seriously. Swinging down their sticks with little battle cries. Bolt hesitated near the outskirts of the village to watch. Tetsu called an end to their drills and the children assembled in a neat line before him. He raised his branch and it glowed with chakra. He swung it and sent a crude Flash at the horizon.

The children cried out in delight. A few more barked words from Tetsu and they scampered off to attempt the same feat. Bolt chuckled and jogged to catch up with the Uzukage. The simple act of running a few feet had him breathing hard.

Tetsu saw him. Bolt stumbled backwards as Tetsu appeared before him in a blur of speed. "My Lord," he said, bowing low. "It is good to see you well. I apologize for my failure to defeat your enemies. Should your honor demand it, I shall commit ritual suicide."

Bolt grinned despite himself. "It's fine, Tetsu," he said, waving him off. The Uzukage smiled at him and waved as she returned to her office. Bolt waved back. "So," he said. "What happened? Where are the others?"

A dark look passed over Tetsu's face. "This way, my Lord," he said, briskly walking towards a familiar sight—the guest house he had stayed at during his first visit to the Whirlpool. The stream babbled just as he remembered. This was the place where he first began his journey to true strength. It was nostalgic.

Bolt cast a dark glare at the stairs. His eyes followed them upwards. He blinked, seeing two guards standing on either side of the door. Neither did or said anything as Tetsu opened the door for him. By the time Bolt reached the top of the stairs, he was gasping for breath.

He hadn't even set foot in the door when he was pulled into an altogether too powerful hug. It was unexpected—painful, even—but nice. Really nice. Hikari released him. "You're alive," she whispered, almost in awe, patting him down.

"Yeah?" Bolt said. "I guess I have you three to thank for that," he said, nodding his greetings to Hibiki who was seated at the kitchen table and polishing his ocarina. Tetsu shut the door behind them.

"Not really," Hikari said. "We just got you away from Orochimaru. The Uzumaki clan did the rest," she grumbled.

"Really? How'd you manage that?" Bolt asked, taking a seat opposite Hibiki.

"We hired an expert," Hibiki answered with a smirk. "Though he seems to have taken a short vacation to the Pure Lands for helping us."

Bolt looked to Hikari. She shrugged. "We hired a bounty hunter with a grudge who specialized in making Orochimaru's life difficult," she said. "He had a unique bloodline that allowed him—and anyone who ingested his blood—to turn into smoke. He possessed one of Orochimaru's servants, Jūgo, and snuck me in. From there, it was just a matter of finding you and wheeling you out of the facility. And I don't think we've seen the last of the bounty hunter. He likely is in hiding or has possessed another body."

Bolt nodded. "What about Orochimaru? I doubt he just let you waltz in and out with me after he went through the effort of abducting me," he said.

"We don't know," Hikari said. "I heard Suigetsu—" Bolt scowled at the name. "—say Orochimaru grafted one of his arms to you. That's how he prevented you from... dying," she managed to spit the last word out.

Now that was a disturbing mental image. Bolt shivered. "I can confirm that, I think," Hibiki said. "I only felt one chakra signature that was significantly more powerful than the others, and it was weakened. Likely he was too drained to do anything about it. We didn't exactly stick around to find out."

Bolt chuckled. Yeah, he didn't want to be around Orochimaru more than he was absolutely forced to either. The house became oddly silent and tense. The itch was back. Something was wrong. "What?" Bolt asked.

Hikari sighed. "There's more," she said. Bolt waited. "You were stable when we rescued you. But Suigetsu and Jūgo followed and attacked us. Shortly after, some ninja from the Leaf joined in. It was a three way battle for you."

"Who? My sister?" Bolt asked. He felt his stomach drop. He reached for the tracking seal—

"No," Hikari said, shaking her head. "Kakashi Hatake. Two others; an Aburame and an Inuzuka. It was a tracking team, I think. And... your mother."

Bolt stilled. "You—you didn't hurt her, did you?" Bolt asked.

Hikari shook her head but looked distinctly uncomfortable. "No. We didn't. Truthfully, we were going to lose. Your mother blocked most of my chakra points. Kakashi was electrocuting Tetsu and the Aburame and Inuzuka were harrying Hibiki and—"

"—You don't remember, do you?" Hibiki said.

"Remember what?" Bolt asked.

"You used some sort of power," Hibiki explained. "Your skin darkened and you grew some sort of bone-like appendage from your shoulders. Your chakra took on a dark undertone, just like Orochimaru—" Oh, no. The Cursed Seal. "—and then you used a wave of black electricity to knock them out."

"I—I wouldn't have. Did—did I hurt them? Are they okay?" Bolt rattled off.

"They're fine," Hikari assured him. "I made sure they were all breathing and given first aid before I left. Your mother wasn't hurt."

Bolt breathed a sigh of relief. He cursed his foggy memory. He still felt a terrible guilt over attacking his mother. He never would have done such a thing without being under the influence of the Cursed Seal. At least, he hoped he would never be that ruthless. That cold.

He swallowed. "So, why are there guards outside?"

"House arrest," Hikari grumbled. "They don't trust us enough to walk around. Only Tetsu, because he's one of you."

"I figured," Bolt said with a shrug. "The clan is only just now re-establishing itself. I'm surprised they let you onto the island in the first place."

Hikari nodded.

Bolt yawned.

"You should rest," Hikari stated. "You... I didn't think you were going to make it, for a second. Best to not push yourself too hard."

Bolt nodded and managed to find his way to his old room. He laughed. It was kind of funny. The house had exactly four rooms. Just enough for each of them. Fate was funny like that.

* * *

Bolt woke to a not-so-gentle prod. He groaned and blinked and stared into amber-colored eyes. "Hey, kid," Kohaku said with a smile.

"What do you want?" Bolt grumbled, trying to get the sun out of his eyes.

Kohaku grinned. "Uzukage wants you. Says if you're here, you're going to be training. No excuses," he said.

Bolt sighed and moaned.

"Yeah. Tell me about it. Just imagine: I deal with her every single day," Kohaku said.

Bolt went through his morning routine. At least the guest house—his house, really—had running water now. He had dreaded taking sponge baths in the creek out back. The office of the Uzukage was both the single largest building on the island as well as the most technologically advanced. It had electricity, computers, phones, and even television. The Whirlpool had entered the modern age.

Bolt smiled as he passed the open door of the classroom on the ground floor where the youngest generation of Uzumaki clansmen were being lectured on the basics of their clan's fūinjutsu script and how best to create a basic storage seal. It brought back fond memories of his arms being covered in ink up to his elbows. This was where it all started.

The Uzukage sat behind her desk. She looked as stern as she always did and commanded respect. Bolt stood, waiting, as she finished writing and stamping a scroll before sending it off via messenger bird. She sighed as she sat back down. "So," she began. "How much of your training did you complete?"

The itch was back. How to explain it? "I—"

"Show, don't tell," the Uzukage said.

Bolt frowned. He took a deep, steadying breath. Right. His Yang chakra was powerful. More powerful than it had ever been. The effects of his healing still hadn't faded. That was the easy part. The difficulty came from clearing his mind. From finding that balance, that inner peace, that only came when he sat on that ledge and stared into the abyss of death. Or, if he wasn't fighting at all. When he could turn his thoughts inwards and actually concentrate. Bolt let instinct guide him. Felt those tiny sparks of Yin chakra arc through his mind as he thought of what he wanted to do. The trick was catching them, and—there. Bring the two together, and...

Bolt held out his right hand and pushed. A spearhead of violet chakra emerged, just enough to show a single link of a chain. The effort of manifesting a single chain was daunting. Bolt felt his chakra reserves dip and then begin to plummet. The technique collapsed and dissolved into harmless wisps of chakra.

The Uzukage sucked in a breath. "Incredible," she said. Kohaku nodded, still staring at the palm of his hand.

"What?" Bolt asked.

The Uzukage chuckled. "I didn't manifest my first chain until I was thirty-one," she said. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," Bolt answered.

The Uzukage smiled. "Sixteen. Nearly half my age. _That_ is incredible. Truly, I cannot recall a member of our clan who has achieved the same feat in recent memory. I would have to consult my predecessors," she said.

Bolt grinned. His ears and cheeks grew rosy at the praise.

"Why are his chains a different color?" Kohaku asked his grandmother.

She shrugged. "Perhaps an alteration due to his Hyūga blood," she answered. "The chains are not always gold. The twelfth clan head was half Uzumaki, half Uchiha. His chains were crimson."

Kohaku hummed in thought.

"Can you use your dōjutsu?" the Uzukage asked. Bolt nodded. "Do so."

Bolt took a deep breath and forced his tired body and flagging chakra reserves to manifest his Byakugan. He couldn't hold it long. The Uzukage nodded. She held her arm aloft, palm up, and a chain of golden chakra erupted. It flashed skyward, circling in on itself, and formed a sphere. Bolt watched with rapt attention. The links of the chain pulsed with chakra as a translucent barrier formed around the sphere.

As quickly as the technique formed, it was gone. Bolt blinked. The Uzukage smirked. "That is your next lesson," she said, returning to her paperwork.

Bolt took the dismissal as it was. He turned and left the office, heading back to his house. He was excited. A new technique. A powerful barrier fūinjutsu, if he was correct. It was something to do, at least. Something to work towards. A way to increase his skill with the Adamantine Sealing Chains besides just conjuring them and whipping a Tailed Beast into submission.

Bolt smiled.

* * *

The days passed quickly. Bolt felt stronger with each passing day, each passing week. It didn't take long until he felt strong enough to travel again.

The question was, did he want to?

It was the question he had been pondering. Bolt split his time between working on mastering the barrier fūinjutsu the Uzukage had showed him and deciding on whether he would turn himself in and—possibly—become the Fourth Uzukage.

It was a difficult decision.

On one hand, it would allow him to see his family and friends again. It would, he hoped, earn him the respect and attention of his father. He could make amends for attacking his mother. He could help people, lots of people, all over the world by fighting against the injustices of the system from within. He would have a home in the Whirlpool. An adoring population who didn't care that he had cheated in some meaningless exams. Who thought—knew—he wasn't a failure. He would have a goal to work towards; rebuilding the Uzumaki clan.

But, at the same time...

Bolt glanced at Hikari. Tetsu was running a whetstone across the edge of his new sword. A gift from the father of one of the children Tetsu was teaching swordplay. He was a blacksmith. Hibiki was whistling a lilting tune.

Did he abandon them? Bolt had no delusions. For their part in his crimes, his companions would not be forgiven. If—and that was _if_ —he himself was.

Bolt didn't think he could leave them.

What about his freedom? He had grown so used to travelling now. He hadn't stayed in one place for more than a week in... a long time. Not even in the Crimson Tide. Bolt remembered how restless he felt when he returned to the Leaf. Would it be like that at the Whirlpool? Worse?

He didn't know. He put the question off.

Eventually, Bolt could wait no longer. He had to make a decision. He stood on the beach, pack strung over his back, with Hikari, Tetsu, and Hibiki at his side. The four of them stared out over the waves, watching as the peculiar blood barrier fūinjutsu turned up titanic waves as it whirled.

"So, this is your decision?" the Uzukage asked.

Bolt turned. She, Kohaku, and a handful of guards stood behind them. Bolt nodded. "Sorry, I—"

The Uzukage held up her hand and shook her head. "I know," she said. "I knew the moment I asked the question. Saw it in your eyes."

"Sure you don't want to reconsider, kid?" Kohaku asked. He put a hysteric tone in his voice that made it sound like he was begging.

Bolt laughed. The Uzukage elbowed Kohaku in the ribs. "Ungrateful brat," she teased. "You'll make a fine Uzukage."

Bolt nodded. "You'll do fine, Kohaku," he said. "Not as good as me, of course, but you'll be... adequate."

Kohaku kicked some sand and grumbled something under his breath that earned him a slap to the head by the Uzukage. All three of them laughed.

"This is goodbye, then," the Uzukage said.

Bolt nodded. "I'll stop by, sometime," he said.

The Uzukage smiled sadly and shook her head. "No, you won't," she said. "I can't defend you anymore, Bolt. Not at the risk of the clan. Not after everything your father has done to help us. The next time we meet, we'll be enemies."

Bolt swallowed. No. The Whirlpool wasn't—wasn't home. But it was a home away from home. He blinked away the tears before they could form. He steeled himself. He nodded and turned to leave.

"Bolt," the Uzukage called out, just as his boots touched the water. "Keep up your training. I won't go easy on you if we're forced to fight. You won't just get a lash across the back of your hand."

Bolt smiled despite his inner turmoil. He nodded and waved.

Then they were gone.

The four of them made their way northwest, towards the Land of Steam. It didn't take too long to cross the bay to the Land of Fire, and then a few hours to head north into the Land of Steam. From there, they would go west and back to the Land of Sound where they would finish what they started, armed with the knowledge of how to remove Cursed Seals.

But, first, when in Yugakure? You had to visit the hot springs.

They were as heavenly as he remembered. Bolt sighed in pleasure as the hot water relaxed his sore muscles. He still wasn't quite fully recovered from his supposed near brush with death. Bolt dressed in a bathrobe and made his way back to the room he and his team had rented for the night.

He felt cold as he entered the room. Tetsu and Hibiki were nervously shifting around Hikari. She stood, back straight and stiff, hands clenched tightly around a newspaper. Her knuckles were white. Bolt could see the veins in her toned arms bulging.

"What's wrong?" Bolt asked.

No one answered him. He moved to take the newspaper from Hikari. She didn't fight him. Bolt read the article aloud under his breath. _"Breaking News: Cloud declares no-tolerance policy on the growing mercenary conflict; mass execution of prisoners,"_ it read. Bolt skimmed the article. He stopped reading when he found the accompanying picture. It was a picture of hundreds, if not thousands, of men and women being marched from their cells in some great prison.

And there, in the corner of the picture, barely visible, was Eiji Yagami. Former leader of the Crimson Tide mercenaries.

* * *

 **A/N:**

A big thank you to everyone who responded to my feedback request last chapter. I can safely say that nothing was a surprise—which is good—and that all concerns and/or requests were planned to be addressed at least sometime in the future.

For everyone who was upset that Naruto made allowances for the Uzukage, now you know why. I put a lot of thought into the Uzumaki clan's creation mythos, and what, in a world where breathing fire and walking on water is an everyday occurrence, would drive a people to commit genocide.


	56. Chapter 56

Fuck.

There really was no words for the amount of fucked the situation was. Eiji was alive. That was a good thing. The Cloud ninja he met in the Leaf had lied to him—sure, Bolt was a little pissed, but they didn't owe a foreign ninja their honesty. He was more angry with himself for not having thought that they might have lied to him. Bolt didn't see Eiji die. Bolt didn't try to find out if Eiji had died or not. He had left the man to rot in some Sage of Six Paths' forsaken cell in the Land of Lightning.

Fuck.

Bolt took a deep breath. He had to think this through. Create a plan. They couldn't just march into the Cloud and rescue Eiji. That would be as worse—or almost as worse—as attacking Orochimaru. They didn't have the strength to fight the Cloud. Nowhere near enough. They had to play this smart.

Hikari was shaking. Bolt swallowed. "We'll rescue him, Hikari," Bolt swore. "I—Eiji and I might not have met under the best circumstances, but he was still one of the first people to believe in me. I won't let Cloud execute him." He still didn't understand the strange relationship Hikari and Eiji had. Eiji had been important to her, that Bolt knew. Important enough to take his last name for her own.

"How?" Hikari snapped. "How can we fight Cloud and win? There's no scenario where we win."

Bolt didn't have an answer for that question. Not yet. He needed time to think. Bolt couldn't solve this problem as himself. His first instinct was to charge into the fray and fight all comers. That wouldn't work here—wouldn't work at all, anymore. The words of the Uzukage rang in his mind. He had to be better. He had to be perfect.

So he looked to his betters. The buzz in his mind was back. What would—and he hated to think it—Orochimaru do? The Sannin had dismantled him and his team with ease. He appeared suddenly and defeated them with overwhelming power. What would Nagato—what would Pain—do? His last journal entry had been his plans for attacking the Leaf. History told the rest of the story. Was that his fate if he attacked Cloud? Death?

Death was acceptable, for him, but not for his friends. Regardless, they would need help. Lots of it. Calling in every favor. Leveraging their advantage against Cloud to its fullest.

"I have an idea," Bolt said. "But we don't have a lot of time. Get dressed and grab your things. We need to leave. Now."

None of them owned many belongings. They were packed, dressed, and armed in a matter of a minute.

Bolt met them outside. He bit his thumb and weaved five hand signs. He slammed his palm to the ground and a cloud of wispy smoke erupted and dwarfed the hotel they had been staying at. There were cries of alarm and screams of fear.

Suzaku, the greatest of all hawks, announced his arrival with a roar of a screech. Bolt took a step back as the hawk's wings and tail were set aflame in a roaring inferno. He felt his chakra dip.

"What in..." Bolt heard Hibiki utter in awe.

"Lord Suzaku," Bolt said, bowing in respect. The titanic hawk turned its bestial eyes on him. "I need your help."

* * *

He was getting too old for this.

"Thank you, Hinata," Kakashi said as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

He was surprised by how little damage had been inflicted upon him and his team. Bolt had pulled his punch at the last moment. Still enough to put them down, still enough to hurt like a bitch, but not enough to kill. And, if Kakashi was correct, they had been given first aid after being defeated. Hikari Yagami was a former hunter ninja of the Mist, and Kakashi knew they gave extensive medical training to their hunters—not as a means to heal, but to kill. He probably had her to thank for their swift recovery.

"You're welcome, Kakashi," Hinata said with a sad smile.

He felt a twinge of guilt at how badly it had hurt her to confront her son. But Kakashi had his mission, his duty, and he knew from experience that one man couldn't change the world. No matter how much—

A messenger bird set down in front of him. Kakashi blinked. The bird squawked in annoyance as it held out its leg. Kakashi reached down and un-pinned the scroll that had been lashed to its leg. It was a short missive. _"Bolt Uzumaki has headed northwest, towards the Land of Steam. He is weakened from his injuries at the hand of Orochimaru,"_ it read. _"—Akane Uzumaki, Third Uzukage."_

Kakashi stood. "Let's go," he barked. "We have a lead." He weaved hand signs and pressed his palm to the ground. His eight ninja hounds appeared with a wisp of smoke. "Pakkun, return to the Leaf with this," he said, handing the dog the scroll. "The rest of you, with me."

Their team sprinted north towards the Land of Steam. Shino scoured the woods with his insects whilst Kiba and their combined dogs kept a nose out for Bolt or his allies. All the while, Hinata scouted ahead with her Byakugan.

It didn't take them long to find him. Only... not as Kakashi expected. Hinata stopped abruptly on the branch she landed on. She was looking up. Kakashi turned his gaze skyward. "Hinata, what are—"

Oh. That was what she was looking at.

A bird—a hawk—larger than any he had ever seen. It was larger than some city blocks. The hawk had a plumage of varying colors of red and orange that faded to yellow near the wings and tail. And it was on fire. A roaring orange inferno of flames licked at its wings and tailfeathers.

Kakashi watched as it flew southwest. Atop it sat their quarry.

They gave chase.

* * *

Naruto sighed as he slouched in his seat and quickly flipped through the pages of the report he had been given by Torture and Intelligence. He glanced at the clock. Seven minutes until the meeting.

Darui was making things difficult. Not that he blamed him. Many ninja were uneasy about the rapid shift in their line of work. Many, Naruto knew, couldn't handle the transition. Even more, especially the younger generation, felt lost. Adrift amongst the changing times. The dissatisfied older generation went rogue and offered their services to the highest bidder. As they had always done, before the Union had formed. They preached their cause to the younger, lost generation and roped them into their service.

The Land of Water was rife with mercenary companies sailing its seas and hiding amongst its many islands. They sailed north, to the Land of Lightning, to the west to the Land of Fire, and to the south to the Land of Wind. All the while, they peddled their services and put good men and women of the Union out of a job—or, worse, _create_ a job. Representatives were beginning to complain about the climbing rate of Union affiliated ninja clashing with mercenary, rogue ninja.

It was a problem Naruto had felt first hand.

First, with his own son—the thought brought a pang of guilt—and then again with the Akiyama sisters to the northwest. Those two continued to be a thorn in everyone's collective asses. The property damage alone was beginning to be a noticeable drain on the Union's coffers. Nearly a billion ryō in total. They had their own slice of the pie chart at a neat one point two percent of the fiscal budget. He made a note to ask Shikamaru to coordinate with Stone to see if there was anything they could do.

And, now, Cloud was _escalating._ It was the one thing Naruto feared most. People were happy to go with the flow, most of the time. If no one rocked the boat, there was no need for its captain to lay down the law. As the metaphorical captain, Naruto did not relish his duty. And, unfortunately for him, people _were_ rocking the boat. It was bad enough without having his own crew rock the boat, too.

He skimmed the briefing from T&I again. Seven hundred and thirty-eight men and women arrested over the course of six years operating in and around the Land of Lightning, Steam, and Water. All were serving heavy sentences ranging from twenty-five years to life behind bars.

And, now, they were—very publicly—slated for death.

Naruto looked up as his monitor buzzed to life. His fellow Kage appeared one-by-one, along with Mifune. The aging swordsman rarely joined their meetings, choosing to act as a neutral third party or to cast a deciding vote in a deadlock. This time, Naruto had requested his presence. He didn't want Gaara and himself to be the only voices of reason in the meeting.

Gaara was so pale, these days. He wished his friend would confide in him more. Naruto knew something was wrong. Gaara always had an excuse, and Naruto was waiting for the day when he didn't have one.

Darui was the last to join them. He looked tense and irritable. "Let's get this over with," the Raikage said with a sigh.

Thankfully, Naruto had enough forewarning to make a plan of attack with Gaara. He led their verbal charge. "You're making a mistake," Gaara said, in that soft spoken way that made you underestimate him, yet at the same time, carried the unmistakable hint of power.

"I find that hard to believe," Darui said with just a hint of heat. "The Land of Wind has been plagued by the same vermin we have. Surely you don't want foreign ninja operating on your coast and taking the contracts of good Sand ninja?"

"Of course not," Gaara deflected. "But I have been managing that problem, unlike you. Slashing contract costs, providing tax benefits, placing patrols—peaceful patrols—along my borders."

Naruto saw the Tsuchikage scowl. He sighed. They were still at each other's throats over mining rights in the mountainous border they shared. He would talk to Gaara later about that. "That is beside the point," Naruto cut in. "You're only adding fuel to the fire. If you kill those mercenaries, you set the tone for their relationship with you for the foreseeable future. Right now, they avoid killing Union ninja because they know it will bring our wrath down on them. If they think getting captured means an execution, I can guarantee you that they'll be putting our ninja in the ground without hesitation."

"The solution is simple," Kurotsuchi said. "We put them in the ground first. That is the Stone's way of dealing with these upstarts."

"That has worked remarkably well for you, hasn't it?" Chōjūrō said. "I hear crews are still chiseling volcanic rock off the Earth Lord's castle after the Akiyama sisters flooded it with lava."

Kurotsuchi scowled. "They are the notable exception," she said with thinly veiled anger. "We've handled the others."

"Enough," Gaara said, silencing the brewing argument. "We called this meeting to put an end to the public execution of nearly eight hundred people."

"And I've told you that Cloud refuses to allow these pests to infest our lands any longer," Darui said.

Naruto sighed. "If you'd like, and agreed upon, I would be willing to send a clone to help keep the peace and aid in capturing any mercenaries you've failed to capture," he offered. It wasn't the first time he had offered, either.

"I vote in favor," Gaara said.

"As do I," Mifune spoke.

"I as well," Chōjūrō chimed in.

"I vote no," Kurotsuchi said.

"No," Darui said without hesitation.

That was always how it went. Naruto didn't think they would ever get a unanimous vote. It hadn't happened yet. He doubted it would happen in the future. Too prideful, or too fearful. He sighed.

"You must see that executing the mercenaries is not a viable option for the future," Naruto said. "Televising it certainly isn't going to help matters. We can always send them to Hōzuki Castle. The Hidden Grass is more than willing to accept more prisoners if we would give them a larger budget to work with."

Darui scoffed. "I won't—" Naruto leaned forward as the speakers emitted a low rumbling noise. "—Omoi! What the fuck is that?"

There was an explosion. He could see the fire and smoke from the windows of the Raikage's office. A moment later, the glass shattered. "Sir!" a voice screamed, from outside the range of the camera. "We're under attack!"

Darui was standing now. A second explosion rocked the camera and caused it to fall. The picture was sideways. Naruto could hear the screams—those of fear, and those of hope. Darui was hefting a large broadsword over his back. "By who!" he barked.

"It's—I don't—some kind of massive fucking bird!" the voice answered. "It's! Oh, no. Fuck! They're here for the mercs! Shit—"

"Reports coming in, sir," a woman's voice said. "A large unidentified winged mammal approximately one hundred and fifty feet in height descended into the village with five riders. Intelligence pegs them as class S threat Bolt Uzumaki—" the world went quiet to Naruto. "—class A threats Tetsu Uzumaki and Hikari Yagami—suspected ties to prisoner zero-three-five-two—and an unknown Grass ninja and puppeteer."

Another explosion rocked the office. Naruto was standing now. Sound was cutting in and out. "—I don't care!" Darui was shouting. "Just—men—put them—now!"

The line went dead. Naruto shut down the program and stood. "ANBU, with me!"

In an instant, nearly a full thirty men and women garbed in the traditional black ops uniform were arrayed around him. With barely a thought, Kurama sent his chakra blazing through their body. Naruto pushed it outwards, feeling the chakra of his ANBU. A bubbling red chakra erupted around them, giving them the strength, speed, and endurance they would need to make the trip.

"Our mission is a to help prevent an attack upon the Cloud," Naruto barked, already leading his men to the secret passage used to quickly escape the building. "We need to have been there five minutes ago. Let's move. Double time."

"Yes, sir," they echoed him.

Naruto leapt from his office and landed atop another building nearly one hundred feet away. His ANBU were soaring through the air after him. There were cries of alarm, followed by sighs of relief, as his people saw their Hokage move amongst them. Naruto headed north. They would bypass the gates entirely. T&I would recognize his chakra signature, as well as those of his ANBU. There would be no—

Two more people joined the procession. Naruto suppressed a groan as his daughter and Sasuke's joined formation. What to do? He could order them to stay. They would disobey and follow him, of course. Damn kids. He could take them with him, give them a clone to ensure they stayed safe. Lend them his chakra so they could keep up. If Himawari found out he went to see—that was what he was dubbing it—Bolt without her, there would be chaos and pain in his future. Naruto knew it. Better to have his eye on them than to let them get in trouble. Naruto sighed.

Naruto steeled himself. He would save his son, and damn the consequences.

* * *

"—You all understand the plan, right?" Bolt asked his companions, as they sat around their campfire. There were murmured agreements. They were all, himself included, staring deeply into the flames.

Hikari was mechanically applying poisons to her needles. She had been eerily sullen and quiet since learning Eiji was both alive and condemned to death. Bolt was worried about her. Hikari got intense, sometimes, when she submerged herself in the fight. When there was nothing left but the hunter. It scared him, sometimes. He wasn't scared of her, of course, but he was frightened of how completely the Mist could break and rebuild someone. To turn a human into a hunting dog.

Tetsu was shaving with a straight razor. He was oddly calm. He had bathed and put his hair into an elegant topknot. His skin was oiled and glowed with the light of the fire. His sword sat at his side. Bolt had been watching him sharpen and polish it for the past hour as he explained their plan of attack, in detail, for the fifth and final time. He thought Tetsu was preparing for death. He didn't like that.

Hibiki stared into the flames, unseeing, though Bolt knew that Hibiki saw far more with his mind's eye than his body's. He was humming, though Bolt didn't think he knew it. A cheery sort of song. It rhymed, occasionally, with repeated lyrics. A child's hymn, maybe? Bolt didn't know. Hibiki was running his fingers across his ocarina in a gentle caress.

Tsuchigumo was the person Bolt could relate most to in their group's pre-battle preparation. The sorting of scrolls, the drawing of explosive tags and other miscellaneous seals. His puppets were stored in great scrolls that were as tall as Bolt himself was, and doubly as thick. They were carried by a large spider-like puppet atop its back in a specially made rack. They had flown to the Land of Wind to ask him for assistance, and the puppeteer had given it willingly and without hesitation. Tsuchigumo was healthier than he had been when they parted ways. Stood straighter, dressed nicer, put on weight. Closure with the One-Tail, probably.

The silence, though. The silence was heavy. The tension could be cut with a knife. They were all on edge. Bolt was on edge, though he didn't want to admit it. He was constantly going over the plan, going over what could go wrong, going over what he would have to change in the field if certain avenues of attack and escape were closed or opened. So many variables. Many of which were _people._ People he didn't understand.

And that damned buzz was back. Stronger than it ever was before. And it only got worse when he was planning. Bolt was going to murder Orochimaru if the snake had poked around his brain when he was unconscious. The silence was fucking worse because of it. Made the buzz ring in his ears as well as his mind. Made him irritable.

Bolt sighed. His thoughts shifted. How to break the silence? They were all treating this like it was life-or-death. Which it was, but the tension wasn't helping shift that scale towards life. People fought harder, fiercer, when they had something to live for. He let his eyes wander to the slumbering form of Suzaku...

What to talk about?

The answer came to him. The words escaped his lips. "What are your dreams?" Bolt asked.

They were good friends. The best of friends, Bolt thought. Their friendship was tempered by battle and blood. Tougher than any relationship he had ever had. Yet, aside from himself, none of his friends had ever spoken of their dreams. Their hopes for the future.

Hikari was lost, in a way, in that she was always on the hunt. Always looking for the next prey to take down. She didn't have the emotional support or skills needed to settle down for anything less.

Tetsu was easier. The swordsman had sworn his service to him. A vow of servitude that only ended when one of them died. And whilst Bolt was his master, he had never considered their relationship to be as such. Bolt wanted them to be friends. Long lost cousins, perhaps. But what made Tetsu, the man, tick? Bolt didn't know.

Hibiki was too new. Other than the obvious attraction, he was a blank. Bolt knew that natural sensors often had some sort of defect in their cerebral chakra pathways. It was how they saw the world through their mind's eye. It also, often times, overwrote something important in their brain chemistry. Bolt couldn't imagine it. Some vital part of him discarded at birth.

Tsuchigumo was, for the first time, free. Free of the One-Tail and free of his quest for vengeance. He had won. Gotten revenge for his family. Brought peace to his homeland. But what kept the puppeteer up at night? Was he like the others of his art? Always tinkering, always thinking, always planning the next project? The larger, stronger, more powerful puppet?

Bolt wanted to know.

They were all looking at him with varying degrees of surprise, from the question, and relief, from the silence and tension. Bolt smiled a little as everyone traded small looks. The unspoken "Who is going first?" was passed around.

Ultimately, it was Tetsu who broke the silence. "I live to serve you, my Lord," he said with the utmost honor and gravity.

Bolt chuckled under his breath. "Besides that," he waved Tetsu off.

Tetsu frowned, as if he had never considered such a thing. It was kind of sad, really. Bolt waited for him to answer. So did the others. "When I was a young boy, I dreamed of being the greatest swordsman in all the land," he finally said. "In your service, my Lord, perhaps that dream shall come to pass."

Bolt smiled. Simple and straightforward. How very like Tetsu.

Hibiki laughed a little. "My dream was nothing so grand," he said in that slightly musical voice he had. He brandished his ocarina. "My mother was a musician before we emigrated to Grass. She died, and I always said I'd follow in her footsteps. I guess I did, in a way."

"How did she die?" Tsuchigumo asked. Bolt flinched a little at the tactless nature of the question.

Hibiki took it well. "Cancer," he said with a shrug. "It was a year or two after the Fourth War. The world was still reeling. We couldn't afford the treatment, and even if we could, there weren't any hospitals and healers were at an all time low."

Tsuchigumo nodded slowly. Bolt figured the puppeteer latched onto the death of a family member. It was the one thing the two of them had in common. "Something happier, then," Hikari suggested. "What about your father?"

"Oh, the old man is fine," Hibiki said pleasantly. "He works for the Grass. Officially, he is a 'negotiator,' which really means he is good at eavesdropping and pretending he isn't in the room with other people."

Bolt nodded. He thought he detected a hint of bitterness there, but he wasn't one to speak. His relationship with his father wasn't the best.

"For the longest time," Tsuchigumo said, his voice steady and even. For once, he wasn't tugging at his clothes or twitching nervously. "I dreamt of vengeance for my family. With the One-Tail gone... I will help my country as best I can."

Bolt chewed on his bottom lip. He debated whether he wanted to ask the question. He sighed. It was possible one or all of them could die. Might as well. "Did you—do you have any other family?" Bolt asked.

Tsuchigumo shook his head. "No. Grandmother and grandfather died before I was born. Honored great grandfather Ebizō died shortly after the Fourth War—he taught my father puppetry, who taught me," he answered.

The silence reigned as everyone turned their eyes to Hikari. She was quiet and pensive. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "For the longest time, there was only the _Hunt_ —" Bolt could hear the emphasis on the word. "—and... I'm not sure what I want to do with my life."

The silence was back. A little less tense, and a little less awkward. Bolt sighed. He supposed he should share, too. If only because Hibiki and Tsuchigumo hadn't known his ambitions. Hibiki, because he was new; Tsuchigumo, because Bolt hadn't trusted him until their business together was concluded.

Bolt took a breath. "For the longest time," he began. "I just wanted my dad to love me; to be proud of me. It sounds stupid, I know. Childish, selfish. In the Land of Rain, though—" Bolt paused. "—I learned how fucked up the world is. How desperate people are. How much good I could do. How much I could help them, if I wanted to. My dream was, is, to help people... and, I guess, if that makes my dad proud of me... there's that too."

Hikari and Tetsu already knew, but Tsuchigumo and Hibiki were watching him closely. Bolt let a ragged sigh escape. "We should get some rest," he said, turning away from the fire and lying down on his sleeping bag.

Tomorrow would be a long day went unsaid.

* * *

Shock and awe.

Hit them hard, hit them fast, with overwhelming power and destruction. Sow fear in the ranks. Destroy anyone who got in their way. In and out as quickly as they were able to complete their mission. Salt the earth. Leave nothing but ash in their wake.

That was the plan.

Bolt narrowed his eyes as a gust of wind whipped at his face. He sat atop Suzaku as the great hawk ferried them across the mountains below. They were above the clouds, which were numerous in the Land of Lightning, where the air was thin and cold and the sun shone down on them with a stinging intensity.

Below, through the clouds, Bolt could see the mountains give way to sprawling rocky outcrops that were akin to miniature mountains. It was there, nestled between the mountains and the sea, that the Hidden Cloud resided. Their homes were built into the stone pillars with scaffolding connecting each one together. Atop the highest mountain sat the largest of these buildings. The office of the Raikage.

Towering antennas of steel were perched atop nearly every building. Every so often, arcs of electricity would leap from one antenna to the next as it travelled across the village. Bolt watched with his Byakugan. It was a fascinating technique. Ferrying information and supplies from one destination to the next faster than they could travel across land or sea. Bolt committed everything about the jutsu he saw to memory.

And even still farther below that, Bolt could see the sprawling underground prison beneath the ground. Nothing could hide from his Byakugan.

It was time.

Bolt held up his fist. Then splayed five fingers, dropping to four, then three, two, and one. He tapped Suzaku and gripped the hawk's plumage tightly. Suzaku dove. They were moving at an impressive speed, and the sudden change from moving horizontally to vertically threatened to make Bolt vomit. The dive only increased their speed. Had Bolt not been experienced in such high-speed movements, he would have been disorientated.

Suzaku beat his wings as they struck the ground, absorbing most of the impact. He let loose a savage cry and a gust of wind was set aflame by the eternal fires that burned on the hawk's wings and tailfeathers. The wall of fire surged outward and consumed several city blocks.

Bolt leapt to the ground, his dōjutsu picking out the first of the defenders to rise to the call. Hikari was right behind him. She crashed to the ground, leapt a safe distance away, before biting her thumb and pressing her palm to the ground. An eruption of wispy smoke heralded the arrival of a large jellyfish that could have easily been as large as his house. It was gelatinous and translucent, almost iridescent in the light of day, and Hikari leapt to stand atop it. Its tentacles reared up and stung two Cloud ninja that had been approaching. They dropped, twitched for a few moments, and then stilled.

Hikari hurled a barrage of needles into the midst of a squadron of Cloud ninja that had rounded the corner. They went down and did not rise.

Tsuchigumo unsealed his transport puppet, and with it, his veritable army of puppets he had been rebuilding ever since their battle with the One-Tail. Nearly five hundred strong in all. He quickly set about unsealing them and sending them off to perform their duties.

All the while, Bolt and Tetsu kept a watch on their allies and ensured none dared to attack them. Hikari needed a long-ranged vantage point to pick off targets with her needles. The jellyfish gave her that, and a defensive fortification. Tsuchigumo needed time to unseal his army and attach chakra threads to them before they could join the fray. Bolt and Tetsu gave them that time.

Bolt took down a three man squad of genin with surgical application of the Gentle Fist. He avoided killing them. They were too green and he had enough faces haunting his dreams already. A jōnin appeared in a burst of speed as he swung his sword at Bolt's neck. Bolt leaned back, kicked the man in the knee, slapped his sword aside, and then dispatched him with a powerful right hook.

The first wave of the puppet army rose up and darted off. Bolt counted the seconds off in his mind. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen... fifteen. Explosions rocked the ground as the puppets deployed masses of explosive tags.

Bolt turned to Tetsu and Hibiki and formed a clone. "Tetsu! Hibiki! Go!" The two of them ran after his clone as it led them to the subterranean entrance of the prison. It fell to them to find and rescue Eiji.

And it was his duty to keep the eyes and minds of the Cloud ninja on him. Bolt saw more and more fires erupt with his Byakugan. Cloud was mounting a response. Soon they would be swarmed with ninja. Suzaku sent another gust of fire towards a section of the village that had remained unscathed. More explosions rocked the ground as Tsuchigumo continued to plant and detonate explosives. Hikari commanded her summon to whip a tentacle into a Cloud ninja who leapt at her from above. He was sent flying.

Bolt froze.

"Lariat!"

His Lightning Armor sparked to life as he jumped skyward. He drug his feet up with him as two Cloud ninja, each with electricity dancing across their skin, swung their arms through the space he had just been standing in. Had he not moved, they would have decapitated him. Bolt twisted and kicked both men in the backs of their heads as he fell to the ground.

They were sent sprawling, but quickly rose to their feet with angry scowls on their faces and hands gingerly rubbing their skulls. "F! He can use Lightning Armor!" one of the men barked.

"Doesn't matter, E. A dog from the Leaf can't master the technique," F said. E nodded.

Bolt scoffed and upped the voltage of his armor. It was strange. He was so used to operating in his own little world. Now there were intruders in it. Their eyes, slow as they were, followed him as he darted forward. Bolt didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. He thrust his fist forward and pressed his index and middle fingers towards the chest of F. He raised his arms, blocked it, but screamed.

E came in swinging. Bolt ducked and weaved and evaded every punch. The man was more a brawler than a technical fighter. Bolt dismantled him, move by move, until he pressed his fingers to E's chest and sent lances of chakra through it. He fell, Lightning Armor dissipating, and did not rise.

F let loose a savage battle cry as he charged, his previous wound forgotten. Bolt had to up his voltage, again, as F threatened to invade his world a little more. Bolt ran through the forms for the Thirty-Two Palms. He was on the thirteenth strike when F couldn't keep up anymore. He fell and joined his comrade.

Bolt sighed as the world slowed to a crawl and he was, once again, the king of his little world. Tsuchigumo detonated the largest explosion still and brought down a large pillar of stone that had been supporting a major bridge. Bolt looked for his next opponent.

He found them. Hikari was already throwing wave after wave of needles at them. A squadron of three Cloud ninja, two men and one woman, who moved with speed and grace. All three wielded swords, and Bolt knew them. He distantly heard Hikari screaming at them.

Omoi, Samui, and Atsui. The three Cloud ninja who had taken Eiji. Bolt tensed, leaned forward, and sprinted. He would dismantle them. Set them up for Hikari. Let her take her vengeance. It would be so easy. It would—

The breath was drove from his lungs as a giant, meaty fist connected with his ribs. Bolt was bodily hurled into the face of a nearby stone pillar. He could hear the rock crack. Bolt coughed, and blood dribbled down his lips.

Someone was intruding upon his domain again. He didn't like it. Though, this time, he could understand the intrusion.

The Raikage.

The fifth Raikage was a severe looking man. Dark skin and eyes with sandy blond hair and a face that was forever set in a permanent scowl. He had two sleeves of tattoos which ran the length of both arms and—Bolt blinked. They weren't just tattoos. Cloud-style fūinjutsu? Interesting. And he stood, glaring at him, garbed in his own Lightning Armor.

Bolt grinned despite the fear he felt. He had to thank Orochimaru for imparting upon him the importance of recognizing when an opponent was out of his league. Bolt turned his gaze underground. He swore under his breath. With a thought, he brought his armor to its peak voltage without escalating to its second level of activation.

Tetsu and Hibiki had ran into trouble. He would buy them as much time as he could.

* * *

The Land of Lightning was a land of swordsmen. And yet, they did not even begin to compare to the warriors of his homeland. All the same, Tetsu relished the challenge. His Lord had tasked him with the most vital of duties in their assault upon the Hidden Cloud. Perhaps, even, his Lord had tasked him with the duty because it would lead him to duel worthy opponents.

Tetsu cut down two more guards, one wielding a katana and the other a large broadsword, with a single flourish of his blade. He grinned. His new blade, a gift from his clan, was a perfect match. An heirloom from ages long past, now his to wield. It felt more right than any weapon he had held thus far.

The prisoners in their cages cheered and roared as he and Hibiki cut a bloody swathe into the prison. His duty was simple: to guard Hibiki and slay their enemies. Hibiki was to search for Eiji Yagami, an old friend and teacher of his Lord. Tetsu was looking forward to seeing what kind of man had shaped his Lord's development.

Tetsu blocked a slash with the flat of his blade, batted the enemy's sword away, and then kicked them in the side of the knee. The joint snapped with an audible crack. The man screamed. Tetsu silenced him with an effortless swing of his sword as steel parted flesh. The man's partner, for they all travelled in pairs, erupted into a storm of electricity in an armor similar to the technique his Lord employed.

But it was a pale comparison to the sheer celerity his Lord moved with. Tetsu ducked a savage clothesline and evaded a retaliatory high kick. As the man brought his leg down, Tetsu allowed his sword to be set aflame as he dragged the edge across his opponent's chest. He went down, screaming, and desperately flailing as he tried to extinguish the fire. Tetsu ended his pain with a swift twitch of his sword.

Hibiki appeared beside him. "Nothing, so far," he said. His eyes darted back and forth between each of the prisoners, and occasionally, upwards to the battle Tetsu knew must be raging above. "None of the minds here know anyone by the name of Eiji Yagami or the Crimson Tide."

Tetsu nodded—threw himself forward and knocked Hibiki out of the way as a massive shuriken roared through the hallway. It spun so quickly that it ate through stone and shone with a sheen of chakra. Tetsu brought his sword up, bracing himself, as he blocked it with the flat of his sword. The shuriken spun, whining, and then stopped. It flew back to where it came from and Tetsu glared at the four man squadron barring their passage.

"How rude," Hibiki snarled.

The oldest man, tall and thin with blond hair and black eyes, contorted his fingers. An almost holy, blinding light filled the hall. Tetsu was forced to close his eyes or go blind. His ears twitched as he heard footsteps. To his right—to the _left._ Tetsu swung his sword and felt it catch against steel as a crystalline ring echoed through the underground prison. He heard the shuffle of feet and leaned backwards. Pain blossomed in his ribs as a shallow gash was cut across them.

Then—the light was gone. "Genjutsu!" Hibiki barked, and Tetsu realized he had been fighting a stone wall. The cut to his ribs, however, was very real. The pain cleared his mind. Tetsu swung his sword and released a controlled Flash that batted the enemy swordsman away. He was young, perhaps no older than his Lord. Blond hair swept backwards, held in place by his village's headband. A strange tattoo was branded upon his left cheek; two claws, just beneath the eye.

But it was the swords that drew his attention. Tetsu counted six in total; two in the boy's hands, a third gripped between his teeth, two held behind the knees, and a sixth cradled between the neck and shoulder. "This one shall be your opponent," Tetsu intoned, taking a stance.

"Toroi! Help Yurui! Tarui, with me!" the blond genjutsu user barked. He appeared to be their teacher, their commanding officer.

"Yes, sir," they spoke in unison.

So his foe was named Yurui. And the overweight boy, the one who wielded the large shuriken, was Toroi. Tetsu would remember their names after he slew them.

Hibiki began to play a soft, lilting tune. The battle begun.

Yurui shuffled forward, an awkward dance of blades and limbs. The sheer unorthodox style had Tetsu on the defensive. He was forced to duck and dodge and block. Each time he batted away one sword, another two took its place. And, in the close quarters of the underground hall, the shorter swords that Yurui employed were more effective than his katana.

Tetsu growled as he was slowly suffering death by a thousand cuts. He drew the mangled hilt of his previous sword and channeled his chakra through it using the Sabre technique. He formed a shortsword out of chakra and added it to his arsenal of slashes and stabs.

Toroi was more powerful than his stout frame belied. Not as titanic as his Lady's strength, but formidable all the same. He wielded his shuriken like a club, swinging slowly but with great strength. Tetsu directed his efforts towards evading Toroi and blocking Yurui.

Yurui came in for a shuffling slash with the two swords held behind his knees, and stumbled over thin air. Then, he turned and attacked the wall. Tetsu surged forward as Hibiki continued to play a shrill crescendo. Toroi moved to defend his comrade. He managed to deflect Tetsu's sword and lodged it in the wall before rushing forward to throw a powerful punch at him.

Tetsu let go of his sword, grabbed the boy by his forearm, and hurled him with a grapple fueled by his opponent's own strength. He slammed Toroi into the floor hard enough to crack stone. Tetsu heard a sharp snap and a whush of air. His foe would not be rising again soon.

Tetsu turned his gaze to Yurui. The boy was blinking in confusion as he attempted to orientate himself. Tetsu ran forward, hefting the discarded shuriken in one hand, and clubbed the boy in the chest. He made a feeble attempt to dodge, but could do nothing more than soften the blow. Tetsu heard ribs break and drew two gashes in the soft flesh beneath the ribs. Blood welled through the white jacket the Cloud ninja favored.

Yurui fell, and Tetsu took a moment to recover not only his own sword, but the six vibrato swords Cloud was famed for.

Then he moved to join Hibiki.

* * *

Hibiki closed his eyes, for they were of no use to him now. He focussed on the chakra in his lungs as he exhaled air through his ocarina. He played an old but simple piece that his mother had taught him. She said she had created it based upon the sound that the wind made when it crested the rice paddies in their homeland. A shrill moaning sound that was as beautiful as it was eerie.

And, all before him, the world was a sea of colors and shapes as the two genjutsu users did battle. Hibiki stood atop a mountain. It was far, far above the ground. Hibiki felt as if he could reach out and touch the clouds they were so close. The air was frigid and thin, and the snow continued to fall and threatened to bury him alive. And the cold. It was so very cold. Hibiki could see his fingers begin to blacken as the frost set in. His skin was a distinctly unhealthy shade of blue.

Hibiki had to admit, his opponent was talented. Theirs was a dance of imagination and subtlety as they both fought to ensnare each other and free themselves. Hibiki weaved his illusion with his mind's eye: towering willow trees and knee-deep muddy green water. Lily pads floating atop the water and hiding the depths from those above the water. His opponent was knee deep in the water, vines wrapped around him up to his waist, and was slowly but surely sinking into the depths.

Alas, Hibiki found himself as a disadvantage. He fought two opponents, not merely one, and he had to defend Tetsu. The girl—or boy, Hibiki couldn't be sure—was trying in vain to escape the illusion on her own. She was failing, and no amount of help from her teacher seemed to aid her in escaping. "Cee! Help!" Tarui screamed.

Hibiki smiled as Cee was forced to divert precious chakra and concentration to keeping his student above the water. She was neck deep and getting deeper every moment. That freed Hibiki to begin unravelling the cold nipping at his flesh. Hibiki reached out with his mind's eye, found Tetsu, and found him being pushed back. He began to weave an illusion to give him the advantage he needed to come to his aid. A simple illusion. One designed merely to switch the body's senses. Left became right, up became down, forwards became backwards.

It was slow to progress, but ensnared his target all the same. Satisfied Tetsu could handle himself, Hibiki returned his full attention to the two before him. Tarui had risen from the water, but for every inch she had rose, Cee had fallen. Hibiki took a deep breath and began to play with a fervor. They couldn't afford to dally here any longer. Bolt had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't confident in his ability to defeat the Raikage. At best, he could only hold him off for a five, perhaps ten minutes. They needed to have secured Eiji and be making their escape before then.

Or this entire mission would end in failure. Hibiki was not willing to risk Bolt's chakra for some criminal in a dungeon.

Hibiki grinned as Tetsu began to dismantle his opponents. He altered the illusion, letting his victims know what was happening to their friends. The girl let out pitiful cries of anger as the ugly child with the shuriken was taken down. Hibiki had the vines drag the both of them deeper into the water. Now they were both up to their chests in the muck.

The Cloud ninja with the six swords fell next. At that, Cee snarled in anger. The momentary lapse in concentration was all Hibiki needed. The vines dragged the both of them into the muddy depths. Hibiki watched as they flailed and kicked up water and mud. Bubbles from their screams frothed forth.

When the water was calm, Hibiki allowed the illusion to fade. In the real world, both his opponents had collapsed to the ground and were unconscious. A shame, really, that illusions couldn't kill.

"Let's go," Hibiki said. Tetsu was waiting for him to recover. "We've wasted too much time on them already. Bolt is—"

Hibiki paled. He whirled around. "Dodge—" he managed to gasp. A sky-blue bubble of chakra loomed behind them that was as wide and tall as the hall. Tetsu appeared in front of him as the bubble bulged.

The explosion made his ears ring and his vision go white.

Hibiki blinked and held his head in his hands. An ache pounded against his skull with every beat of his heart. He blinked and sucked in a deep breath. "Tetsu?" Hibiki said.

He got a grunt in return. "Oh, good," he said, pulling himself to his feet. "You're alive."

Hibiki found his eyes locked on the swordsman's left arm. Horribly burnt and blackened and hanging limply at his side, obviously broken. "Shit," Hibiki swore.

"This one shall be fine," Tetsu said with a deep, commanding voice. "My sword arm is intact."

Tetsu moved his right arm through its full range of movements with grace and ease. Hibiki nodded. "Alright," he said, moving deeper into the prison. "Let's go."

* * *

She would kill them. Hikari swore it. For dismantling the Crimson Tide, for all the years of blood, sweat, and tears she and Eiji put into the company. For capturing Eiji and locking him in a dungeon. For making her think he was dead.

Hikari would kill them.

The blond twins sent crescents of fire towards her—not a Flash; less powerful, less destructive. In a way, it made the attacks easier to handle. If she had been fighting Tetsu, Hikari would have lost or been forced to retreat long ago. She weaved hand signs and exhaled a wave of water that extinguished the fires. One of the swordsmen, the white-haired man, shot a lance of electricity at her as she did.

Hikari closed her lips and hurled a barrage of needles at the two twins as they tried to get closer to her. They were forced to leap away to avoid a combination of her needles and her jellyfish's tentacles. The electricity did not bother her summon. Another reason why she had chosen them, aside from their toxins and regenerative lifecycles, given their team's proclivity for Lightning Release.

There was an explosive, concussive blast of air that rocked the battlefield. Bolt and the Raikage clashed, again, their fists meeting each other. They were little more than blurs of blue-white chakra as they darted to and fro. Each time they clashed, everyone took notice.

Her jellyfish sent a tentacle whipping through the air. Hikari knew that there were thousands of miniature barbs growing upon the limb, each with the power to kill fifty grown men. All it would take is the slightest scratch.

The Cloud ninja were not so foolish as to let themselves be hit. Hikari hated that the Hidden Cloud was founded near the ocean and the Land of Water. They were probably familiar with the dangers of the more deadly species of jellyfish.

Hikari hurled another barrage of needles at the blond twins. They leapt, dodging, and were forced to defend themselves as a squadron of puppets emerged from an alleyway, chattering and running low to the ground. Each had a strange sort of scimitar blade for hands. They took sweeping slashes at their opponents. The Cloud ninja favored smaller, thinner blades. It was difficult to block a larger sword with them.

She weaved hand signs. Hikari spat a wave of water forth, shifted her sign into a different one, and sent arcs of electricity dancing across the surface of the water. The puppets were resistant to all but the highest of voltages. Ones that she was unable to produce without great strain. But the Cloud ninja? Not so much.

The white-haired man of the trio seemed to be resistant to the current. He waded forward and Hikari hurled a fistful of needles at him. He evaded them, narrowly, and sent a wave of fire from his sword that scorched her jellyfish and forced her to leap to safety. The creature was incapable of screaming, but its tentacles writhed in equal parts pain and bestial fury as the fire scorched its body. It lashed out, careful not to strike its master, and forced all three Cloud swordsmen to go on the defensive.

Hikari strode forward, clenching and unclenching her fists. In her left hand, she formed a blade from the Chakra Scalpel technique. In her right, she formed a fist so tightly that her knuckles were bone-white. In the back of her mind, she directed a small amount of Lightning Release chakra into her nervous system to augment her reaction speed.

The blond man of the twins was the first to charge forward. She swung her left hand at the sword he wielded in a vicious chop. Steel met flesh. Neither gave way. Hikari folded her hand around the sword, pushed it away, and threw her right fist into the man's forearm. The bone snapped with a thunderous crack that was drowned out by a scream of pure agony as shards of bone shot through flesh.

No, Hikari wasn't going to kill them—not yet. She was going to make them suffer.

"Atsui!" the blonde woman screamed in alarm. Hikari turned, and the woman was already upon her.

One of the puppets chattered excitedly as its jaw unhinged and it sent a spray of roaring fire at the woman. Hikari gripped the hilt of the sword she had stolen tightly. She hurled it at the woman as she leapt out of the way of the fire. It soared forward in an arcing, spinning fashion before striking her in the chest. Hikari didn't see blood; flat of the blade, of the dull reverse. Damn.

It did knock the wind out of her, though. Left her enough time to deal with Atsui—Hikari dodged a vicious, arcing wave of chirping electricity—and the white-haired man. Hikari spun on the balls of her feet and hurled two barrages of needles in quick succession at the sullen white-haired man. He had one hand on his sword, and the other gripping the collar of his downed comrade as he dragged him to safety.

Her jellyfish was doing a good job of harrying the duo as they made their hasty retreat. That left Hikari to deal with the blonde woman—in a more permanent fashion. She was doing her best to deal with the puppet army Tsuchigumo was raising in the heart of their village. Hikari swung a fist at her, hoping it would connect and shatter every bone in the woman's body. It didn't. She brought up her other hand, clad in the Chakra Scalpel, and blocked her sword.

Hikari brought her foot around in a wide sweep that forced the blonde woman to take several hurried steps back. Hikari stepped forward, sent a kick at her ribs, brought back her leg before her enemy could take a slash at it, and—

A squadron of five Cloud ninja leapt from the roof of a nearby building to join the woman. Hikari scowled and retreated to a more defensible position. Her jellyfish was on its last legs as it continued to whip furiously at anything that came near it. Another squadron of Cloud ninja were attacking it in systematic waves.

Tsuchigumo appeared next to her. "Trouble," he said. A nebulous aura of blue-white chakra was emitted from his back where Hikari knew he had augmented himself to control more puppets; the glow of countless chakra threads. "Reinforcements. Puppets aren't going to last long."

Hikari swore. She looked for Bolt. He was their only way to check on the rescue team. A brave team of two chūnin attacked her and Tsuchigumo. They paid for it with their lives as Tsuchigumo held them with his threads and Hikari pierced their necks with a single needle each.

She glanced across the battlefield. Found Bolt—as he shot through the air like an arrow and impacted the side of the mountain the office of the Raikage sat atop.

"Need to help," Tsuchigumo said. "Raikage stronger than previously thought. Much stronger."

"Right," Hikari huffed. She took a step forward. The white-haired swordsman was back. And he was _fast._ He appeared in a flash of blinding white light that was being emitted by another Cloud ninja. Hikari winced and blinked, against all instinct, in the face of her eyes being scorched from her skull.

She heard a scream. But not her own. Hikari blindly hurled four fistfuls of needles into the light. It abruptly stopped. The white-haired man had retreated, carrying two of his downed allies with him. Three more moaned pitifully as her poison did its dark work.

Hikari bit her lip as she found Tsuchigumo writhing on the ground. His left hand clutched desperately at the stump of his right arm. The limb had been severed at the elbow. She swore, knelt, and picked the puppeteer up. She slung him over her shoulder and grabbed the severed limb before retreating. While Hikari ran, she began to channel healing chakra into Tsuchigumo; stem the bleeding, numb the pain, knit the flesh closed...

* * *

Bolt grunted as he slammed into the face of the mountain. Fuck, that hurt. He hadn't even pried himself from the stone when the Raikage was in his face, again, and thrashing him. Bolt slapped away a punch. He had learned his lesson the hard way: you don't block a Raikage. Their punches hit you, broke your guard, broke your body, and then broke the land behind you. Strength that overwhelmed anything he had ever seen.

He went through the stances of the Gentle Fist as the two of them traded blows clinging to the side of the mountain. The Raikage had a mastery of the Lightning Armor that Bolt had not pursued. The ability to augment his nervous system, speed, and strength, in addition to his defenses. Bolt didn't use the augmented strength. He didn't need it. The Gentle Fist wasn't about raw physical power. It was all fluid grace and soft touches and crippling damage.

The Raikage was a force of nature. A raw physicality that Bolt had never seen in an opponent before. An odd, but powerful, style of fighting. Bolt wheezed as a kick caught him in the ribs and hurled him into the ground. He was up and moving as the Raikage crashed down on him. Bolt slapped away one punch, then two, and then moved in close and struck in rapid succession with the Gentle Fist. One palm, two, three, and four—the Raikage gripped him by the arm. His bones groaned at the pressure the larger man exerted with just his grip.

They fractured as the Raikage hurled Bolt over his shoulder and slammed him into the ground. Bolt coughed up blood as the air was driven from his lungs. His eyes widened as the Raikage brought his boot over his skull. Bolt rolled out of the way, and the stomp caused the rock beneath them to shatter and fracture.

Bolt grimaced as a sliver of stone bypassed his armor's defenses and cut his cheek. No more playing around. He upped the voltage and passed the threshold as his armor ascended to the next level of activation. His blond hair stood on end as static electricity coursed over his body. The Raikage displayed the barest hint of surprise at his mastery of a technique unique to the Hidden Cloud.

Bolt lunged forward, kicked the man in the knee, and closed two more chakra points in an instant. Then, the Raikage proved he too was capable of an even greater speed. His sandy blond hair took on a bestial, untamed style. Bolt grinned despite the danger. He couldn't help it. There was something primal, something exhilarating, about testing himself against worthy opponents.

The Raikage came at him with a telegraphed lariat at blindingly fast speeds. Bolt darted forward, ducked under it, and slammed his open palm against the man's chest. The Raikage was, for the first time, hurled backwards and into the massing army of his own men. Bolt thundered forward. By the time he reached the Raikage, he was already on his feet and ready for more.

The two of them fought amongst the formless sea of Cloud ninja. It was a serene, if eerie, place to continue their dance. Time had little meaning in the second level of the Lightning Armor. The outside world moved at a literal crippled crawl. The other Cloud ninja weren't even aware their leader was fighting among them. They stood, frozen, drawing their weapons and barking orders that Bolt was physically incapable of understanding at such speeds.

Bolt felt a tooth come loose and his vision darkened as the Raikage struck him across the cheek with a savage slap. Bolt repaid him by closing an additional two chakra points. He blinked away the darkness. He could see the path to victory: outlast the Raikage, slowly closing every chakra point, one or two at a time, until he could defeat the man.

Easier said than done.

Bolt winced as a kick caught him in the shoulder as he weaved to the side. His torso spun so quickly that his legs didn't have time to catch up. He felt, and heard, his spine protest the movement. Bolt was dazed as he was spun through the air like a top. The Cloud ninja were only now just realizing the enemy was in their midst. They turned with a glacial slowness, eyes wide and searching.

The Raikage continued to glare at him with that thinly veiled—not hatred. It wasn't as petty as hatred. More of a visceral disgust. A disbelief. The buzz in his mind. The disbelief that Bolt would dare to think himself a worthy enemy of the Cloud. The buzz was louder. That he would dare to think himself worthy of fighting the illustrious Raikage.

Bolt grit his teeth and surged forward. He could fight dirty—he was a rogue ninja. He headed not for the Raikage, but one of the rank and file Cloud ninja. A woman only a handful of years older than him. Her hair stood on end from the ambient charge the two of them emitted with their Lightning Armor.

The Raikage snarled—and it was a strange sound, because Bolt couldn't physically hear anything outside of an extremely high pitch with his Lightning Armor so amped up. The Raikage, it seemed, could go even faster. Bolt grunted and wheezed as the older man elbowed him in the arm with such force that Bolt ragdolled as he was bodily thrown across the battlefield.

There was a shrill, distant cry as he impacted something soft and unbearably hot. A cloud of nebulous smoke erupted from his back. Bolt scowled as he realized the Raikage had hurled him into Suzaku with such force that his summon was forced back to the mountainous home of the hawks. The Raikage was—

The Raikage was fighting dirty. He stood, pointing his index and pointer finger at Hikari as she limped away from a group of Cloud ninja carrying... Tsuchigumo. Oh, shit. He was missing an arm. And—and black electricity was sparking along the arm of the Raikage.

Bolt reached deep inside himself and upped the voltage of his armor to unprecedented heights. He thundered across the battlefield, grabbed Hikari and Tsuchigumo, and leapt skyward. Black electricity ripped through the air with an audible crack of thunder. It struck the stone and sent a fountain of molten rock spewing upwards after him. Bolt shuddered. He knew that his armor would not protect him against that kind of attack.

Bolt set Hikari and Tsuchigumo down atop a nearby building that was relatively safe and free of enemies. They hadn't even realized he had moved them, yet, and probably wouldn't for some time—at least, from his frame of reference.

Bolt slammed down before the Raikage, a snarl of his own to match, and the two of them met in their dance once more. The Raikage smirked. It was an intimidating visage when combined with the man's beard. "You're immature," the Raikage said, even as the two of them traded blows. "Attack my people, and I'll attack yours."

The sound of talking was odd. Bolt wasn't used to hearing people talk at this speed. He hadn't met anyone capable of the cognition. The buzz. Stay focussed. Bolt slapped away a punch and kneed the Raikage in the stomach. Bolt staggered backwards as the Raikage headbutted him and broke his nose.

Bolt swung his hand at the Raikage and projected a Chidori across the battlefield. The Raikage leapt, cleared the blade, and landed safely on the other side. Bolt charged forward, cupping his free hand, as a Rasengan formed.

Faster than Bolt thought possible, the Raikage raised a hand and pointed at him with a single finger. A beam of energy leapt between the finger and the still-forming Rasengan—Storm Release. The Rasengan unravelled into a concussive explosion of light and pressure that left Bolt reeling.

Bolt staggered backwards as he was forced to block a punch. He swore he could feel his bones _bending._ Bolt grabbed the man's wrist, moved the arm away and broke his guard, and then thrust his free hand into the Lightning Armor just above the heart of the Raikage. His hand penetrated an inch, maybe two, before it was stopped.

Bolt swore and leapt backwards. He was assisted by a kick from the Raikage. Bolt snarled, ready to leap back into the fray—he smiled. With his Byakugan, he could see Hibiki in the distance as he emerged from the underground prison. Tetsu was right behind him, wounded, but alive, and behind him was a face that he thought he would never see again. Eiji, tall and proud, if a little thin from the years in prison, with the same wide grin.

Then the prisoners began to flood into the streets of the Cloud. They had done it. They had actually won. They attacked Cloud, fought off its defenders, and rescued Eiji. Bolt grinned as his heart beat faster at the elation victory brought. Not even the punch of the Raikage could dampen his mood.

Now they just needed to gather their team and retreat. Bolt hoped he had enough chakra to summon Suzaku. He hoped Suzaku hadn't been greatly injured when he slammed into the hawk.

"You're nothing but a petulant child if you think you've won here," the Raikage intoned.

Bolt grunted, catching a punch to the shoulder that he was pretty sure broke something. He slapped away the next punch and blocked two more chakra points.

"It doesn't matter if you live or die, escape or be captured. Your life is over after this. A snotty terrorist lashing out at the world because daddy doesn't love him," the Raikage said.

Bolt growled in anger. He upped the voltage of his armor. Their dance became blinding in its speed. Even with the augmented sense of perception and reflexes, each strike was nearly too fast for the eye to follow. Bolt punched the Raikage square in the mouth. He grinned as he heard teeth crack.

"You've threatened global peace, and for what? Because your father didn't have time for you? Wake up, Bolt. You're not the only one in the world whose family wasn't functional," the Raikage said.

Anger began to supersede logic—the buzz, right. Don't let him get to you. The Raikage was using his experience to unsteady him. Make him angry. Make him make a mistake. Bolt wouldn't.

The prisoners were rioting in the streets. Hibiki, Tetsu, and Eiji were making their way to the designated extraction point. Hikari was carrying Tsuchigumo there as well. Everything was unfolding exactly as it had been planned.

Bolt kicked the Raikage in the shin and then ran with all his might. He bit his thumb and began to weave hand signs. Boar—his friends were in sight. Gathered together. Dog—Tetsu was using liberal applications of Flash to keep the Cloud ninja at bay. Bird—Tsuchigumo lent his aid with the last remnants of his puppet army. Monkey—Hikari was walking towards Eiji; he had his arms outstretched as if to hug her.

Monkey—something was faster than he was. For the first time in his life, Bolt was too slow. A vaguely humanoid blur wreathed in darkness. Bolt felt his heart stop as the blur came to a stop before his friends. The Raikage, garbed in black electricity that formed his Lightning Armor.

"No!" Bolt screamed, as the Raikage raised his fist. He took one look between Hikari and Eiji before turning to face the very reason they had attacked Cloud.

The Raikage fried Eiji with a wave of black electricity.

Hikari was screaming. He couldn't hear it—he was thankful—because he was sure the sound would have haunted him until his dying day. Bolt could see the primal rage and grief on her face as Hikari ripped her mask off and fell to her knees. She gathered Eiji in her arms, hands glowing with the green chakra of the Mystic Palm, but Bolt already knew.

Eiji was dead.

The Raikage couldn't win, so he would take the one thing, one person, that they had came for.

"You fucking bastard!" Bolt screamed, lightning coursing through his veins as he lunged at the Raikage.

As fast as he was, enraged, the Raikage was even faster. Wreathed in black electricity, the Raikage ducked under his arm and grabbed him by the waist. Bolt was hoisted skyward and he winced as the crushing grip of the Raikage caused his hip to protest. "It's over," the Raikage intoned. "Liger Bomb!"

The buzz drowned out everything else. Bolt realized he was going to die. In the same instant the Raikage started to slam him to the ground, Bolt released his Lightning Armor and projected a single chakra chain that wrapped around the man's neck.

The Raikage slammed him into the rock. It hurt like a bitch, and his mind went white for a moment, but he was alive. Bolt clenched a fist and _squeezed._ He heard the satisfying gasp of pain and alarm as the Raikage grasped at the chain constricting around his neck with both hands.

Their eyes met; black eyes with cold disgust and violet with burning hate. Bolt squeezed. He was going to choke the life out of the Raikage if it was the last thing he did. The Raikage seemed to realize it. He fell atop Bolt, no longer struggling with the chain, and instead his hands found their grip on Bolt's neck.

Bolt grinned ferally as his chain continued to constrict the Raikage. His dark skin was turning an interesting shade of purple from the lack of air. Bolt imagined his own face was doing something similar. Even bereft of his Lightning Armor, the Raikage was a mountain of a man compared to him. His body's natural strength dwarfed Bolt.

Bolt threw his free hand at the Raikage, punching him in the ribs. The Raikage didn't so much as flinch, let alone released his grip.

His vision was starting to go dark. Bolt squeezed, one last time, and heard the Raikage let out a pitiful gasp of panic. Bolt glared at the Raikage, and the Raikage glared right back at him. There was an understanding, there. A clash of iron wills that could not be bent, only broken. One of them was going to die. That was how their fight ended. It was destiny.

Bolt saw his vision go black. He could still feel, still think, so he wasn't dead. But he was dreadfully close to passing into unconsciousness. He tightened his grip. Then—

Air rushed into his lungs and his vision blinked back into focus. Bolt coughed, the sound coming up wet and hard. He struggled to get his feet underneath him as kicked away from the ground. His chakra chain had been destroyed. That meant the Raikage was—

"Dad?" Bolt asked, not believing his eyes.

His eyes darted between his father, wreathed in golden chakra, to his mother, eyes full of unshed tears and fingers nervously interlaced. His heart hammered in his chest. Himawari was there, too, with Sarada at her side. His team was down. Either unconscious or bound. Kakashi was there, along with his teacher from the Academy, Shino, and his father's friend, Kiba. With them was a host of several tens of ANBU operatives. The Raikage was being attended to be a number of Cloud ninja whilst he gave Bolt a deathly glare.

He was surrounded.

Bolt swallowed and took a step backwards. There was nowhere to run. In front and to either side were enemies. Behind him was a sheer cliff that gave way to the churning ocean below. It was nearly a three hundred foot drop. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Bolt slipped into a defensive Gentle Fist stance.

"Bolt," his father said, with such emotion and affection that, for an instant, Bolt was disarmed.

The simple word made his heart clench painfully.

"Come home, please," his father said, reaching out to him. "I—I'm sorry. I know I haven't—I'm not good at this."

Bolt felt his heart beating uncomfortably fast in his chest. The net was closing in around him. He had to get out. He had to get free. Keep running and running. Run until he outran the world. How to get out? How to get free?

"We can fix this," his father was saying. "I—I do love you, Bolt. Just come home."

How to get out? How to get free? Bolt looked to the left. His path was barred by a stern Kakashi Hatake. To his right? The Raikage. In front of him, his family and friends. There wasn't a way out. No way to escape this situation. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The world had caught up with him, just like the Uzukage had told him it would.

Fine.

But Bolt wouldn't—couldn't—go down without a fight. His Lightning Armor sparked to life with a new intensity. His father had been speaking. His words were drowned out. Bolt couldn't understand him. He never could. Both of them understood: no words, only fists. His father seemed to understand. He said a few words. Everyone—Cloud included—backed away. He stepped forward.

Looking at him now, Bolt could _see_ that his father was powerful. Wreathed in golden and black chakra. Bestial slitted eyes. And underneath it all, Bolt could see the vague storm of demonic chakra that fueled the transformation. It was similar to the One-Tail's, but different. The same source, but—different composition. Instead of the rabid hate, anger, and spite of the One-Tail, the Nine-Tails was almost peaceful.

It was hard to describe. Tired? Yes, tired was a good word. A hate that burned so bright it burnt until there was nothing left, not even itself. All that was left was a tired, resigned inner peace. A contented feeling of peace.

Their clash began with a concussive blast of air as Bolt thrust his fist forward to meet his father's. The Gentle Fist struck true, but it didn't matter. The sheer power behind the chakra of the Nine-Tails could not be contained by the Gentle Fist. Bolt closed a chakra point, only for the demonic fox to force it back open. That couldn't be healthy for the body.

His father responded with a sweeping kick to his side. Bolt caught it in his forearm and was sent tumbling across the battlefield. He was on his feet in an instant. His father was fast, too. Even without the Lightning Armor, he could exist in the little world only the Raikage had invaded before.

Bolt dashed forward, quickly going through the movements of the Eight Trigrams: Sixty-Four Palms. He was on the eleventh strike when his father swept his feet from under him with a blindingly fast kick. Bolt braced himself with one arm and lashed out with both legs as he kicked his father in the chest.

He was strong, too. The kick didn't even make his father flinch. Didn't even move him an inch backwards. It felt like kicking solid stone. His father swatted him with one arm that had a clawed paw instead of a hand.

Bolt bounced off the ground, grunting in pain, and leapt to his feet. He lunged forward. Traded a punch for a kick, two punches for grapple that hurled him into one of the few buildings not reduced to ash by Suzaku.

Bolt pulled himself from the rubble and gasped for breath. A headache pounded against his skull with each beat of his heart. He reached deep within his waning reserves of chakra and amped his armor up. The world quieted and slowed.

Their second clash was no different than the first. His father was a flash of gold as he moved. Bolt felt that primal awe and fear that he knew many people must have felt before him and his speed. His father was a brawler. No rigid stances or flowing grace like the Gentle Fist. He left himself open and attacked with overwhelming might.

Bolt felt his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly.

He lunged forward and his father caught him in the chest with a kick that sent him sailing skyward. Bolt weaved hand signs. He spat a wave of water forth. His armor sent arcs of lightning dancing across the water as it descended. His father didn't even need to use hand signs—he just inhaled, then exhaled a roaring sea of fire that superheated the water into steam. Then he sent the steam billowing over the crags and into the sea so that it didn't burn any of the watchers.

Bolt cupped his hands as he fell. He formed a Rasengan, then two. He hurled one as he fell, watching as it became nothing more than a vague wave of whirling chakra that sailed through the air. His feet touched the ground. The first was defused as an arm of golden chakra erupted from his father and formed a giant Rasengan in front of him as a shield. Bolt darted around his father and hurled the second Rasengan. His father shifted, ever so slightly, and placed the giant Rasengan between him and the second Rasengan. It detonated, like the first, in an invisible explosion of pressure.

His father stood there, holding the giant Rasengan, an eyebrow raised and the smallest hint of a grin turning his lips upwards.

Bolt held a hand aloft and began to pour chakra into the technique. A normal Rasengan, bloated until it was as tall as he was and four times as wide. He felt his own small grin form. An unspoken agreement between two opponents.

Both dashed forward; one a blur of gold, the other a blur of blue. One giant Rasengan clashed with the other. An ungodly whine made Bolt wince. The natural whirring noise the Rasengan emitted was amplified one hundred fold as the two techniques clashed. Bolt dug his heels into the ground, grit his teeth, and pushed forward. He could feel his father doing the same.

The vague spherical shape of the Rasengan warped until it was more like an egg than a ball. The whine reached an unbearable pitch. His Rasengan came undone at the seams as his father's technique prevailed. The explosion of light and pressure was as powerful as it was disorientating. In an instant, Bolt went from standing at the edge of the city to sailing over the crags and into the ocean far, far below.

He had only a moment to panic before a giant arm of golden chakra lashed out, grabbed him, and dragged him back to solid ground. Bolt expected to be thrown into the waiting throes of enemies. Instead, he was deposited on the ground. His father was there; watching, waiting. A small smile on his lips.

Their fight wasn't over. Not yet.

Bolt grinned and stood. He let his Lightning Armor fade with an audible crack of thunder, freeing his chakra and concentration, and held his hand in front of his face. He clenched his fist. The state of mind needed came easily to him, this time. Bolt exhaled and lashed out with his arm as he projected a single chain of chakra.

The Adamantine Sealing Chain struck true. His father reeled as the spearhead of the chain raked across his chest. Bolt saw a mass of roiling chakra be snuffed out. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Like trying to empty a lake one cup of water at a time.

But it was progress.

Bolt threw his arm back and forth as he whipped at his father. The element of surprise faded. His father began to dance to and fro as he evaded the chain with a frightening speed. Without his armor to augment his senses, it was nearly impossible to follow his father's movements with the human eye. Bolt began to coil the chain, forming loops upon loops.

Behind him. Bolt turned, looping the chain into a vague circle. The chain pulsed with chakra that created a thin barrier of violet chakra between the links. His father's fist met the barrier, shattered it, and struck him in the stomach. Bolt wheezed as he was knocked to the ground.

Bolt stood with a resolute grin. His chain was already reeling itself back in as the two of them prepared to clash again. His father appeared before him in a blur of gold chakra. Bolt looped the chain around his face. It caught him in the bridge of his nose. The speed and the unyielded chain caused his father to fall backwards. He caught himself, poised to lunge forward, and leapt.

Bolt staggered backwards and narrowly avoided a fist. His chain coiled into another shield as projected another barrier. This time, the barrier held, ever so shortly. Then it cracked, like glass, and his father's kick struck him in the arm.

Now that he had fought him, there was a certain style in his father's movements that Bolt could recognize. There was no need for defense, because nothing could hurt him. His punches and kicks often went wide, yet showed no hesitation. As if, even if they missed, they would still strike true.

Bolt recovered and sent his chain out in a vicious whip. His father blocked it with one arm and Bolt had it constrict around the limb and dug the spearhead into the shroud of golden chakra. His father bled chakra instead of ichor.

And his father was smiling broadly; happily.

And, Bolt realized, he was too.

His father yanked his arm free, shattering the links of the chain, and walked forward.

Bolt felt his heart flutter in his chest as he heaved for breath. He hadn't realized how empty he was with exhaustion. There was only the fight. Nothing more, nothing less.

His father stopped a few feet before him, smiling broadly, and raised his arm. Bolt stared at the proffered fist. After a moment of hesitation, he raised his own arm and pushed his fist against his father's. He smiled brightly.

That was all it took. The golden shroud of chakra evaporated and his father pulled him into a tight hug. His mother was there, too, in the next instant. She was shorter than him, now. Bolt hadn't realized how tall he had gotten. She was running her fingers through his hair and crying. His sister had her arms wrapped around his ribs and was squeezing him painfully tight. His ribs protested, but Bolt ignored them. A hug from his precious sister was worth any amount of pain.

Bolt wrapped his arms around his family as best he was able to. All four of them were crying.

And, for the first time, Bolt was truly happy.

He didn't know how long the four of them stood there, huddled together and trying to hold onto some semblance of normalcy and family and love.

Bolt wiped at his eyes and they gazed past his family and towards those watching them. They found Sarada. She was smiling, crying, standing awkwardly between him and the crowd. As if she wanted to join them, but didn't want to intrude.

And, behind Sarada, his friends had woken up. Tsuchigumo was unconscious, still, due to his missing arm. Tetsu gingerly held his broken and burnt left arm. Hibiki was watching Bolt carefully. And Hikari—Hikari was staring at the charred corpse of Eiji with something between devastation and hatred.

She was empty.

Bolt swallowed.

One of his dreams had come true. He could feel it. His family was whole once more. He could go back to the Leaf, serve his time in prison—perhaps for the rest of his life—but his family would be whole. He would be happy. Truly happy.

But what about the people he would leave behind? Hikari and Tetsu? Hibiki and Tsuchigumo? The people of the Land of Rain and the Land of Wind? What about all the other injustices of the world? Who defended those who kneeled when they outnumbered those who stood? Who was willing to do the right thing, even if it was the hard thing?

Who stood for justice?

Who if not for him?

The Uzukage told him he had great power and an even greater potential. Was it not his duty to use that power, that potential, to help people? Was it not his duty to sacrifice his happiness to ensure that peace, that justice, that _happiness_ reigned supreme in all the land?

Bolt choked. Realization hit him so hard that he felt his knees grow weak.

Wasn't that what his father was doing?

It was.

His father sacrificed so much to be an excellent Hokage. So that he could protect the Leaf from harm. So that his people, his family, however small, could be happy. To not live in fear.

Yes, Bolt understood. He and his father were more alike than he knew. He had been blinded to it. They were two sides of the same coin. At odds with each other over a simple lack of communication.

Now he understood.

Bolt steeled himself and crushed his heart. His happiness turned to ash. In that instant, he felt untethered; unanchored. Life was not worth living. He lashed out and held fast to his ideals; his dream, his justice. It held the storm of crushing sadness at bay. Let him breathe.

Was this how his father felt?

A desolation so absolute that it left only misery, agony, and isolation in its wake. A darkness that blot out the sun. The weight of the world that settled on his shoulders. It was crushing. Bolt couldn't stand it. He didn't know how his father could whether the storm; the crushing weight.

But Bolt knew he had to be stronger. He had to be better. He had to be perfect.

Because if he wasn't, who would? Who else would willingly consign themselves to this void of misery?

No one.

Bolt leapt away from his family, his happiness, and stood at the edge of the crags overlooking the ocean. A pressure began to build in his right arm.

"—Bolt?" Himawari stuttered. He saw realization dawn in her eyes, wet with tears both shed and unshed. She understood. The pain he saw, then, nearly made him falter. Had he not crushed his heart, he would have.

Bolt found Hibiki with his eyes. He reached out with his chakra. Willed him to understand. Wished he would understand with all his being. Compelled him to keep their group together. Keep them alive. Keep them safe.

"Bolt? What are you doing?" his father asked, heartbroken, as he took a single step forward.

Bolt smiled, for the last time, and fell backwards. He thrust his palm forward, a powerful blast of wind from his Vacuum Palm sent him careening into the ocean far, far below. As he fell, he pressed two fingers to his ribs and wet them with his own blood.

He struck the water, hard. Something broke. The waves dragged him into the depths. Darkness bled into his vision.

Bolt closed his eyes.

* * *

Their fight was a thing of unspeakable beauty. Some nameless quality that Sarada couldn't identify with words. Perhaps there were no words for it? They fought; they understood. She could see the silent dawning of understanding the more the battle progressed. The small smiles that threatened to overtake their stern countenances.

Sarada learned more in those five minutes than she had her entire life.

She found their smile was infectious. Everyone seemed to understand. Himawari was smiling. Hinata was smiling. Kakashi, underneath his mask, Sarada could tell was smiling. Even the damned Raikage, sullen as he was, had a small quirk to his lips.

Sarada couldn't help it when she smiled too. She couldn't help the tears when the fight ended. When the Uzumaki family was made whole once more. She wanted to be there, too, but didn't want to intrude. It wasn't her place. She settled for smiling and crying and basking in the happiness.

Her crimson eyes met Bolt's blue. There was a wordless thanks in those blue eyes. An acknowledgement. Then his eyes moved past her. She knew, without turning, what he was looking at.

And Sarada watched. She saw the moment happiness turned to ash.

It all happened in an instant. Nobody understood what had just happened; what had just been decided.

Before she could blink, Bolt was gone.

"Bolt!" the Hokage screamed.

The Hokage became a living inferno of golden chakra. He shot forward, fast as lightning, but it was too late. Bolt was already gone. "Kurama!" the Hokage howled. A vulpine construct of chakra erupted, towering above him, as he leapt. Nine spheres of inky darkness manifested and trailed behind him.

Then the ocean _rose._

Sarada couldn't comprehend it. The ocean rose up off its bed and shot skyward. So massive that the sun couldn't shine through the depths. A shadow fell over the Hidden Cloud. "Bolt!" Sarada heard the Hokage scream. "Hinata! Help! I can't sense him!"

Himawari and Hinata were standing on the edge of the crags. Their eyes a stormy violet color. They gazed into the abyss, and the abyss gazed back into them. Sarada could see the dawning panic.

The hokage began to dismantle the ocean, piece by piece, each large enough to flood the entirety of the Leaf. Sarada found her eyes tracing each and every inch of water. Looking for a flash of blue eyes or blond hair.

She didn't find him.

Minutes passed. Then hours. The sun began its descent. The moon rose. Darkness reigned, and yet still they searched without end. More hours passed. Himawari collapsed, unconscious. Her mother followed a few hours later. The sun was high in the sky when the Hokage sorted through the last piece of the ocean.

She could see the devastation in his eyes as he fell back to the earth. The golden chakra and spheres of darkness faded to nothing.

And in the eyes of the Hokage she so admired, Sarada saw only one thing.

Defeat.

Bolt was dead.

Sarada cried tears of blood.

* * *

" _Today, the world was shocked as the Hidden Cloud was attacked by a team of rogue ninja terrorists operating under the leadership of Bolt Uzumaki of the Leaf. The terrorists, numbering five in total, launched a coordinated attack at approximately twelve thirty this afternoon using a large bird summon that was used to set between four to six city blocks aflame in the heart of the city."_

" _Shortly thereafter, a number of waves of explosions rocked the city and destroyed as many as one hundred homes and businesses. Estimates peg the damage at a cost of one point four billion ryō."_

" _The death toll has reached a staggering two hundred and thirty-eight men and women, including civilians caught in the blast radius—the single largest casualty numbers since the end of the Fourth War. As the wreckage is cleared, more bodies are being discovered. Officials estimate the final death toll to be approximately three hundred."_

" _Thankfully, a joint effort between the Raikage and the Hokage resulted in the capture of A-Class threats Hikari Yagami, a former hunter ninja of the Mist, and Tetsu Uzumaki, a samurai from the Land of Iron. Also arrested was rogue ninja of the Grass, Hibiki Otonari, who had been declared missing nearly two months ago, in addition to an unknown puppeteer from the Land of Wind operating under the alias 'Tsuchigumo,' a known terrorist element among the people of the Land of Wind."_

" _There are confirmed reports by eyewitnesses at the scene that S-Class threat Bolt Uzumaki perished in the fighting. With his death, it seems the era of unrest has met its end."_

" _Our hearts and thoughts go out to the victims of this senseless attack. This is Daichi Akamatsu for Channel 4 News."_

* * *

 **A/N:**

TND has passed 700 reviews! And nearly 300 followers. Thank you for all the support. This chapter was the longest to date by nearly 3k words.

This chapter marks the end of part one. There will be a brief interlude, followed by a time-skip. Then part two will begin.

For those needling me about Hikari and the forgotten summoning contract, this one is for you. I wanted her summoning clan to be something related to water, poison, and healing/regeneration. Chiefly among the candidates for her summons were: salamanders, jellyfish, various venomous fish, and sea snakes. My top two were between salamanders and jellyfish. Jellyfish won out in the end because of reasons.

Boruto chapter 5 states that Gaara is the adoptive father of Shinki. So that's cool, I guess. He still looks a lot like Kankurō. Bastard son, maybe? Also, my god, the artwork has gotten so much better. The women still look like ass, though, and Himawari still looks like a toddler, but the artist is improving.


	57. Chapter 57 -- Sarada Interlude

Sarada stared at her reflection in the window. She watched, carefully, so that her reflection wouldn't move, as a tear of blood ran down her cheek. Her eyes found their ghostly counterpart in the window.

Four concurrent curves of darkness that spiralled around her pupil before converging; like four arms of a whirlpool.

Even her eyes reminded her of _him_ now.

Sarada blinked and wiped at her cheek. Her sleeve came away stained red. She was going to have to wash that out. She focussed on her Sharingan. Willed it to return to normal. She couldn't—she couldn't keep dwelling on the past. Her eyes changed when she did. What would normal people say? What would they think?

She stared at the sheet of paper on her desk. It had been filled out for a few days. All she needed to do was sign it. Sarada just couldn't find the will to do so. She couldn't find the will to do much of anything, really.

There was a knock at the door. "Sarada?" her mother called out. "Honey? Are you okay?"

"—'M fine!" Sarada managed to choke out. She knew that she had done a poor job. She sounded hysterical.

"Okay," her mother said. "If you need anything, just ask."

Sarada blinked away more tears of blood. A single drop fell on the sheet of paper, right next to the words _"Special Assassination and Tactical Squad Application."_ She wiped at her eyes, thoroughly ruining her sleeves, and picked up her pen. She was gripping it so tightly the metal dented under her grip.

With a flourish, she signed her name.

Sarada needed to forget. Needed to find some shred of normalcy in her life. _He_ was gone. Himawari was gone in all but body. Sarada couldn't rely on her friend. Not when Himawari was hurting even more than she was. So she clung to her dream. She dreamt of being Hokage. Of wearing the Hat. And she swore to herself, she would become the Hokage. She would never let another _him_ be born again. A casualty of the office. A casualty of peace. How ironic. They were born and lived in the most peaceful time in recorded history and _he_ was driven to death because of it.

Sarada laughed.

* * *

Sarada walked through the streets of the Leaf in a vague daze. It had been a week since she managed to complete application to join ANBU and she was working herself up to turning it in. She was dreading it. Dreading it because it would mean seeing the Hokage—in person. She would be standing across from him, desk separating the two of them, and she would have to look in his eyes and see the utter despair of a parent that had lost a child.

Sarada didn't think she could do it. She didn't want to think that her idol, her hero, was anything less than human. She wanted to be able to waltz into the office, see the bastion of strength and justice she always saw, and leave knowing that her home was safe and everything was right in the world.

Sarada realized she had been standing in the city square for some time. She was getting odd looks. She blinked. Her eyes felt painfully dry. She guessed it was better than crying tears of blood. That would get her more than a few odd looks. It wasn't _exactly_ common knowledge what a Mangekyō Sharingan was—Sarada wasn't even sure what her new eyes even did—but enough people knew that all it would take is one glance and a cry of alarm for the village to be in a panic, and then the Union, after that.

Not that she gave a shit about what the Union thought. Not after they drove her best friend to _his_ death. _He_ did break the law, _he_ did sow chaos in the pursuit of _his_ goals, but _he_ had a good heart. Sarada knew that. Himawari knew that. Anyone who knew _him_ knew that. _He_ was trying to help, in _his_ own messed up way. It was a part of _him_ that she loved, even if it only emerged after _he_ left her and the Leaf behind.

Sarada blinked and she was standing at the front desk. The secretary was staring at her, pale, mouth gaping as his jaw worked up and down. Sarada frowned, reached up and wiped at her cheeks, and her hand came away bloody. Shit—she blinked, forcing her eyes to recede, and gave him the best smile she could muster. "I have an appointment with the Hokage at three forty-five," she said in a sweet way that seemed to calm the secretary down.

He nodded a little shakily and pointed her towards some chairs. "Have a seat. He'll be with you in just one moment," he said.

Sarada took a seat. _One moment_ is apparently a lot longer than it actually was. Sarada watched the clock. After three minutes, she started to fidget. She noticed the secretary was giving her more odd looks. She debated talking to him about what he had seen, or what he thought he had seen, but decided against it. He was the secretary of the Hokage. He wouldn't gossip if he knew what was best for his career—not to mention his health.

People who betrayed the confidence of their Kage usually ended up disappearing and nobody asked questions about where they had gone or why they had suddenly left. Not that Sarada thought the Hokage was that cold; that ruthless. He was a just, good Kage. Not one for cloak and dagger and disappearances in the night. Though, who knew? She was about to find out. ANBU were the people who made _problems_ disappear.

The door chimed as it allowed another person entrance. Sarada stilled as Himawari wandered into the office. Their eyes meet, and that unspoken, shared devastation passed between them. Sarada smiles weakly. It's more of a pleasantry than a display of emotion. Himawari returns it. Her lips quirk upwards in a vague sort of way that might be able to be construed as a smile if you caught it in your periphery vision.

Sarada felt her smile wither and die. Right. Sarada might have lost her childhood crush, but Himawari had lost her brother. They were closer than normal siblings. _He_ sort of stepped up as the man of the house when their father was being the Hokage. _He_ played with her, cheered her up, even going as far as skipping school and hanging out with _his_ friends just to be home with her in case she needed him.

Sarada had been jealous of her, actually, when she was younger. She wanted that kind of attention from _him_. Sarada remembered following _him_ —not stalking, definitely not stalking—through the streets when they walked home after school. _He_ would look sullen and torn between anger and sadness, and then _he_ would push all those emotions down and bottle them up so _he_ could put on the bright smile for his sister.

Himawari was hugging her. Sarada realized she had, at some point, started to cry. She looked down and noticed her shirt was stained a little darker red. It was a good thing she liked to wear red. It hid the bloodstains pretty well. Sarada returned the hug.

The secretary coughed. He stood nearby, more than a little awkward. "The Hokage will see you now," he said. His eyes flit between her and Himawari. "You're free to go up after her, Himawari," he said with a cheerful smile.

"It's fine," Sarada said. "She can come in with me."

No one argued against her. Sarada walked up the stairs to the second level at a sedate pace. Himawari followed behind her. The shadows in the hall leading to the Hokage's office still unnerved her. Like there were shadows in the shadows. The door opened before she could knock. Shikadai and his dad walked out. Sarada gave him a little halfhearted wave. It was nice to see him again. He and Inojin had been patrolling the border. She wondered when they got back.

Sarada stepped inside, Himawari behind her, and—fuck. It's worse than she had imagined. The Hokage looked like he was deathly ill, or got the shit kicked out of him, or both. His eyes were red with dark bags under them. The blond hair he shared with _him_ is limp and lifeless and lacking the vibrant pop she liked so much.

It hurts to see proof that her hero wasn't as untouchable as she had thought. Sarada hesitated. Then she walked forward before her pause became awkward. Himawari trailed after her like a lost puppy and Sarada forced herself not to turn around and see how father and daughter mirrored each other in their grief.

The best thing she could do was shift the attention to her. She placed the application on the desk and stood at attention. The Hokage looked at her, then the application, then at her again, before finally picking up the stack of forms—which, really, Sarada thought was dumb. She wanted to join the most hardened, elite group of killers and spies in the nation in order to forget one of the most important—if not _the_ most important, since she awakened her Mangekyō following his death—people in her life. It wasn't supposed to be hard. Just a "Sign here, please, miss," and a "Step into the room for your emotional conditioning training, miss."

Sarada can see the exact moment the Hokage understands what she has just applied for. It's in his eyes. The horror. She sighs. "Please, sir," Sarada said. "It's what I want."

The way his jaw works up and down tells her that he wants to decline her application, but doesn't know how. He fights it for a few minutes. Sarada can see the tension in him. It snaps, and his shoulders sag. The Hokage reaches over and grabs a stamp before quickly approving the paperwork before he can change his mind.

"Thank you," Sarada said. She turns to leave, since obviously Himawari wanted to talk to the Hokage as her father, but hesitates when she finds _his_ blue eyes staring at her pleadingly, only they are _her_ blue eyes and not _his._

Sarada doesn't leave. She stays and offers what meager emotional support she can provide in her condition. Himawari steps forward, produces a single sheet of paper from her pocket, and hands it to her father. The Hokage has to unfold it, and Sarada can tell from the creases that it had been opened, closed, opened and closed again several times. It's worn.

Whatever was on the paper hits the Hokage like a hammer between the eyes. "You're—you're leaving the ninja corps?" the Hokage asks, incredulous, and—what the fuck? Himawari wouldn't quit. She was, well, she was talented. Not as talented as _him_ , because no one really was, but she had a bright future ahead of her. Himawari could become the next Hokage. She could ask for any position in the village and earn it.

"No," Himawari answered, a little shyly. "I just—I just need a break. Some time alone. To think things through. To find—"

 _To find something worth living for_ , Sarada finished for her. Now she understood.

The Hokage nodded a bit dumbly before stamping the form and placing it atop her own. Both documents went to the top of the towering but manageable stack of daily paperwork. By the time he looks up, the look of utter defeat and grief is back and it's so strong and there has to be something Sarada can do about it and—

It was like a frayed rope. Each fiber of the rope fraying into more fibers, and those fibers fraying into even more fibers and _it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt—someone was fucking stabbing her in the eye—hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt._

The pain passed, and the Hokage was kneeling above her, ablaze with golden chakra, and looking even more broken than he had before.

"I'm fine," Sarada managed to say.

She left not long after that. Sarada didn't know how to explain what had just happened to her. Only one thing about the experience stuck with her. A name.

 _Omoikane._

* * *

The test was simple.

Leave her room, head downstairs, avoid her mother, and slip out before she was none the wiser. Easier said than done. Her mother had been worrying incessantly over her since—since _him._ Sarada hated it. Her mother's pity made her remember that everything was not alright in her life. It hurt. And, worse, it hurt her mother. She was trying to fix something that couldn't be fixed. There was no cure for the kind of pain she was in.

Most people were just polite enough to nod their heads and not say a word beyond the required pleasantries. Not her mother. Her mother was bound and determined to help her get past her—whatever this crushing, burning feeling was.

But not today. Sarada took a deep breath. Using her Mangekyō was different than using her Sharingan. Different, but subtle. The Sharingan was natural. A part of her. It was often more comfortable to use her dōjutsu than not—which also had the nice side effect of her not needing glasses.

But the Mangekyō... the Mangekyō was different. She had to force herself into that state of mind. A burning agony that seared her eyes every moment she gazed through them. Sarada could feel the ghostly memories of _him_ arc through her mind when she used the Mangekyō. It wasn't enough that she feel physical pain—it had to be emotional, too.

The world _stopped._ Her bedroom was washed away by stormy grays and bloody reds. The world unravelled—frayed. Just like it had with the Hokage. Sarada held herself back. Avoided submerging herself in the technique, if it was indeed a technique. The _word_ echoed in her mind. Intimate. As if she had known it her entire life. As if she knew it better than her own name. _Omoikane._

She had a hunch. She wanted to find a way to spare the Hokage some of his pain. She didn't know how. Her eyes, Sarada supposed, then, were trying to show her the way. That was what the Sharingan was touted to be, right? The eye that sees the future?

Sarada followed one of the frayed threads of the world. That thread frayed into even more threads. Sarada pulled herself back. She didn't want to follow the threads. She wanted to know what they did. Sarada opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. She could smell her mother cooking breakfast; fish, maybe. She could hear her mother humming to herself. Sarada crept down the stairs as silent as the grave.

It didn't work. "Sarada! Breakfast is—"

Sarada blinked. Back in her room. She grinned. Sarada followed another thread. She avoided the kitchen this time. Went through the living room, circled through the entrance hall, and made her way to the front door.

Her mother was there. One hand on her hip, the other holding a spatula. "Sarada! Breakfast is—"

Sarada blinked. Back in her room. She grinned. Sarada followed another thread. She avoided going downstairs entirely. She crept to the window at the end of the hall, just passed her mother and father's bedroom. She unlocked the window, opened it, and slipped out onto the roof.

Success. She dropped to the ground, circled to their front yard, unlatched the gate and—

"Sarada! Breakfast is—"

Sarada blinked. Back in her room. She frowned. Sarada followed another thread. She didn't leave her room. She locked the door. Then she waited. An hour passed. "Sarada? Honey? Breakfast is ready!" her mother called out cheerfully.

Sarada didn't answer her. Her mother tried to open the door. The doorknob turned, but did not open. "Sarada?" her mother tried again. Silence. "I'll leave it in the microwave. I have a longer shift at the hospital today. I might be home late. Take care of yourself, please? I love you."

Her lips twitched. "I—"

Sarada blinked. Back in her room. She blinked again. The world was filled with color again. Sarada opened her door. She could smell her mother cooking—Sarada returned to her room. She locked the door.

Sarada stared at her eyes in the mirror. She heard her mother talking to her through the door. She ignored her. Sarada grinned as she wiped the blood from her cheeks. She heard the front door close and knew her mother had left. Sarada left her room, quickly ate her food, and then scampered off to find the doesn't-officially-exist ANBU headquarters.

With these eyes she could become Hokage.

* * *

Sarada poked at her food. It wasn't bad, she guessed. Just plain. Their cook had never heard of spices before, apparently. Each meal was catered to her specific physiology. Her diet was carefully planned, measured, and recorded.

Just another thing she had to give up being part of ANBU. Sarada cut a portion of her meager chicken breast away. It was dry, unbearably so. She chewed.

The doors to the mess hall slammed open. "Listen up, people," their captain barked. Sarada, and twenty-two other operatives, pushed their trays of food away and snapped to attention. "We've got a situation. Everyone report to the briefing room. Code black-zero-two-red."

Shit. Code black-zero-two-red was possible destructive elements to society and peace. Sarada took one last bite of chicken and slipped on her mask. She wasn't Sarada Uchiha any longer.

She was Crow.

Her company quickly dressed in their traditional garb and masks and made their way to the briefing room. It was a bit of a tight fit, but they were professionals. Nine months of the most physically and emotionally intensive training would do that to a person. She had seen most of these people naked. After thirty-six hours of non-stop training, nobody cared for decency when it came time to shower. No one said a word. Commander Hyūga—that was what they called him, because it was difficult to hide your dōjutsu even with a mask; people called her Corporal Uchiha all the time—stood at the front of the room. He snapped his fingers and turned on a screen behind him.

On it was the home page of a channel from a video sharing website. The video in question was paused. "Thirty-three minutes ago, a video was shared online on every single video sharing website. We've taken down as many copies as we can, but it's spread too far to cover up," their commander said. He nodded, stepped out of the way, and the video began to play.

The screen started out dark. A few seconds into the video, it suddenly switched to the image of six people standing and one person kneeling. Each of the people standing wore an article of clothing that concealed their faces fully. The man kneeling on the ground had a cloth bag over his head.

One of the people stepped forward. _"Greetings, people of the world!"_ the woman spoke loudly and clearly. Her voice was a pleasant crystalline tune. She was dressed in a form fitting robe and an ornate mask. Sarada could see long, flowing blonde hair was tucked behind her ears. _"I am the Celestial Maiden!"_

She reached down and yanked the bag off the head of the man kneeling on the ground. _"And today, I'm here with a friend to bring a message to you! Would you like to introduce yourself, sir?"_

The man was pale and gaunt and obviously scared out of his mind. He shook his head. The Celestial Maiden—Sarada scoffed a bit at the title—cooed at him like he was a disobedient dog. _"Not to worry. Our friend here,"_ the Celestial Maiden paused and kicked him in the spine. She continued speaking over his whimpers of pain. _"Is one Takumi Miyamoto. Who is he, you ask? Well, that is what I am here to tell you. Mister Miyamoto is better known as the head of the Department of Construction and Labor for the Shinobi Union."_

" _Still confused? Let me put it this way: he is the man that approves or denies every single request for new buildings and roads that were destroyed in the Fourth War. As you can imagine, he has a pretty important job. There are still many areas recovering from the widespread destruction. The Land of Frost is a shadow of its former self. Mountains razed, homes and businesses and entire towns destroyed, forests wiped off the map. The closest thing they have to a road are deer trails!"_

The Celestial Maiden laughed. _"I think I speak for everyone when I say, what the fuck? What the fuck has taken so long? The Fourth War ended over two decades ago. Why hasn't the Land of Frost recovered? What about the swathes of the northern Land of Steam that are simply gone? The Union has never even issued a statement about how whole swathes of land could simply be obliterated into dust,"_ she ranted.

" _But that's an issue for another day,"_ the Celestial Maiden shrugged. _"Today, we're speaking about Mister Miyamoto and the Union's gross failure to provide for the people of the countries that had been devastated by the war. You see, it's quite simple. The answer is bureaucracy and corruption. The entire system is rigged—rigged to oppress you, the common man! To get construction crews on the ground, you have to go through entire stacks of paperwork and leap through hoop after hoop and leap over hurdle after hurdle of red tape. And, when you finally get to the end, all your hard work can be thrown in the trash because of the whim of one man."_

The Celestial Maiden turned her gaze to the kneeling Takumi. The camera followed her. _"Mister Miyamoto, do you have anything to say for yourself? No?"_

Sarada saw the man shaking and crying. _"Please, I—"_ he was gagged.

The Celestial Maiden sighed. _"Mister Miyamoto frequently takes bribes. If you want your village to get help rebuilding, you need to pay him a hefty sum of ryō to get the ball rolling. Worse, he has taken bribes from construction companies who have an interest in ensuring the reconstruction process is extended so they may continue to profit from the suffering of the people. If the construction companies don't want your village, your home, to receive aid, then Mister Miyamoto rejects your request,"_ she said.

" _Mister Miyamoto and those like him are a cancer of society. And like any cancer, it must be cut away so that the body can survive,"_ she said darkly, drawing a sword.

Takumi began to scream against his gag. The Celestial Maiden raised it and brought it down upon his body. Once, twice, three times... she wasn't skilled in swordsmanship. Sarada felt her stomach churn. By the tenth slash, Takumi had been silenced. The Celestial Maiden stood after the sixteenth slash. She sighed. Sarada grit her teeth. The woman was covered from head to toe in gore. She butchered him like an animal.

" _Those who stand should never outnumber those who kneel! Long live the revolution!"_ the Celestial Maiden declared, raising her sword. The five people that had watched the execution cheered.

The video cut to black.

Commander Hyūga took the stage. "We're dubbing this group, as it stands, 'the Revolution.' Cyber hasn't been able to trace the upload. Give me your thoughts, people," he said.

Wolf spoke up first. He was young and arrogant, but skilled. "The woman displayed a clear lack of skill in swordsmanship. Could indicate a non-ninja. Possibly civilian organization in nature? Their target wasn't trained in the use of chakra and wasn't guarded. A group of civilians could have kidnapped him for his transgressions—real or imagined," he said.

"What about the video? Some civvies couldn't have the tech to avoid being traced by cyber," Squirrel said. She was a member of Sarada's squad. "Indicates having members of or backing from a technologically advanced group."

"Are you saying one of the ninja villages is responsible?" Dragon grumbled. He was a gruff old man. That was what made him terrifying. In a profession where many die young, you learn to fear the elderly. He was her squad leader.

"It's possible," Commander Hyūga said. All eyes fell on him. "This wasn't an attack on the Leaf—Takumi Miyamoto was born in the Land of Wind. It's an attack on the Union. The possible number of suspects include every nation not allied with the Union—and even those within. Sand and Stone have been feuding behind closed doors."

Sarada coughed. "Sir, it's possible that the Celestial Maiden made a show of butchering the man in the video," she said. "She moved with a distinct grace that civvies don't have."

Commander Hyūga nodded. No one needed to say that she had used her Sharingan to gather that information. Her identity was practically public knowledge. Having the only Sharingan in the world aside from her father did that.

"Anyone else?" Commander Hyūga barked.

Lizard stepped forward. "Civvies and tech aside, they would have needed someone skilled with the media to upload it to every site and push mirrors out as we took them down," he said smoothly. Sarada didn't like him. Too emotionless, even before their emotional conditioning training. He was empty inside. When he smiled, you could tell it was because he learned how to smile from watching and copying other people.

Commander Hyūga nodded. "Cyber is on the lookout for any missing persons from the media outlets and their families. Keep that in mind," he said. "Dragon! Your team has point—" Sarada grinned under her mask. An opportunity to prove her worth. "—Start rattling cages and seeing who has their fingers in what pies. Torture and Intelligence already has cells reserved for these bastards. Dismissed."

Sarada filed out after Dragon. Squirrel trailed behind her. From the shadows, Octopus joined them.

It was time to hunt.

* * *

 **A/N:**

The interludes will be shorter than normal chapters. Depending on who the character focus is, between 1-4k words. Not making a plan for how many interlude chapters there will be. A number of them, I guess. At least: Sarada (done), Himawari, Mitsuki, Hikari/Tetsu/Hibiki/Tsuchigumo, various miscellaneous characters, Sasuke (I can hear you guys cheering—this one will be _long_ ), and... that's about it. Requests?

Many of you correctly guessed Sarada awakened the Mangekyō. Hers is similar in appearance to Itachi's, with four limbs instead of three, with an inverted design—the tips of the limbs converge on her pupil, and the bases extend to the edge of the iris, in a vaguely spiralling pattern.


	58. Chapter 58 -- Himawari Interlude

The priest hummed his chant. It had some meaning, she was told. An old tongue that spoke to the dead and guided them to the Pure Lands so that they may rest.

Himawari hated it. She cried. Next to her, Sarada cried. Her cheeks were wet with tears of blood that colored her skin a pretty pink color. Some of the guests at the wake gave her fearful or angry looks. Once, someone had the gall to say something about her new eyes.

Himawari had them thrown from the premises—quite literally. A group of four Hyūga clansmen absconded with the man and bodily hurled from the Hyūga estate. She didn't know what her friend's Mangekyō was, but she wasn't afraid. Because she knew one thing. The only way to unlock it was to suffer the greatest, most profound loss.

No one would belittle her pain. Not while Himawari was there.

Still, the priest hummed. The song reached a crescendo. Himawari blinked as guests filed by, dropping flowers and muttering prayers. A picture of her brother rested between two mountains of flowers. The Yamanaka clan had shown up in force; nearly half were from them. Another good portion were from the entirety of the Hyūga clan.

Himawari smiled bitterly. It was proof that her brother had been important to people. Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō had been recalled from their patrol of the border to attend the wake. Mitsuki was there too, though his arm was in a sling. He had caught a stray needle when her brother was rescued from _that fucking snake._ It had caused necrosis, but nothing his unique biology and medical ninjutsu couldn't fix.

The priest finished his hymn and bowed towards the picture of Bolt amidst the flowers. It was a good picture, Himawari thought. One of the few good ones they had. Their mother had snapped the photograph when the two of them were playing outside. It had been cropped for the funeral, but if the photograph continued just a little to the right, she would be present, too, just hanging off her brother's shoulders.

The guests began to file out. Only a handful stayed behind. Her tearful mother and stoic father. Her grandfather stood off to the side with barely repressed tears and anger. Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō. Metal Lee and his father, even if he was a year older than Bolt had been. Mitsuki was trying to wipe at his eyes with his sleeves and failing without the use of both arms. Pretty much every one of her parents' friends were there—Sakura, Shikamaru, Sai, Ino, Chōji, Professor Shino, Kiba, and Tenten.

Each of them took turns offering their condolences to her and her parents before offering a muttered prayer and taking their leave. Himawari didn't remember what they said. She passed the hours by memorizing every line and curve in the photograph of her brother. At some point in the night, her mother and father left.

But not her. She would stay until the morning, when they cremated the empty coffin. Then she would go home, pass out, and pretend that none of it had ever happened.

"Himawari?" Shikadai asked. She hadn't noticed him. He approached like she was a beaten dog who would shy away from contact. "You should go home," he said gently.

She shook her head. She wanted to be here. It was her duty to be here. To see her brother off.

"Himawari," Shikadai said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

That was all it took. The thin veneer of strength she had been maintaining shattered. She sobbed. Shikadai held her gently, if awkwardly.

She stayed that way until the dawn. Her mother and father returned. The funeral began. The empty coffin was set atop a pyre and set aflame. There would be no ashes to gather. No bones to pass and place within an urn.

There were more tears.

One by one, the guests left once more. The Hyūga clan stood in constant vigilance. The words her grandfather spoke resonated with her.

"Cloud tried to take my daughter," he spoke. His voice was quiet and cold and dark all at the same time. "But where they failed to take my daughter, they succeeded in taking my grandson. This, the Hyūga will never forget."

* * *

Himawari moved her hand to rest against her forehead. She stared up at her ceiling. It had to be at least noon, judging by the rays of light streaming through her window, yet she couldn't find the energy, the will, to leave her bed.

It wasn't comfortable. In fact, she was pretty sure her toes were starting to go numb from lack of circulation. She just... couldn't find anything better to do. Her whole life, for the past four—nearly five—years revolved her brother. Waiting for him to come, then training to be strong enough to beat some sense into him before he got himself k—in trouble.

Himawari took a deep breath and ignored the stinging sensation in her eyes. She was tired of crying.

She couldn't lay here any longer. She had to do _something._ What would Bolt have been doing? What would he have wanted her to do? Not stay in bed all day and mope. Her fingers ghosted over the tracking seal that was branded on her neck. Would her brother have been training right now, if he wasn't dead? He was always so strong. Even when they were little. She was young, not stupid. She caught the way Bolt would put on a brave face for her.

So, yes, she decided. Bolt would be training. Would be stronger than she was. Himawari pulled herself out of bed and rose to her feet. Bolt would be working towards his goal, his dream—the "peace" he spoke of. A peace he valued so highly that he was willing to drag his name through the mud and leave his family behind.

So she would make his dream come true.

Himawari quickly dressed. She packed her things. What few she had. She didn't really know when she would be coming back. Or how long it would take to come back. Clothes, tools, a handful of personal items, and a few boxes of field rations she had left over from travelling. They kept for a long, long time. There was probably something to be said about eating food that had a longer shelf life than most humans' lifespans.

Her eyes ghosted over her preparations. With a nod, she activated her Byakugan. She found her mother quite easily. She sat, in her room, a blank look on her face. Himawari quickly blinked and averted her gaze. No one else was around. Her father was at the office. He had thrown himself into his work even harder after the death of her brother. Himawari didn't blame him. He still made small gestures of affection, as he had been since Bolt left. Little gifts. Messages. Small smiles and waves.

Himawari blinked away unshed tears. She bit her thumb. Five hand signs. That's all it took. She summoned a small messenger toad. "I need reverse-summon to Mount Myōboku," she informed him—or was it a her? She had trouble telling. Most toads didn't develop their more human characteristics until they were much older.

The messenger toad croaked an affirmative and disappeared. A moment later, Himawari was hurled from her bedroom through space and time to the ancestral home of the toad clan. As soon as she arrived, she was slapped in the face by the sheer heat and humidity. She quickly stripped out of her coat that she had donned. It was much warmer than she had been told.

Mount Myōboku was quite beautiful, in an alien, strange sort of way. The landscape was dotted with small rivers and lakes; both water, and the oil that could only be found on the mountain. Strange trees grew everywhere, more a single leaf with a stalk than any tree Himawari had ever seen. Mushrooms nearly as tall as she was grew wherever there was shade. They were a pretty shade of red with milky dots.

Himawari took a deep, relaxing breath. The air was clean and crisp. She hadn't really noticed it, but the air in the city was always tainted by an unnamable something. Only when she could compare it to clean, fresh air was it discovered.

She felt a little better already.

Himawari meandered through the mountain pass, deeper into the toad clan's territory. She saw more and more toads as she walked—of all sizes and intelligences. Some were the towering, near-human giants like Gamabunta. Others were small and infantile. More still were the common toad who couldn't use chakra. The ones Himawari liked to observe the most were the statues—incredibly lifelike in their intricacy—of giant toads.

Eventually, she came to the heart of the mountain. Himawari quickly found who she was looking for by way or several smaller toads giving her directions. Elders Fukasaku and Shima, apparently, had already been made away of her arrival. Himawari had never met them in person, only ever hearing about them from the toads she had summoned, but they were, apparently, the most powerful members of the clan.

Himawari swallowed. "Elder Fukasaku," she said, bowing. "Elder Shima."

The two elderly toads grinned in a way that was more human than animal. It would have been disturbing had she not been used to the peculiar toads. "Himawari-girl! What brings ya' ta' our 'umble abode?" Elder Fukasaku croaked.

Himawari smiled a little sadly.

"I'd like you to train me to become a Sage," she said.

* * *

Elder Fukasaku slapped her in the face with the staff again. She suppressed a growl and rubbed at her cheek. She knew it was for her own benefit, but it still hurt. Still, better that than turning into a statue of a vaguely humanoid toad. She cracked open one eye that roved over the petrified corpses of her predecessors.

Elder Fukasaku doused her with another bucket of oil. "Yer gettin' tha' hang of it," he croaked.

"It's been almost three months," Himawari whined. She was passed the 'getting the hang of it' part. She wanted to be able to use natural energy for something—anything.

"Becomin' a Sage is a state o' bein', not jus' a jutsu," Elder Fukasaku said.

Himawari shook her head, closed her eyes, and began to focus on the natural energy around her. She mixed it with her own chakra and played the delicate balancing game: one part Yin energy, one part Yang energy, and one part natural energy. Each in equal, balanced amounts. Everything in perfect harmony.

Her progress was slow. She didn't have the inexhaustible chakra reserves her father did, according to Elder Fukasaku. She had to go slower, take her time, make sure she had the balance right. Her training time was limited to only a few hours every day. Any more and she ran out of chakra to safely balance the natural energy. She also didn't have the raw chakra to use clones to speed up her training, like Elder Fukasaku told her that her father had done.

Even a single clone took more chakra than she could afford to spare. Himawari took a deep breath and once more extended her senses outward into the world. She could feel the oil on her skin. Feel the cool breeze that wasn't really there—natural energy. The oil attracted it, drew it in. She latched onto it and breathed deeply.

The energy of the world filled her body and mind. It was like the tide coming in. An unfathomable rush of energy and power that surged through her being and threatened to drag her into the depths and drown her. Himawari didn't let it. She kept her head above the waves and subsumed the natural energy into her own. The perfect balance; Yin, Yang, and natural energies all flowing together.

She braced herself for the bite of the staff.

It never came.

Himawari blinked. Fukasaku was smiling brightly. Himawari crawled over to the edge of the pool of oil. In it, she could see her reflection. A bulbous nose dotted with fleshy warts that spread across her cheeks like freckles. A vague, dark orange pigment around her eyes. Her pupils had warped into an oval hourglass shape—an imperfect iris of a toad—though they retained the same beautiful shade of blue.

"I look ugly," Himawari intoned.

Fukasaku burst into a croaking fit of laughter. Himawari glared at him. "Tha' toad characteristics will dis'pear with mastery," he said.

It was more than just the physical changes. More than just the swell in her chakra. It was the emotional aspect of her infantile Sage Mode that hit her the hardest. She felt—she felt at peace. Which Himawari _knew_ she wasn't. The death of her brother still haunted her dreams at night. Yet, when she reached out and touched nature, and nature touched her, the world didn't seem so bleak.

Two birds dived at her, circling around her mane of purple-black hair and chirping happily. They perched atop her head and nestled into her curls. Himawari laughed a little and smiled. The birds responded by chirping. Another bird, larger and more colorful, landed on her shoulder. Himawari raised her arm and extended a finger. The bird with bright plumage happily leapt to her finger and quirked its head at her.

This was what Fukasaku meant. Sage Mode wasn't merely a technique. It was a state of being. A way of life. Humans were too far removed from the circle of life. They couldn't feel, truly feel, the way the wind wove itself through the sky. The way the waves waxed and waned. The language of the trees as they groaned and swayed in the wind. The energy, the life, the sun breathed into the world. All the little nuances of how the birds chirped and spoke to each other.

She understood what it meant to be a Sage, and this was but a taste.

Himawari nodded, her eyes not leaving her reflection. Fukasaku leapt to her shoulder. "Come! Les' teach ya' the way of tha' Toad Sage Fist," he croaked.

Himawari let the old toad guide her deeper into the mountains and marvelled at the world that had been opened to her eyes and senses.

* * *

Himawari grit her teeth.

It was the dead of night. The moon was full and hung low in the sky. It was cold.

Yet the heat was nearly unbearable. She had begun to develop the technique years ago when she had seen a photograph of her father and his Rasenshuriken.

She had been foolish.

Had she even been capable of such a feat—she wasn't; maybe her brother was—she would have killed herself. Without Sage Mode, the sweltering, unbearable heat would have killed her. Boiled her alive. As it was, she grit her teeth and poured more heat into the miniature star that she was birthing in the palm of her hand.

A marble of air superheated until it became plasma, like lightning. It glowed an unearthly, blindingly bright yellow. Himawari couldn't bear the pain of gazing at it. It was no larger than her eye, but held unfathomable power. A storm of roaring orange fire raged around it, forming a mantle. A pale orange-yellow shell held the technique together, and yet, it radiated heat so greatly that the air rippled and glowed with the light of an inner fire.

Himawari poured her chakra into the technique. Empowered by senjutsu chakra, fire blossomed into existence. The star glowed with a brilliant white corona. Flares of fire, too bright to gaze upon with the naked eye, leapt from the technique and surged outwards before being drawn back into the sphere from which it came.

It was complete. Fire Release: Rasengan.

Himawari didn't yelp as her sports bra and shorts caught fire. That would have been disastrous. A momentary lapse of concentration that caused her to be engulfed by her own technique. The fire didn't burn her, anyway. Sage Mode protected her. In one practiced motion, Himawari hurled the star forward. It soared forward. The air whistled as the technique passed and superheated the air.

Then it exploded.

There was fire, yes, a great column of it that climbed skyward for miles. A billowing cloud of smoke that obscured the moon. But it was the _light._ The light she was not prepared for. One instant, it was the dead of night. The next, it was high noon. Light flooded and banished the darkness. Everywhere the light touched, the world was _cleansed._ Sterile and surgical. Stone sizzled as it glowed a cherry-red color. Rivers and lakes boiled. Grass and trees turned to ash. Like flowers blossoming in the spring after a long winter, the world became a field of blossoming flames.

Himawari cried out, clenching her eyes shut as the light threatened to sear them to blindness. She felt her skin begin to blister, even through the augmented defenses of Sage Mode. She leapt, and felt the formerly frigid air of the night, now warm and unbearably hot, lick at her nude form. She couldn't see. Didn't dare to use her Byakugan for fear of going blind. She just ran. Ran until she could no longer see the faint traces of light burning through her closed eyelids.

When she stopped, Himawari opened her eyes with great care. Afraid that she would open them and only be met with the light, ever so briefly, before her world would forever more be darkness.

The light had faded. And in its wake, only ash remained.

Himawari grinned.

* * *

Strangely, in the months following her awakening as a Sage, the food that Elder Shima cooked became tastier. Bugs and worms and plants, and Himawari could taste flavors that didn't disgust her. It was worrying, in a way. She knew she should be disgusted, but wasn't. Her senses told her that it was simply the way of life. There was always a predator and a prey. It was natural.

It was more disturbing that she now had a favorite. One that Shima delighted in cooking once she learned of it. It was some kind of parody of ramen. Earthworms that were a pretty shade of alternating purple and green that had been soaked in the juices of a root that grew from a plant found only on Mount Myōboku. A large, fat grub topped the bowl whose blood tasted of pork.

If she didn't look, Himawari could pretend she was eating ramen with her father at Ichiraku's.

"Himawari!" Gamako croaked with cheer. Himawari slurped up a mouthful of worms as she watched her friend leap into the room. Another, smaller toad hopped along behind her. "You've got mail!"

The toad clan delighted in being the unconventional messenger. They weren't used much, anymore, since the death of Jiraiya of the Sannin. Flying summons and technology had replaced their role in the world. So, when they were chosen to deliver a message or package, it was an event to be celebrated.

"Oh?" Himawari asked, wiping at her mouth with her sleeve. Her grandfather would probably have a heart attack about the degradation of his princess' manners. The little toad hopped up to the table—another thing she was sure her grandfather would die before allowing—and opened its maw before vomiting up a scroll.

Himawari unfurled it, thinking nothing of it, and pressed a finger to the parchment to extract what lay within. A wisp of smoke produced a small box of bright paper and an intricate bow. Himawari blinked, grabbed the card, and opened it. _"To my best friend,"_ it read. _"A little late, I know, but I've been away from the village on... you-know-what business. Happy Birthday! Love, Sarada Uchiha."_

Himawari smiled. She hadn't even realized her birthday had come and gone. She had submerged herself in her Sage training. The toad clan really didn't believe in things like clocks or calendars.

Then she blinked back tears. Because it reminded her that she hadn't received her yearly gift from her brother. He had sent her one, every year, whether he was abroad or not. Himawari shook her head and tore through the paper and into the box.

It was a frilly blouse that was a pretty shade of yellow, the color of her namesake. Himawari smiled as she held it up to her body. A picture and a note fell from its folds. The picture showed Sarada watering the sunflowers she and Bolt had planted when he came back to the Leaf—Himawari repressed the surge of pain that came with the memory of her brother. She read the note. _"I guessed your sizes, but don't worry, I'm sure it'll fit, even with your growth spurt. I've become exceedingly good at guessing. Who'd have thought?_ _Come back soon,"_ it read.

Himawari smiled. She would. It had been a year and a half, after all. She could use a hot shower and some food that wasn't freshly living fauna.

"Tell Ma and Pa I'll be back!" Himawari shouted as she weaved hand signs. One of the few messenger toads stationed in the Leaf answered her summons, and in a wisp of smoke, she was back in the Leaf.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Man, sometimes, I just really wish I would allow myself to use suffixes. A good -sama or -chan just doesn't translate well into English.

People have asked where Bee and Gyūki were during chapter 56—Cloud doesn't keep their jinchūriki within the village, for whatever reason. Bee has his own little territory he hangs out in and is/was under constant surveillance. This was canon. With the end of the war, I've had him become a sort of wandering hermit type character since every time we've seen him in Boruto he's in the mountains fucking around or meditating under a waterfall or some shit. So, the answer to this question is: he's in the mountain, doing surly jinchūriki things.


	59. Chapter 59 -- Mitsuki Interlude

His father's words rang in his ear. Mitsuki hated himself for listening to them.

" _If you ever desire power, seek me out,"_ he had said.

Mitsuki never wanted to return to his father's. Not willingly. Not after what he had done to Bolt. But what had been the point? Why had his father kidnapped him? Kidnapped Bolt? Why give him a Cursed Seal that he knew was and could be lethal? Sure, his father told him that Bolt had everything in his favor—good genetics, a family history of Sages, and a powerful chakra due to his lineage.

But, still. Mitsuki couldn't forgive his father for nearly killing his best friend.

So why was he considering going back to his father?

Mitsuki didn't know. He wandered the streets of the Leaf aimlessly. Lost in his head. Trying to sort out his thoughts. His emotions.

He didn't know what to do. That old melancholy came back. From when he first came to the Leaf. That feeling that he was the outsider. The one who didn't belong. He didn't have a dream; a purpose. He just— _was_. He wasn't driven like Sarada. Wasn't a prodigy like Bolt. He didn't have a great wealth of loyalty or love for his village like his peers. Bolt was the reason he stayed in the Leaf.

And now he was dead.

And Mitsuki hadn't even been there. He clenched the fist of his bum arm. He had to find out after the fact. When the Hokage returned, sullen and broken, with an equally devastated Sarada and Himawari in tow.

Mitsui was angry. At himself, at Bolt, and at the village. He was crushed by the loss of his friend, like everyone else. But, unlike everyone else, he wasn't running away. Sarada threw herself into the ANBU program to escape her depression. Himawari left. Hadn't been seen in nearly six months. Given that the Hokage wasn't worried, Mitsuki assumed she was safe. If there was one thing he could do, it was make sure Himawari was safe. He owed Bolt that. It was what he would want him to do.

But Mitsuki wanted answers. He didn't want to run away. He didn't want to be lied to. He supposed that was why he was walking towards the gates of the Leaf with everything he owned on his back.

His father was many things, but he had never lied to him. Maybe he never told the whole truth, but he had never lied. That was how Mitsuki rationalized it. He leapt through the gates and broke into a sprint before the border guards could cry out in alarm. He was faster and stronger than them, anyway. They would have to sound the alarm, call for reinforcements, and then give chase. By then, Mitsuki would be long gone.

And he was.

* * *

Mitsuki found his way north, back to his father's base of operations, with ease. It really wasn't hidden all that well. There weren't many people willing to attack Orochimaru of the Sannin, after all. Outside of the Kage, there wasn't anyone who could pose a threat to him.

Mitsuki strode through the maw of the cave. Workers, still repairing the damage Bolt had done before his escape, gave him a wide berth. He wasn't even surprised to see his brother casually leaning against the doorframe to greet him. Log took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly.

"This way," Log said, straightening and walking through the door and into the underground facility. On the way, they passed a surly looking Jūgo who walked with a limp and sported burns on his arms and face. Log nodded at him, and Jūgo scowled—though that may have just been how his face rested. Mitsuki thought he looked pained. He would be too if he had to fight Kakashi Hatake.

His father and Karin were standing over a table that was covered with blueprints, charts, and a single large map. Only a handful of documents appeared to be related to the facility. His father looked up, saw him, and only the slightest upturn of his thin lips told Mitsuki that he was pleased. Mitsuki frowned. He had probably played into his father's plans. Oh well. If that was the price of knowledge, of answers, then so be it.

Mitsuki came to a stop. He looked between his father, Log, and Karin. "I want answers," he said.

Orochimaru grinned in that way that contorted his face to inhuman proportions. "Like father, like son," he hissed. Mitsuki didn't like that comparison. "Karin, go help Suigetsu check for our... rat."

Karin nodded and walked off. "What rat?" Mitsuki asked.

Log shrugged. "The team that rescued your friend hired outside help. A rat, if you will. Even the strongest rat knows to hide from the snake," he said.

The one who had... taken control of Jūgo, then. Mitsuki nodded. He didn't particularly care—though maybe he would help find him or her. They could tell him about Bolt and his team. An unbiased source of information. That was invaluable.

"So," his father hissed with a grin. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Mitsuki breathed. The words, the frustration, poured forth. The anger. The sadness. The guilt. "Why Bolt? Why me? What's the point? Why are— _were_ —we important?"

Orochimaru stopped grinning. For once, Mitsuki thought he looked suitably cowed. His eyes moved to rest on Log. His brother moved and shut the door. With a few casual hand signs, the walls of the room glowed with a faint sheen of chakra.

His father sighed. "Bolt wasn't—he wasn't _relevant_ ," his father began. Mitsuki grit his teeth. "You were. I made a judgement call. Even a small growth in your power was worth grave injury, even death, on his part."

Mitsuki took a breath and prepared to explode. "But that wasn't what you wanted to know. You wanted to know _why_. Why you and your brother were, are, so important." Orochimaru smiled. "It's because you're powerful. Consistently powerful, even. You and Log and your brothers are the saviors of the world, even if you don't know it yet."

Mitsuki stared at his father in disbelief. His brother was stony faced. "I pressed Bolt because he was a whetstone to hone your blade. He pushed you. Made you better. Stronger. And it worked, didn't it?" Orochimaru took a breath and hesitated. Mitsuki waited. "There is an enemy. One unlike we—as a _species_ —have ever faced before. An enemy so powerful that even a single warrior of theirs could defeat our entire world. You, my son, and your brothers yet unborn, are the one great hope we have of defeating, of repelling, that enemy. An army of ninja armed with Sage Transformation, powerful bodies, and vast reserves of chakra."

Mitsuki let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "You—you made me, us," he said, looking to his brother. "You made us to be an army? Your army?"

Orochimaru seemed to find his stride. He chuckled. "No, not my army," he said. "You think the world would let me, _me_ —Orochimaru of the Sannin—build an army?" His father laughed. "No. I am building the _world's_ army."

Mitsuki frowned. "So—the Hokage, the Union, they... they know? They approve? Of what you're doing to us? What you've done in the name of building this army?"

His father grinned. "They do more than just know," he hissed. "They support it. Fund it. Make allowances for me. Bend the rules; the laws. Turn a blind eye to the cloning, the human experimentation. Even had one go rogue, a few years back. Had a Sharingan. He was the prototype before I settled on you."

His mouth felt dry. Mitsuki swallowed. "So—that's all I am to you? Just some—some toy soldier?"

His father's expression turned stern. "No," he said, with such conviction that Mitsuki had no other choice than to believe him. "When I agreed to this task, I swore that I would care for you, for all of you, as if you were my own. And I have. Perhaps not as well as I should have—I'm not a good father figure. I didn't know my own father. But I've tried. As best as my mission will allow me."

Mitsuki swallowed. "You—you keep mentioning us. How many of us are there?"

His father didn't betray a hint of emotion. "Let me show you," he said. They left the room and walked down the hall, down stairs, into the bowels of the mountain installation. There was nothing but empty rooms and winding hallways.

Log stood next to him as their father pressed a hand to a section of the wall. It gave way, then slid to the side. Mitsuki followed his brother in after their father. As they passed through the hidden door, Mitsuki could see that it was covered in fūinjutsu matrices of some kind. They stretched from the back of the door, across both walls, and even parts of the ceiling.

The floor sloped downwards, going even farther into the deep. The ground was rough, uneven stone. A natural tunnel. There were no lights. It took the three of them some time to journey downwards. The tunnel wound down and upon itself, circling ever deeper.

Finally, they came to a stop.

Mitsuki felt his breath catch in his chest. They entered into a cavern that towered above him. The room was dotted with cylindrical glass chambers that were filled with a liquid that glowed a brilliant green color. Inside each one, a near perfect copy of himself bobbed in the fluid. There had to be ten, twenty... thirty—forty, in all?

Too many to count.

"This is generation three," his brother said. "We've based them off you, in the same way that you were based off me. The upper levels are for research and development of future generations, as well as testing biological feasibility. Most of the data and embryos were destroyed when Bolt attacked the labs. We've managed to recover most of the data, and the embryos weren't viable and are easily replaced."

There were no words.

"Not every generation is viable. We're trying to breed a more powerful generation every phase of the cloning process," his brother continued. "It took six tries before you were able to achieve Sage Transformation. I, myself, cannot use it at all. Generation three, we theorize, will be able to achieve it in three or less attempts. And, hopefully, the generation after that, using data from you and generation three, will be born with the innate ability to use Sage Transformation."

"The hope is," his father said, gently. "By generation ten, we'll breed a generation of clones that have the ability to use natural energy and enough chakra to be a match for a Kage in single combat. And be generation twenty..." his father continued. "Their Sage Transformation should be more powerful than any Sage Mode, and each one will be as powerful as the Hokage, or Sasuke."

"All—all this..." Mitsuki took a quick breath. "To fight an enemy we haven't even seen?"

"An enemy who would take great pleasure in destroying our world with a casual ease," his brother amended. "Yes."

"Make no mistake," his father hissed. "The work we're doing here? It's saving the world. People look up to the Kage, their ninja, to defend them. To be their heroes. They're wrong. We— _you_ —are the true heroes of the world. You want to know why I pushed you? Why I nearly killed your friend? Because as important as you thought Bolt was, you and your brothers are far, far more important. It's cruel, yes, and I'm asking you to make a sacrifice. A sacrifice for the greater good. For the security of the world—for the security of our _species. That_ is why I did what I did."

Mitsuki took a deep breath. Held it. Released it. He had his answers. Now, could he forgive his father? Forgive his brother? They nearly killed Bolt—would have, had his new friends not taken him to... wherever it was. They healed him. Then they rushed to their death in Cloud.

Could he forgive them? Mitsuki looked to his unborn brothers. He thought over what his father and brother had told him. Were they really the unsung heroes of the world? Was the work they were doing, the sacrifices they forced upon him, truly for the benefit of the world?

What would Bolt do? That was what Mitsuki asked himself. Bolt always had a strong sense justice—of rights and wrongs. What would he do?

Mitsuki thought back to the brief conversation in that forsaken valley between the Land of Rain and Wind.

" _For peace,"_ Bolt had said.

For peace. Bolt had left the Leaf, left his sister, left Sarada, left him, for peace. Because he wanted to help the world in his own way. In the only way he could.

And, right now, the only way Mitsuki could help was... here.

He made his decision.

"How can I help?" Mitsuki asked.

* * *

Mitsuki peered through the slits of his mask. He ran through forms with his sword. Every few moments, he would cast a nervous glance at the capsule. He took a deep breath. Released it. Another. Release. Any moment now.

There was an echoing crack as stone shattered. Mitsuki stilled and drew his sword. Not Kusanagi. That would give himself away. He rolled his shoulders. The armor was heavy. It had to be, for what modest protection it provided from natural chakra. He strode from the temple.

It was like a dream.

His father stood before him, and next to him, stood a perfect copy of himself. The same wispy blue hair. The same yellow-gold eyes. The same pale skin. The same bewildered, lost look. The look of someone who had no memories. The look of someone who didn't even know their own name. The same look as someone who had only false memories.

The same look he had.

"So you noticed, as I anticipated," he father said. He was a good actor. Mitsuki couldn't even tell that it was rehearsed. That his father had said the same words, done the same thing, over and over and over again.

And Mitsuki had to play his part. "There was really no need for the two of you to go out of your way," he said. His voice had deepened over the year he had trained with his father and brother, but he still had to drop his tone a pitch. "I was planning on coming for you sooner or later. In order to obtain the key..."

Mitsuki wove the hand signs as his father spoke. "This time, for sure, I'll have you return it to me. Together with my son's memories," he said, drawing his sword.

His younger brother looked bewildered. Lost. Mitsuki felt a pang of guilt and regret. He abandoned weaving the hand signs. They did nothing, anyway. Just part of the act. "It seems my jutsu is no longer effective against you," he growled as he lunged forward.

He met his father in combat whilst his younger brother looked on with awe. The sudden transformation of his father's arm to a large, hissing serpent always took him by surprise. Even if he knew it was coming. It sank its fangs into his armor, but the armor held fast.

"That's some armor you've got," his father hissed, just loud enough for his brother to hear. "I would never have imagined that my fangs couldn't pierce it. Did you make some improvements?"

"I have nothing to fear if I defend against your poison," Mitsuki said. He sent a pulse of chakra through the armor. The black undersuit surged outward. His father hissed in alarm. "I allowed you to escape so easily when we last met. But that won't be the case today."

His father looked towards his brother. "Mitsuki—you have... Sage Transformation—the rest... is up to you."

Then he was silent. His part in the act was finished. Mitsuki turned and strode away from his father. "Indeed," he growled. "The one I truly needed to be wary of was him. Last time, I was nearly defeated."

His brother took a step backwards. The look of fear nearly made Mitsuki give up the act. But he didn't. He steeled himself. It was for the good of the world. And, after he awakened his power, Mitsuki would be free to comfort him. To be the best older brother he could be. That he had sworn to be.

"You even forgot your own power?" Mitsuki scoffed, raising his sword.. "What a shame." He brought his sword down. "Without that power, you're nothing!"

His younger brother fell to the ground and stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Mitsuki halted his attack. Faked struggling against some unseen force.

"You were to wary of the large snake," his father said, emerging from the armor. A small white serpent slithered through the lips of his mask. "Even a snake small enough to slip between the openings of your armor can still inject enough poison to be effective."

His brother watched the snake fall to the ground and slither away. "As a result of the poison, you won't be able to move or speak for a time. Mitsuki, be a good son and stand guard."

"What—what are you going to do?" his brother asked. His voice was raw with fear.

"There's something I must search for," his father answered. "I'll find it and come right back. But, whatever you do, you mustn't get close to him. Am I clear?"

His brother nodded eagerly. Mitsuki wheezed. "Strong poison," he grunted. His brother looked alarmed. He wheezed, again. "No need to worry. It takes everything I have just to speak. The antidote I prepared, if it's only this amount of poison—it's not enough."

His brother looked at him with confusion and fear. Mitsuki wheezed and coughed and struggled for breath. "I'm suffocating," he said. "Come here, please, and remove my mask for me."

"Are you trying to deceive me?" his brother asked, taking a step away.

"No," Mitsuki wheezed. "If you remove this mask—you'll see that it's the opposite. I'll tell you one thing. The one who is deceiving you... is Orochimaru."

His brother looked shocked. "I understand," Mitsuki said. It was the truth. He did. "The confusion. The stress. The fear. I understand it all too well. Orochimaru didn't tell you anything, did he? Do you have any idea who you truly are?"

His brother grit his teeth. His eyes were wide and fearful again. "I—I'm... I am Orochimaru's son, and..."

"Orochimaru erased your memories, not me," Mitsuki told his brother. "Come, remove my mask, and you'll see the truth. I am the same as you, after all."

His brother took the bait. Took a single step forward. Hesitated. Extended his arm and removed the mask.

Mitsuki took a deep breath. "I am Mitsuki as well," he said. His heart fluttered painfully in his chest at the look of sheer devastation on his brother's face. "Created years before you."

His brother took several quick steps back. "W—What... What does this mean? I—I don't understand..."

"Exactly how it looks," Mitsuki said. "You and I, we're artificial humans. We're not real. We're just creations of Orochimaru. Slaves to his desires."

"What..." his brother was crying.

"What Orochimaru came here for," Mitsuki continued. He dared not dwell on what kind of torture he was inflicting upon, essentially, himself. "Is the embryo from which we originated. We were created from that embryo. That was how you dispelled the barrier to enter here. My plan was to steal that embryo from Orochimaru and dispose of it. Put an end to our suffering. However, in order to open the case in which the embryo resides, I need the key which Orochimaru is carrying."

His brother looked calmer. "Why—why would you want to destroy it?"

"Humans which are created artificially are not truly humans. We're an aberration of nature. We, and that embryo, are a cursed, selfish creation. Made only to be slaves of Orochimaru. I, like you, was created to be Orochimaru's son. I was talented. But I managed to escape from his clutches. So he sought a replacement. You," Mitsuki said.

"The two of us? We should never have existed," Mitsuki ranted. His eyes found his father's as he left the temple with the capsule in his arms. "But before that, Orochimaru, I'll make sure you're dead this time."

"Regardless of how you were born," his father said, stepping down the stairs. "You two are no different from anyone else. You are both my sons, my children, whom I love. The power lying dormant within you exceeds even my own. Do you realize how long I eagerly awaited the day I could make your creation a reality?"

His brother was looking at their father now. "Is it truly wrong for a ninja like me to wish to have children of his own? If there's one thing which I should be forgiven of, regardless of circumstances, that should be acting out of love, shouldn't it?"

The words pierced his heart. Because, out of the entire act, they were the only ones that were true. Mitsuki swallowed. Then he remembered his part was not yet done. "Is that your excuse for what you've done to me? Done to us?" Mitsuki snarled. "Mitsuki!" It felt strange to bark his own name. "One day, you'll realize the error in his ways. You must put a stop to Orochimaru! I am you, in the future! You will end up like me! A discarded creation!"

"Mitsuki," his father said sweetly. "He is merely trying to take advantage of your innocence. I have obtained the embryo and the key. Come with me."

His brother hesitated. His father grinned. "I will create even better siblings for you to play with," he hissed.

"Mitsuki!" Mitsuki screamed.

"Come along, Mitsuki," his father hissed.

His brother looked between the two of them. Eyes wide, fearful, and moving with quick, jerky motions. He took a step backwards. Then two. "I—" he hesitated. "I..."

"Don't do it!" Mitsuki barked.

"Don't listen to him, my son," his father said.

His brother steeled himself.

Mitsuki smirked.

An eruption of blue-white chakra shrouded his brother. The same spectral, incorporeal snakes formed. The same bestial horn erupted from his skull. The same crude, inky markings on his eyes, cheeks, and forehead. "I won't believe either of you!" his brother intoned. "I'll decide the truth for myself!"

In a flash, his brother leapt between the two of them and stole both the key and the capsule.

Then he was gone.

Mitsuki released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. Log appeared from the shadows. "Well," he said, handing him a cigarette. Mitsuki took it, and Log lit it with a lighter before lighting up himself. "That was better. Four tries—two better than you, Mitsuki."

"Yeah," Mitsuki choked out. He hoped, prayed, his brother would choose to come back to them.

The minutes passed.

His younger brother appeared. No longer garbed in Sage Transformation. He was fearful. Bewildered. Confused. He looked between the three of them, and in his hands, held the truth of who he was, and who they were.

Hesitantly, he approached. When he was only a few feet away, he lunged forward and hugged their father. Mitsuki smiled and pulled Log into the hug. The four of them were going to be family. A true family.

That Mitsuki swore.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Next chapter focuses on Hikari, Tetsu, Tsuchigumo, and Hibiki! It also might, depending on how much I feel like writing, include a few other minor characters.

Some people were confused about Hiashi's comments last chapter. For clarification: Hiashi blames Cloud for Bolt attacking them and then being pushed into a corner and forced to commit suicide. I'm not saying it is logical, but that is his point of view—which is heavily biased, due to the whole Cloud-Hyūga fiasco pre-canon.


	60. Chapter 60 -- Hibiki Interlude

"Rise," the burly guard intoned.

Hibiki did. The man wore a headband with the character for 'ninja' on it, but he wore the garb of a man from the Hidden Stone. They were not known for their delicate handling of prisoners. Hibiki helped Tsuchigumo to his feet.

Their merciful captors, the oh so powerful Union, did not deign themselves to waste resources on prisoners. The puppeteer was nearly incessant with pain from his missing arm. Hikari and Tetsu did not heed the burly guard's command.

Hikari, because she was spiteful over the death of her—whatever the ratty prisoner was. Mentor? Father? Hibiki didn't know. Tetsu, because he was suicidal. He had failed his 'Lord,' and now Bolt was dead. Therefore, of course, logically, Tetsu should follow his Lord into death. Of course. Of course. That made perfect sense.

Or, that was what Tetsu—and everyone else—thought.

Hibiki knew better. He sensed the sharp, distinct disappearance of that beautiful chakra an instant after it went over the crags. That wasn't what death felt like. Death was slow. Death was cold. Bolt wasn't dead.

More than that, Hibiki just _knew._ He could—well, he felt it. But not in the usual way. He didn't sense with his mind's eye. He just... it was hard to describe. One moment, he was fearful for his life and the life of Bolt. The next, he simply knew that everything was going to be fine. Bolt would live. He would escape. He would rescue them.

All Hibiki had to do was sit, be pretty—he was good at that—and keep the team together and safe. That was his mission. That, he could do.

He just couldn't tell the team that because, well, they were under constant surveillance. Bolt was, for all intents and purposes, dead. And, for whatever plan he had, he needed to remain dead. So, Hibiki held his tongue.

The burly guard took offense to their refusal to stand. He kicked Tetsu square in the nose. The swordsman growled, but continued to resist. The guard's friend, generic Union sycophant number two, yanked Hikari to her feet by her hair. She hissed in pain and spat in his face. For her trouble, she earned a slap—it was more of an open-palmed fist; like a bear mauling someone—to the face.

She fell to the wall of their cell and struggled to stay on her feet. The guard that slapped her grabbed her by her hair, again, and groped her chest with a grin.

Hibiki frowned. For his sake, the man best hope Bolt never learned of his actions—Hibiki was more than a little jealous that she had, somehow, caught Bolt's eye. Hibiki was certain that their fearless leader knew much, much more fūinjutsu than he let on. There was bound to be at least one seal that promised eternal pain and torment for the rest of one's natural life.

Tetsu had sprung to his feet to defend Hikari. That, at least, spurred him from his depression. The other guard slammed a fist into Tetsu as he rose, then wrenched his arms behind his back and cuffed him. The other man was finished pawing at Hikari, cuffed her, and dragged her from the cell. Both guards looked to Hibiki. He followed them, helping Tsuchigumo along. A third and fourth guard trailed along behind them.

They were led from their cell to a courtroom—Hibiki used the word lightly. Their fate, he knew, had been decided long before they were even arrested. Cameras flashed as they walked through the doors. Reporters brandished microphones and barked questions—which, thankfully, everyone had the good sense not to answer. Cameramen followed their progress with a steady pan of their tripods.

Damn, they were national news. Hibiki frowned. He was sure he looked a fright. He was sure they all did. They were led to the front of the courtroom where they were instructed to sit. Hibiki helped Tsuchigumo sit, then followed the order. He paused, looked at Hikari and Tetsu, and saw they were going to resist.

Hibiki glared at them. Willed them to sit. Begged them to sit. Prayed, to whatever god there was, that they would sit.

Hikari took one look at the guards, sneered, then sat. Tetsu followed her example. Hibiki released a ragged sigh. They were not making his task any easier. They just had to be silent, follow orders, go to prison like good little sheep, and then Hibiki could explain their situation. Then everything would be fine.

An elderly swordsman from the Land of Iron, based on his manner of dress, entered the room. Their judge, jury, and executioner—hopefully just the former, not the latter. The old man took a seat on a raised throne behind a desk of some dark wood.

Their judge cleared his throat. Cameras flashed. The crowd went silent. "Hikari Yagami, formerly of the Mist; Tetsu Uzumaki, formerly of the Land of Iron; Hibiki Otonari, formerly of the Grass; 'Tsuchigumo,' formerly of the Land of Wind," he intoned. "You are charged with gross war crimes, among which, include the defamation of headbands, the murder of innocent civilians, destroying civilian property, pillaging, giving no quarter to surrendering combatants, unlawful perfidy, attacking illegitimate military targets, the use of weapons of mass destruction in the form of unlawful summons, and the possession of an unlawful biological weapon of mass destruction in the form of a Tailed Beast. How do you plead?"

Damn. What did Bolt and his beautiful chakra get up to?

The room was silent, save for the hum of cameras. Hibiki looked to his left. Then to his right. No one was speaking for them. He cleared his throat. "Not guilty?" Hibiki ventured.

The judge looked up at him. Hibiki gave the man his best charming smile. He sneered. "At the behest of the Kage, and by the power vested in me by the Union, I sentence you to life without parole to be served at Hōzuki Castle. Dismissed," he intoned.

The guards took great pleasure in dragging them back to their cells. They took even greater pleasure beating them bloody, black, and blue afterwards.

Well.

At least they weren't executed.

* * *

Prison was an unpleasant experience. It was made doubly worse because many of the men and women guarding him, them, were former countrymen. Hibiki caught their dark looks and muttered whispers.

Hibiki was certain he was due a beating in which the guards would be 'too slow' to come to his rescue. Too bad for them, such a beating was not going to occur. Their merry band of misfits had quickly carved their way through the most formidable, if not largest, of the prison gangs on their first day in the Blood Prison.

No one dared to cross them. No one dared to harass them. And if they did, well, while no one could use chakra thanks to the beautiful warden and her beautiful, crystalline, chiming, frigid chakra—Hibiki sighed wistfully—Tetsu was more than enough to break fingers and snap necks.

Hibiki flashed a guard a charming smile as he stepped into the mess hall. He didn't even bother walking over to the line. The first day, one of the cooks had given him, and the rest of their group, quite clearly dirty food; hair, spit, dirt, other unmentionables that Hibiki didn't want to think about. Their solution was simple.

Hibiki found the rest of the team. He gave them a wave in greeting, then took his place next to Tsuchigumo. They then waited for another group of prisoners to get their food. The three of them followed Tetsu to the table. Sat down. Told them to leave.

Usually they did. This time, however, they didn't. Tetsu broke their fingers. Hibiki took a tray piled high with what appeared to be some sort of cross between a bread and a meat with various fruits and vegetables mixed in during the baking process. He took a bite. It was about as appetizing as it looked. At least it was edible. No spit and no hair.

The guards didn't even bat an eye. Hibiki pushed a forkful of the... whatever it was, around his plate. He looked up at Hikari. Her face was contorted in a very cute way. He gave Bolt credit where credit was due. He had an exquisite taste in, unfortunately, women, though Hibiki was trying to sway him to the other team. But it was her chakra that was delectable. She was doing something— _something_ —with it. Bubbling and churning and frothing like the sea in a storm. Granted, they were all doing something with their chakra. Keeping their bodies from freezing solid, mainly, thanks to their warden.

But Hikari—she was doing something _more._ "What are you doing?" Hibiki whispered, taking a bite of the bread-meat product and trying not to taste it.

Hikari wrinkled her nose. She was annoyed he had spoken. "Training," she hissed, quietly. She looked around. No guards. No prisoners. They won't be overheard. "I refuse to sit here and waste away. I have a storage seal. It takes effort to keep myself warm and siphon chakra to it, but I can do it. I'm not going to wait for _him_ , if you're even _right_."

Hibiki frowned, then sighed. She had the affection of Bolt, something he would, quite literally, murder to have, and she was angry with him. With their future liberator. With that beautiful, electric chakra. Hibiki couldn't fathom it. He would do anything, say anything, to have that chakra focused on him.

"It's not his fault," Hibiki pointed out.

"I know!" Hikari snapped.

"Well," Hibiki mused, after a pregnant pause. "I suppose that's for the best. I imagine _he_ will have plans when we next meet him. We'll need to be stronger, better, if we don't want to disappoint him."

Tetsu perked up at that. He nodded, to himself, and seemed to come to a decision. "If you cannot train the body, train the mind; if you cannot train the mind, train the body," he quoted.

"Indeed," Hibiki mused, eying Tsuchigumo. The puppeteer was quiet and sullen as he nursed the stub of his missing arm. He could train neither his body nor mind. Then again, neither could Hibiki. It took all his concentration, all his chakra, to keep the cold at bay. To keep the warden's jutsu from freezing him to death. Hikari had the precision, the efficiency, to handle both tasks at once. Tetsu had the sheer density, quantity, of chakra to shrug off the worst of the cold. He could train his body, and ever so slowly, his chakra.

But Tsuchigumo and him? They were helpless. It irked Hibiki.

Hibiki took another bite of the food... loaf.

Prison was an unpleasant experience.

* * *

It was a cold day in December when it happened. A year, perhaps more, since they were imprisoned.

Hibiki had managed to shoo off the flies that buzzed around the only television in their cell block—he thought it was strange that the prison would provide such a luxury, but he supposed it was better to have happy, content prisoners rather than bored, rioting ones.

The show they were watching, some cheap soap opera about a man from the Leaf falling in love with a woman from the Stone during the height of the Third War, abruptly cut off and was replaced by the standard news channel. The news was nice, in a way, because it allowed them to see outside the walls of their prison.

But it was the subject of the news that drew his eye. Hibiki watched as the anchor cued a handful of clips from a video to be played. Masked men and women in a poorly lit room looming over a man with a bag on his head.

" _A new group, calling itself a revolution, published a video online today..."_

Hibiki felt his grin grow. He had been wondering, ceaselessly, what Bolt was doing. Where he was. Why he hadn't come for them. What plans was that beautiful chakra concocting?

Now, he thought he had his answer.

Bolt was rattling cages—the cages of the mightiest predators in all the land. He was sure of it. Who else had the power, the courage, to openly oppose the Union?

If it wasn't Bolt, Hibiki didn't know who would be powerful, or stupid, enough to do so.

The new group was the talk of the prison. The guards were tense and nervous. Jumpy, really. Hibiki smiled at a guard, a pretty woman with even prettier chakra, as their group made their way outside for their designated exercise period. She paled and swallowed. Hibiki did not miss how her hands drifted to her weapons.

They expected an attack on Hōzuki Castle. They didn't know it was coming, they just feared it. Hibiki chuckled. If they knew what he did, they would be shitting their pants. He held a hand in front of his eyes as the harsh light of day shone down upon him.

Tetsu moved to the part of the yard where men and women lifted weights and engaged in a crude, yet 'honorable,' form of sparring. Hikari found a nice place to sit where the towering walls of the prison shaded her eyes from the sun but let her bask in the warmth. She closed her eyes and meditated, as she had nearly every day since her imprisonment.

Tsuchigumo followed him. Hibiki busied himself by networking. That was what he was good at. That was what Grass trained him to do. Hōzuki Castle held some of the most dangerous and infamous criminals in the world. If he was right, and Bolt really was behind the new group, perhaps he would appreciate Hibiki more if he managed to secure some new blood?

Hibiki smiled at the thought. Such forethought deserved a reward. A kiss, perhaps? Or a date? If Bolt would just give him the chance to show what a good partner he could be...

Hibiki paused. A thin figure walked atop the walls. He would recognize that icy chakra anywhere. The warden. Kahyō Yuki. Hibiki shuddered. Her chakra was—unique. Almost without compare. Bolt was still the pinnacle of beauty and power, but Kahyō was a close second amongst desirability.

Hibiki smiled and waved up at her. He could feel the way her frigid gaze passed over him. He shrugged and made his way over to a delightful pair of gentlemen. Their chakra wasn't particularly alluring or strong. Average in power, with a—Hibiki likened it to an aroma. Like the smell of freshly cut grass. Kentarou and Koutarou Fujioka. Brothers, educated, well spoken. Mercenaries for hire, if you could pay their price. They specialized in barrier ninjutsu using, of all things, a sense of smell. If you could smell the flowers they grew, you were made to walk away and forget what you had been doing.

A very useful ability. "Hello, gentlemen," Hibiki said, arms wide in greeting.

Hibiki smiled and took a seat at the table they were playing cards at. The dealer dealt him a hand. A pair of shuriken. Not bad. Koutarou folded, along with another man at the table. That left him, Kentarou, and an older, graying woman still playing. Tsuchigumo peered over his shoulder to watch. Hibiki offered him a chance to play, but he never took it.

Hibiki looked up. He caught Kahyō watching him like a hawk eyed a rat in a field. He just smiled at her.

It was a shame, truly. She was going to die. But it would be a glorious, beautiful death. Of that Hibiki was sure. One beautiful chakra consuming another.

He sighed wistfully.

* * *

Their group was moody.

It annoyed Hibiki. Nearly two years to the day they had been sentenced. The 'anniversary' was always a tense time. Tetsu had broken the legs of a man who bumped into him on the first anniversary.

The food was bad, still. Today's menu featured a bland bread that Hibiki was certain contained some form of additive that wasn't fit for human consumption. Sawdust, maybe? Week old refried beans that were more of a watery, goopy paste. Preserved peaches, which he normally found the best thing Hōzuki Castle served. Today, however, they were an unnatural green color. He wasn't going to risk consuming them.

Hibiki sighed.

Hikari slammed her fist into the table. Hibiki jumped and promptly berated himself. "Yes," she snarled victoriously, a grin flashing her pearly white teeth.

People were staring, but Hikari was showing more emotion in this moment than she had nearly all year. Hibiki glared at the onlookers, who promptly returned their eyes to their food once Tetsu added his crimson stare.

Hikari ducked her head and her shoulders rose and fell. Hibiki realized she was laughing under her breath.

"Mind telling the rest of us what is so funny?" Hibiki drawled as he dragged his spoon through the beans.

Her head rose. Hibiki dropped the spoon in the beans. He wasn't going to touch the handle now that it had goop on it. He frowned.

Then his eyes found their way to her forehead, and Hibiki kicked himself. His senses were going haywire. There, slowly fading in on her forehead, neatly between her eyes and above her nose, was a diamond the color of blood. It looked like a tattoo, but Hibiki knew better—even without his senses. Not many people hadn't seen pictures of Tsunade of the Sannin.

It was a seal. Hikari told him she had a "storage" seal. She neglected to mention it was the same one as the Fifth Hokage. One that carried the energy output of nearly two full years worth of chakra.

Hibiki gaped. It was like seeing a boulder balancing atop a pebble. An unnaturally small and dense marble of chakra that was nestled within her skull between the Gates of Opening and Healing. Yet, to his senses, it dwarfed the sum of every chakra signature in the prison several fold.

"It worked," Tsuchigumo spoke up. His voice was small and hoarse from disuse.

"You didn't think it would?" Hibiki asked, brows raised.

The puppeteer shrugged. "I oversaw only a small portion of the script," Tsuchigumo said. "It was a fifty-fifty, if the seal took to her."

"I knew it would," Hikari said. The joy in her voice could not be denied. "Bolt is talented with fūinjutsu. I wouldn't have accepted it if I thought it wouldn't work."

"This one believes you should hide the seal, my Lady," Tetsu rumbled. "The honorless dogs will not take kindly to it."

Hikari nodded and shifted her hair so that it covered the blood diamond fairly well. Hibiki nodded. Who was going to make waves about it? Hikari alone wasn't able to break out of Hōzuki Castle, even with all her power. If the warden focussed her ability on you, it took everything in your power to simply stay alive.

Hibiki eyed the guards as he stood and deposited his tray at the kitchen. No, they couldn't—wouldn't—do anything. They were too scared of inciting a riot. Too scared of drawing the ire of the Revolution.

Hibiki smiled and made his way back to the table.

Forty-four days later, the prison trembled.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I read the first chapter today... my God, it's bad. So many mistakes... might have to do a bit of a rewrite.

I'm probably just going to do one more interlude (Naruto/Sasuke) and then move on with the story, instead of doing the grab bag misc. character interlude. Let me know if you guys _really_ want that extra chapter. Though I imagine most of you want to know what happened to Bolt.

A wild Hibiki chapter has appeared. I was debating whose point of view I wanted to write this chapter from, and eventually settled on him over anyone else.


	61. Chapter 61 -- Bolt Interlude

Bolt opened his eyes.

He lay there, basking in the afterglow of being alive. The cave was dark, but familiar. He hadn't been in his right mind when he made the decision to tempt death, again, but he had succeeded. A last minute summoning jutsu. He had trusted in the hawk clan's ability to judge the situation and they had come through.

Bolt knew there was no path that led to him defeating or escaping his father and his allies. No path except one. One filled with grief and heartbreak.

As Bolt gazed into the dark, he pondered. His chest felt heavy and cold. He had chosen the path of justice; of peace. Now he had to walk it.

The question was: how?

There were so many problems in the world. So many injustices and so much pain and hatred. How did one man solve the world's problems? Could one man, even, solve the world's problems? Bolt supposed it didn't matter. It was the act of trying that mattered. That he saw the flaws of the world and resolved himself to fix them.

What, then, was the goal of the path he walked? What ailed the world? War, of course. War never changed. War was on the horizon. Everyone could feel it, but no one could put words to the feeling. War was brewing. Maybe it wouldn't happen this year, or the year after that, or even the year after that. How long would it take? Five years? Ten? Twenty?

It didn't matter. There would be another war. Bolt knew that. How did he prevent it? Greater men than he had pondered that question and still they had not found an answer. His father was one such man.

Bolt supposed it came down to hate. Their people were a people of hatred. And war bred even more hate, and hate bred even more war. A vicious cycle of self-destruction. A problem so very simple, and yet so very, very hard to solve. To destroy hate, you had to destroy war; and to destroy war, you had to destroy hate.

What was the Answer? Bolt could feel it on the fringe of his mind. An Answer to all the world's woes.

And what of the Tailed Beasts? Perhaps some, like the Nine-Tails in his father, weren't beings of pure, concentrated hate and destruction. But, like the One-Tail, Bolt knew they had the capacity for great—perhaps the greatest—evil. What did he do about them? Would it be cruel to destroy them? To seal them, like the One-Tail? Even the benevolent ones?

It didn't matter.

The Tailed Beasts, benevolent or malevolent, were a cancer upon the peace of the world. Even if they were all paragons of peace, eventually, whether they wanted to or not, they would destroy the world; destroy peace. Perhaps not for a hundred years. Maybe, even, thanks to the Uzumaki vitality, even two hundred years. But there would come a time when he and his father and every protector of the Tailed Beasts were dead. And, then, there would come a time when the people of the world, the next generation of extraordinary powerful ninja, who would see the Tailed Beasts as weapons of war.

They would do battle with the Tailed Beasts, seal them, and turn them into weapons of mass destruction. Just like Hashirama Senju. Perhaps that generation would be heralded as saviors, at first. But Bolt knew that the world could not handle a war upon the scale of the Fourth Great War again.

So the Tailed Beasts had to be dealt with. Bolt knew that. For the peace of children yet unborn, they had to be destroyed, or sealed forever.

The buzz reverberated in his mind. He heard a squawk of alarm. Bolt ignored it. Focussed on his thoughts. He was close, he knew it. To the Answer.

And the Union—corrupt. Full of men and women content to keep the status quo. To simply allow the world to rot. Because they would die, be dead and gone, before the world died. They didn't care. They didn't care that they were a cancer that slowly gnawed the world to its bones. As much good as his father had done, had tried to do, the Union was failing. For all the good it had done, it hadn't helped the world. It had only helped the Great Five. The Union was falling apart. And when it did, the world would turn to war once more.

How could he destroy war? How could he use the world's hate against it? The question was simple: why did people fight? Power? Greed? Status? Pleasure? Fear? There were so many petty answers. Too many to name.

How to stop it?

Bolt frowned. The buzz in his mind was drowning out his thoughts. He was close, he knew it. A small hawk was leaning over him and squawking quick, frightened words. Bolt ignored him. The Answer was becoming clearer.

It was so simple. It was so simple that it scared him. Both because of the nature of the Answer and the simplicity of it. Had he been the only one in history to reach that conclusion? Was it possible? Bolt laughed. Short, dark, and sardonic.

It was simple. The fighting would end only when somebody won.

A war was only waged between two countries. Mist against Cloud; Stone against Leaf; Leaf against Sand. Because they were different. Because they didn't understand each other. Because they were afraid of each other. Because they hated each other.

But what if there was only one country? No Mist, no Cloud, no Stone, no Leaf, and no Sand. A single, unified country. One where people were brothers without borders. Where a fisherman in the Land of Water was as much a countryman to the miner in the Land of Earth and the baker in the Land of Fire and the potter in the Land of Wind.

There would be no one left to fight. No one left to hate.

But then people would find reasons for hate to flourish. They would turn their hate inwards. Upon themselves and others. Looking for reasons to hate each other. Because of skin color, maybe, or perhaps if one had a bloodline or not? Or where your family came from before unification? That hate would come to a boil and erupt. A new kind of war. One fought between father and son, mother and daughter.

Civil war. Destroying each other.

But that was a much simpler problem. One that had already been solved long, long ago. By the founder of the Leaf; Hashirama Senju. It wasn't even that unique of an idea. The Hidden Stone had their own, similar philosophy.

The Answer was the Will of Fire.

The Will of Fire burned in the hearts of every man, woman, and child of the Leaf. Its people loved, believed, cherished, and fought to protect their home. The Will of Fire was what made the Leaf strong. The Leaf could not be broken. You could destroy the homes. You could burn the land. You could murder its people. But, so long as even a single Leaf of the Tree yet lived, the Will of Fire burned on.

Nagato thought he could extinguish the Will of Fire. He died, a failure, but the Will of Fire burned on.

So it was simple. You didn't extinguish the Will of Fire. You stoked it. Tamed it. Made it burn for you, and only you. Unify the world, a single nation, with the love of the people backing it—a Will of Fire. A nation that could not be destroyed; not from without, and not from within.

Because so long as a single ember smoldered, the Will of Fire would continue to burn.

That was the Answer.

It would be difficult. The most difficult thing anyone had ever attempted in the history of all creation. To wage a war for peace. The Last War. The war that would herald an era of peace that never ended.

The world didn't need a hero. A hero couldn't succeed in this task. Bolt had tried. His father had tried. Neither of them had succeeded.

No. The world didn't need a hero. It needed a villain. There was an evil that the world could not defeat with just means. An evil that could only be destroyed by another evil. That was why the world had failed to destroy war. Everyone thought the Answer was good; was love. It wasn't. The Answer was an evil that could defeat an even greater evil. An evil that could bring about justice; peace.

So he would be a villain. He would wage a war to bring peace.

Bolt would destroy the world. Then he would create it anew.

Then there would be peace.

That was his Answer.

And for that, he would need power. He would need allies. He would have to be better; faster, stronger, smarter, than any man alive. He would have to be perfect. Just like the Uzukage told him.

Bolt sat up. The hawks perched atop the nest he laid in squawked. He ignored them. With a thought, a wisp of smoke vomited out a large piece of fabric. Black as night, dotted with clouds as red as blood. Bolt ran a hand over the clouds.

He would need a symbol.

A symbol that struck fear into the hearts of every ninja in every nation.

He would need the Akatsuki.

The New Akatsuki.

* * *

Bolt pulled his hood up. He shambled forward. Never had he thought he would return to the one place that was most dangerous for him to be.

The Hidden Leaf.

But it was a necessary danger. A calculated risk. He needed power. He needed knowledge. And, most of all, he needed allies. Allies that had the strength, the wisdom, to stand against the Union. Against the Five Kage.

Against his father.

Bolt emerged from the forest. Nothing could hide from his eyes. He gazed up at the monolithic barrier surrounding the Leaf; above ground, and below. He raised an arm. A chain of violet chakra lashed out. It pierced the barrier with an otherworldly ease. Bolt manipulated the chain. Wound it upon itself. Carved a door in the barrier.

Then he walked through.

And no one was any the wiser. He shambled through the streets of the Leaf. It was dark, and cold, and the people who were out this late were too inebriated to pay him a second glance. His Byakugan guided him. Wove him through alleys and paths. Avoided the guards.

Bolt made his way to the old Senju district. It had been abandoned long ago. Even before the start of the Third War. Tsunade Senju was the last living descendent of the once glorious bloodline. She had no desire to live in the deserted remnants of her clan's former glory.

So it was sealed up. The sprawling estates. The gardens. The forests. The shrines. The temples.

Even the Uzumaki shrine.

It laid in ruin. Savaged by the steady march of time. The floor had rotted away, and with it, the supports for the roof. It had caved in upon itself. Vines crawled over the ruins. Little saplings and ferns sprouted skyward. What little remained of his clan's once most holiest of temples was now nothing more than a casualty of nature.

Bolt leapt over the mangled stairs and ducked under a support beam as he entered the temple. The inside was much the same as the outside.

Save for one part. A single wall remained upright. Unbowed, unbroken. The emblem of the Whirlpool was displayed three times, proudly, at the top of the wall. And, at the bottom, an inferno of black flames raged. The fire did not crackle. It did not emit heat. It did not emit light. The same eldritch fire that burned in the temple on the Land of Whirlpools.

Bolt did not hesitate as he stepped through the flames. The chill of death coursed through him and crawled up his spine.

He was found worthy once more.

Bolt didn't want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't been.

And, there, at their places of honor, sat six masks. One, a man who looked more beast than human. The second was a woman whose visage was obscured by a veil. The third was a grisly, horned skull. The fourth and fifth masks were near identical; two men with long faces whose chins wore a necklace of prayer beads. The sixth and final mask, that of a young girl wearing a hood.

Bolt took them. Then he made his way back to the Leaf.

He had one more matter to attend to before he left his home.

* * *

Katasuke shambled through the door of the bar, quickly found his usual stool, and collapsed into it. He raised his hand, two fingers splayed, and the barkeep brought him his usual. Two shots of the strongest, most pure rice wine that money could buy. He downed one, then the other, in less than three seconds. He held up a single finger.

This drink, he savored. It didn't take long for the alcohol to drive the darkness plaguing his mind away. The pleasant warmth in his belly made the cold night not quite as chilly. Katasuke knew his drafty apartment would be only a tad warmer than the outside.

He took another drink. Then another. He frowned. His cup was empty. He held up his hand, again, and the barkeep obliged him. Katasuke hesitated. Fuck it. He gestured for a fifth drink. Work had been damned frustrating today. He deserved to treat himself.

Fucking idiots. He was surrounded by the mentally incompetent. The retards of the scientific community. They could barely do the math to build a house's foundation that was level. Katasuke swore under his breath and took another drink. He had more intelligence than every man and woman at the construction company combined, and yet they hired him as a fucking intern. Him. An intern. He was a fucking forty-four year old man, former head of the Science Ninja Weapons division.

And he couldn't find work anywhere, except as a lowly intern. All because of the damned Hokage. The man was little better than a child. Threw a tantrum because he was a piss poor father and his son used the tool he made. It didn't matter that he was advancing technology by leaps and bounds. Or that he was the most talented mind to grace the village in decades.

His future went up in flames because the Hokage paid just a bit too much attention to his brat. Katasuke snorted. It was ironic. The Hokage barely saw his family, barely paid attention to them, and the one time he did was the one time his family, his son, didn't want it.

Katasuke raised his glass in a silent toast to the Young Master. Three months since his passing, Sage of Six Paths rest his soul. He took a long drink. Katasuke frowned. Empty, again. He sighed and raised his hand.

A man sat next to him. Katasuke sighed. He was surrounded by inept fools. Couldn't this blind fuck see that there was several empty seats at the bar? Common social courtesy demanded that you place a single empty stool between each other if there was room. Fuck, Katasuke bet he stood next to another man at the urinals when he pissed—

"Two more of what he's having," the man said.

He was hunched over. A hood hid his figures. Katasuke paused his internal rant. He sighed, then shrugged. If he was buying a round of booze, who was he to complain? The barkeep set down two cups of rice wine. The man slid a single glass over to him. Katasuke nodded his thanks and—good fucking—there was more wine on his shirt than in his mouth.

Katasuke gaped. He looked around. Saw nothing amiss. He sent a pulse of chakra through his pathways. It wasn't an illusion. He swallowed. "Y—Young Master?" Katasuke uttered, the ghost of a whisper.

Bolt Uzumaki, in the flesh, grinned ever so faintly. "Hello, Katasuke," he said.

"What—what are you doing here?" Katasuke asked.

Bolt took a drink. Took his time answering. Katasuke found his eyes darting towards the dark corners of the bar. Afraid of what lurked there. He didn't see any masks. No assassins. Bolt sighed as he set his cup down. "I heard you've been down on your luck," he said. "A man as talented and gifted as you shouldn't be working construction. You know this. So, the question is, why do you?"

Katasuke grit his teeth. His jaw worked up and down. For once in his life, his brilliant mind couldn't put together the words. Bolt smiled. "I'm going to change the world, Katasuke," he said. "You have a very unique set of skills. A set of skills that I could use. A set of skills that is wasted on... construction. Work for me. Help me change the world. Do that, and your name won't be forgotten as the failure of a dead department of a dead program."

Katasuke took a breath. Held it in. He could see the fire, the conviction, in Bolt's eyes. He recognized it. How often had that same fire, that same conviction, burned in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror? When he had been determined to bring the world into a new age of warfare with his tools.

"You'll have a lab," Bolt continued. "Not now, but soon. Assistants. Funding. Support. No leash; no constraints. You'll be a part of something much larger than yourself. Your tools will have a direct impact on lives of millions."

Katasuke exhaled. He took another breath. He downed his drink.

Then he smiled. "I accept," he said.

* * *

There was so much to do. And so little time to do it all.

He had to train. Had to become powerful enough to fight a Kage in his own right, and win. Had to become wise enough to lead an organization of S-class threats whose sole purpose was the destruction of the world and the creation of a new one. He had to gather allies. Allies who could stand with him, both on the field of battle and off. Allies who could help him wage a shadow war against every nation.

He had power to amass. Power to master. And so little time.

The rain came down sideways. It struck him in the face, hard, but Bolt didn't flinch. He kept his eyes trained on the depths. The waves churned the lake with a violence he had not expected. Bolt didn't even know if Konan's body was at the bottom of the lake. He suspected, and found, the grave, the temple, of her two childhood friends. That had been difficult, but easy by comparison.

Konan hadn't been terribly descriptive about where she hid the bodies of her two childhood friends. Bolt couldn't blame her. What if Madara had found her journal after killing her? Made his way to the temple and desecrated it?

That would have had her turning in her grave. If she had one. Bolt didn't know if she did. He didn't picture Madara as the type of man who would give his enemies a proper burial. So, here he was, forced to scour the lake for an object no larger than a coin. Konan said she would make her last stand atop the lake. Her body had to be here. Had to. Because Bolt didn't know where to look if it wasn't—

Ah.

There it was. Far, far beneath the waves. In the depths of the lake atop which the Hidden Rain sat. Bolt took a deep breath, and then he dove. The good thing about being a Water Release user was that he was an unnaturally good swimmer. He could just feel the way he needed to swim in order to pass into the depths with ease.

Hikari was even better—Bolt suppressed the pang of loss—than him. Then again, most people from the Land of Water were. They seemed to be natural born swimmers. More comfortable in water than on land.

The light of the sun quickly faded to nothing. Darkness reigned supreme in the abyss. Only the Byakugan allowed him to see. He made his way deeper, and deeper, and deeper. The water began to crush him. His lungs burned with the need to breathe.

Bolt touched bottom. He scooped up the withered, skeletal remains. Really, he only needed the ring. But he owed Konan this common decency. For without her, he would never have had the knowledge needed to challenge the Union.

Bolt kicked his legs and propelled himself through the depths. He needed air. He headed to the shrine; the temple. An underwater cavern. A tunnel hewn into the rock that looped back up into a deposit of air. His Byakugan couldn't see into the temple, but Bolt was sure of it. It had to be the temple. Had to be.

Because if it wasn't, he was going to drown.

He entered the gaping maw of the tunnel in near total darkness. Kicked his legs harder. Felt the instinct to inhale, even underwater, course through his primitive brain. Bolt beat the reaction back. Kept it at bay.

The light burned his eyes. He sucked in a great gasp of breath and flailed as he was suddenly above water. Bolt winced as he threw the skeletal remains up to the floor and then dragged himself up. He lay, on his back, and gasped for breath.

That was close. Too close.

After a few moments, Bolt sat up. He frowned. The only thing left of Konan was a skull, a spine, half a ribcage, and a single full arm, and two legs that were missing from the knee down. If not for the ring on her right middle finger, Bolt would have never known it had been the remains of one of the most dangerous and infamous women in the world.

He gathered her remains into his arms and stood. The shrine was beautiful in its simplicity. All white stone and origami flowers. Small. At the fore of the room was a reclining wall. A field of paper flowers sat, as beautiful as anything nature could grow. The skeletal remains of someone rested in the center. There was a depression in the flowers where, perhaps, another body had sat. But it had been moved. Or taken.

Bolt frowned at the thought.

He moved forward and set what remained of Konan in the depression left by the moved body. Now she could be at peace. Bolt wondered if the other skeleton belonged to Yahiko or Nagato.

Bolt sighed. He leaned down and plucked the ring from Konan's finger. A simple band of silvery metal with a white gemstone set in the face. The character for 'white' was emblazoned atop the gem. Bolt moved to the other skeleton. He smiled at his good fortune. The body must have been Nagato. Another ring, another band of silver, was nestled on the right skeletal thumb. A purple-grey gemstone was set in the face, with the character for 'zero' etched into it.

Bolt held the two rings in his hand. One in each palm. Zero and White—two of ten. White disappeared in a wisp of smoke as he stored it in the seal on his forearm.

For Zero?

Bolt slipped the ring onto his right thumb.

* * *

Daichi Akamatsu stared at his monitors with dead eyes. On one, he was editing some film for a piece on the continuing depletion of ores in the Akiyama mountains—not nearly as interesting as the pair of rogue ninja for whom they shared the same name—that bordered the Land of Wind and Earth.

On the other, he was browsing forums and messaging boards looking for something, anything, interesting.

The world was boring. The world had been boring ever since the death of the Uzumaki upstart. Daichi thought the world was, finally, beginning to be interesting. That there would be a place for eager reporters, like himself, to risk their lives to bring the world the cutting edge of current events. To give the world, its people, a firsthand experience as the fragile peace shattered and devolved into war.

Daichi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He clicked on a thread. Some fishermen complaining about how the crackdown on mercenaries resulted in a boom of pirates—who now preyed on them.

Interesting, but boring. It had no flare. No life. No substance. Daichi wanted something to electrify the world, capture the hearts and minds of its people. Another thread. Boring. Another section of the forums, perhaps? He idly set his footage on the other screen to render.

Boring. Boring. Boring. Boring. Boring—

Not boring.

Daichi sat up in his chair. A bartender had overheard one of the men serving in the Leaf Barrier Unit. Unauthorized entry late at night, followed the next day by the disappearance of the former head of the Science Ninja Weapons Department.

That could be interesting. Someone managed to slip into the Leaf, undetected at the time, and then kidnap one of the former brightest minds the village had to offer? Daichi scrolled down. Pages of speculation and hearsay. No leads. No additional information.

He sighed. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. With a shrug, he made a throwaway account and began to gather information. At the same time, he began to write an outline on his second monitor.

An hour passed. No one had any more information. Just rumors about how the man, Katasuke, had been disgraced for—for providing Bolt Uzumaki the illegal ninja tool that drove him to abandon his village.

Now that—that was electrifying news. Daichi could allude to all sorts of things with that bit of information. He made a note in his outline. Perhaps he was taken, or killed, as vengeance for the kid's death? That was a thought.

Daichi quickly typed a note out saying as such—

"Not quite," a voice said.

Daichi leapt to his feet, hands lashing out and grasping for the dull sword he bought for home defense. He turned, and swung.

Not that it did him any good. The intruder caught the blade between his index and middle fingers. With a casual twitch, he snapped the blade. Daichi stumbled back as his attacker stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

A ghost had come to haunt him.

"Hello, Mister Akamatsu," Bolt Uzumaki greeted him. He glanced at his computer, then back at him. Daichi swallowed. "How would you like to document history?"

The offer hung in the air for a few long, tense moments.

How could he say no?

* * *

Kenshin Ikeda nervously clenched his fists. He took a deep breath. This was an important meeting. The most important one their fledgling group had ever had. His brother, and three of their friends, stood next to him. They all wore dark, militaristic outfits. Common in design and craft, their purchase couldn't be traced back to them. They wore cloaks, the hoods drawn over their heads, with plain masks.

And, in front of them, stood their fearless leader. She was beautiful, Kenshin liked to imagine when he was alone with his thoughts. Not that he or his brother or friends had ever seen her face beneath the mask she wore. Kenshin could understand that. Respect it. What they did here... it was treason of the highest degree. Kenshin would die, would suffer any torture, to further their group's agenda.

Just like Bolt Uzumaki had done. One of the rare few people in the world who understood the common man. Who fought for the little guy. Who defended them when they couldn't defend themselves. Kenshin and his friends cheered him on when he took the fight to the Tailed Beast that had been ravaging the Land of Wind. Cheered for him when he took the fight to the rampant monstrosities in their neighboring country, the Land of Sound. And they cheered for him when he attempted to put a stop to Cloud's monstrous treatment of captured mercenaries.

And then he had died. Been killed by the Union.

The wind howled and the rain continued to pour. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the darkness.

But his friends? His brother? He couldn't know for certain. What if the Union sunk their claws into them? Tortured them? Would they break? Would they spill the secrets of their organization? Kenshin didn't know.

But he knew their leader was smart for not showing her face. If one of their members divulged her appearance under torture, it would hamstring their revolution before it even began.

She turned to face them. Kenshin could practically see the beatific smile beneath her mask. Her blonde hair swayed, following her hips, as she turned. "He'll be here shortly," she said. "We get our intel, our funding, and then we're gone."

'He' was their backer. Their mysterious benefactor who provided them with weapons, intel, and enough money to feed and clothe them and their families. He made their revolution possible.

Kenshin nodded.

The door of their family's farm cracked open. A man strode inside. Kenshin heard the exhale of breath from behind him. His own breath joined his brother's and friend's. He was tall, even for a man, and thin of build. Narrow shoulders and hips. But no less intimidating for it. The only thing visible was a pair of cold, hard blue eyes.

But what struck terror into Kenshin was not the demonic mask their backer wore, but his cloak. Black, and with every flash of lightning, he could see clouds of red.

Kenshin recognized that cloak. His father had told him about it. He'd been a ninja for the Hidden Waterfall before the Fourth War. Retired, moved to the countryside, but never quite could put the life of a ninja behind him. Taught him and his brother the history of ninja, and even a few techniques here and there.

And so he knew that a cloak of black with red clouds was worn by only one organization.

Akatsuki.

"Celestial Maiden," the man said, speaking the name of their leader. Kenshin shuddered. Their leader bowed, ever so slightly.

"Zero," she greeted him. "Who's our first target?"

Zero, their backer, held out a briefcase. The Celestial Maiden handed it to him. Kenshin lurched forward to grab it, quickly. He nearly tripped over his own feet. His stumble drew the gaze of Zero. Kenshin exhaled shakily under those icy blue eyes.

"Takumi Miyamoto," Zero said. "A corrupt bureaucrat who stands in the way of rebuilding the Land of Frost, Steam, and Sound. The briefcase will bring you up to speed on his schedule, habits, and how well his home and office are guarded."

The Celestial Maiden looked to him and nodded at the briefcase. Kenshin opened it. He sucked in a breath. There were files there, sure, but beneath that was more ryō than he had ever seen in his life. Hundreds of thousands, if not more.

"... As well as funds. Use them wisely," Zero was saying. He held an arm aloft. From it, a wisp of smoke appeared. Another briefcase. "These," he said. "Will be the tools of your victory. The Kote, version two."

Their leader took the case, opened it, and slipped on a piece of armor. It looked like a vambrace. Then she passed the briefcase to them. "You have two weeks to complete your mission," Zero intoned. "Do not fail me."

Then he was gone.

Kenshin flinched as a clap of thunder echoed through his family's barn.

He didn't want to find out what happened to those that failed their backer. He didn't think he would like the answer.

* * *

There was something wrong with him. Bolt knew it. It had become more and more clear as the weeks, the months, passed by. He thought he had been imagining it at first. Then he thought Orochimaru had done something to him. Prodded his brain while he was unconscious. Then, after that, he thought he was going insane.

He wasn't. At least, Bolt was pretty sure he wasn't. He felt like he had been stretched too far. He had bounced back, yes, but he wasn't quite the same shape as he was before. It was difficult to put into words.

Bolt walked through the forest. It was dark, but then again, he hadn't operated during the day in a long time. He saw the world through the Byakugan more than his own eyes, these days. Bolt gazed through the trees and the rolling hills of grass. He had eyes only for his next task. An underground hideout, long abandoned, lay in ruins. A towering tree with thick, sprawling roots grew over the entrance to the subterranean facility. The tunnels and hallways had collapsed upon themselves. Only a few antechambers remained standing.

But they were enough.

It had been a long year and a half. Bolt hadn't realized how weak he was—how weak all people were. He needed his friends. Needed companionship. The year had been long, but even more than that, it had been lonely. That was what had been unbearable.

His only companion was the dull roar of the buzz in his mind. Strangely, it had grown on him. Bolt was no longer disturbed by its presence. No longer thought it was a machine placed in his gray matter by Orochimaru. Its clamor seemed to wax and wane at random intervals. But it was always there.

It was at times like these, when he was truly alone, for miles and miles, that the buzz was silent. It had nothing to say, Bolt supposed. It rarely did, anyway. Only when he pushed himself, or fought a powerful enemy, or tried to understand something, someone. It was frustratingly silent when he was alone with his thoughts, or surrounded by the weak; the uninteresting, the uncomplicated.

Bolt blinked. He stood before the ruins of one of Orochimaru's hideouts. He had been lost in his thoughts.

He sighed. With a thought, a chain of violet chakra erupted from his lower back. The spearhead of the chain swished back and forth in the air with a hiss. Like a snake, ready to strike. Bolt sent it forward. Like an extra prehensile limb, it allowed him to move the rubble and make his way deeper into the facility.

It was slow going, and grueling work.

But nothing could hide from the Byakugan.

Bolt found it. One of the few chambers that had survived the destruction of the base. It was littered with old scrolls and books, preserved organs, strange tools, and other horrifying examples of Orochimaru's depravity.

But Bolt only had eyes for one thing. A jar, set atop a large desk. Inside, a mummified hand; an arm, cut from the elbow. And there, on the left pinky, sat another ring. 'Sky.'

Bolt sent a chain forward. It wrapped around the jar and shattered the glass. An eruption of inky black chakra lashed out. It latched to anything it could touch. The wood of the desk, the stone of the floor, the paper in the scrolls and books. Even the Yin-Yang chakra of his chain.

It devoured it all.

Bolt waited. A minute, then two, and then three. He reconstructed his chain, sent it forward, and cut the finger from the hand. He bound it with the links of the chain, obliterating any chakra in the preserved remains, and brought his prize to him. Bolt slipped the ring off, discarded the finger, and stored Sky with White in the storage seal on his forearm.

Three of ten.

Bolt strode from the facility with his prize secured. The matter of his sanity weighed heavy on his mind. He had waited. He had been patient. He deserved a reward. He had waited, and waited, and waited. Played it safe. Learned from the mistakes of his predecessors, with all their power and experience. He deserved to make one selfish act.

It even aligned with his goals. He needed allies. He needed friends. He needed his friends.

Yes, Bolt decided. It was time that he planned for the return of his friends; Hikari, Tetsu, Tsuchigumo, and Hibiki.

Bolt understood what he had to do.

* * *

Kentarou looked at his cards. Looked over the tops of them. Looked his brother in the eye. Looked the other players in their eyes. Looked back at his cards. A Hokage and a Mizukage, with two Mizukage on the board.

Three of a kind.

"I call," he intoned, pushing forward a pack of cigarettes.

There were a few grumbles of displeasure. Haruto folded. Ayaka looked between the mountain of packs of cigarettes and her cards. She had nothing to bet. Ayaka frowned. "I'll throw in a blowjob," she said.

There were nods of agreement all around. That was as good of a currency as any in prison. The best, as far as Kentarou was concerned. Arata dealt the last card. A chūnin. Kentarou let out a whoop of glee as he threw down his three of a kind. Ayaka groaned and threw her cards down, a pair of jōnin. His brother glared at him and displayed a pair of Hokage.

Kentarou laughed and slid a single pack from the pile over to his brother. He grumbled but took the gift for what it was. Kentarou laughed and withdrew a cigarette. Haruto handed him a lighter. Kentarou smiled as he lit up and took a drag. Then he passed the lighter to his brother.

Kentarou tapped the lighter against his brother's proffered clenched fist. He was shaking. Kentarou frowned. "Bro?" he asked.

Then he noticed something.

The Yard was silent. Silent as the grave. Koutarou was trembling now. Kentarou followed his brother's gaze. Followed his friend's gazes. Towards the wall behind him.

He sat there, atop the wall. Casually, almost. One leg dangling over the side, the other crossed over it. Both arms were held behind his back as he reclined and looked down into the Yard from up high. The wind howled. Kentarou saw the cloak the man wore lash out. Black with red clouds. He fell. It was otherworldly. He seemed to slow as he fell. His cloak billowed. His boots touched the ground with the faintest hint of noise.

Up close, Kentarou shuddered. He wore an incredibly detailed, almost lifelike, mask. A skull with two wicked, curved horns crowning it.

The guards seemed to come to life. Alarms began to blare. Standard procedure dictated that he and his fellow prisoners fall to their bellies and cower, but Kentarou didn't. He wanted to see this. Wanted to see who dared to wear the symbol of the organization who dared to destroy the world. Wanted to see what a man who dared to assault the Blood Prison was going to do.

Kentarou could feel history being written. He wanted to see it.

The guards were pouring from the prison like a flood. Tens, then hundreds. The entire force. The warden joined them. Kentarou could see the ice began to build upon the man. He sighed. Defeated already. No one could—

The man had a weapon. A scythe. A farmer's scythe. It looked like a branch of a tree that had a curved blade lashed to its head. Crude. Not a tool of war. The man swung it and, against all belief, the ice shattered into a thousand tiny, sparkling shards that faded to nothing.

The Yard was silent once more.

Then he moved. Fast as a god. Kentarou blinked. It was over. The guards lay dead or dying. It happened in an instant. The warden sported a nasty gash in her shoulder that was staining her white robes a brilliant red color. She growled something, then leapt into the Yard.

Kentarou grabbed his brother by the collar of his shirt and dragged him away. He knew when shit was about to hit the fan. The other prisoners in the Yard began to scramble out of the way of the two clashing giants. None of them wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

Their warden began to the duel with an exaggerated wave of her arms. Icy shuriken shot forward. The man who dared to wear the Akatsuki robe plucked them from the air with a frightening speed and hurled them back at her. Most of the frozen projectiles faded to nothing, but a few were too fast to destroy. Warden Kahyō was forced to leap out of their paths.

As their keeper leapt out of the way, more ice attempted to form on the Akatsuki member. It took another casual swing of his scythe to shatter the technique before it could take hold. He moved. So quickly that it could hardly be called speed. His fighting style was all unorthodox footwork with sweeping fists and feet.

The scythe caught Kahyō in the calf as he spun out of the way. Kentarou heard their warden swallow a strangled scream and stagger back a foot, then another, before falling to her knees. She was gasping for breath. Chest heaving. Arms trembling. Sweat pooling and drenching her robes.

What?

She was—was exhausted? That was it? How had she managed the jutsu that kept the entire population of the prison from rebelling? Kentarou felt the chill in his bones recede. He could use chakra again. A quick glance revealed that others had noticed the same thing.

Kahyō rose. She found her second wind by releasing the jutsu holding them. She weaved hand signs, ones unique to Ice Release, and a wave of water surged forward and rapidly froze. It formed a wall of icy lances.

The man from Akatsuki danced forward. Each cleave of the scythe cut down a wave of ice and reduced it to wispy clouds of dissipating chakra. Kahyō was doing everything in her power to avoid engaging him in close combat.

But he was just too fast. Kentarou couldn't follow the movements with his eyes well. Movements so deceptively fast that he appeared to simply teleport; there one instant, gone the next. Another clean cut across the forearm. Kahyō shied away from the bite of the scythe. Another slash, shallow, across the belly. Kahyō fought, defended herself, weakly.

One final slash. Curved across the neck. Kahyō fell and did not rise.

Kentarou let loose a ragged breath he hadn't known he had been holding.

Then the man from Akatsuki turned his gaze on him—on them. For a long moment, no one moved. No one breathed. No one dared to. Then he spoke. His voice carried. Strong, level, with a hint of cold steel and an undertone of pain promised and inflicted. "I am Zero, leader of the Akatsuki," he intoned. "You are free, and now you have a choice to make. Your first choice as free men. You can go back to your homes. Back to your lives. Back to your family. Your friends. You can run and you can hide, and pray that the Union never finds you. Trust me when I say that you can never run forever."

Zero turned his head. His eyes were a haunting shade of blue, Kentarou noticed. "Or you can become a part of something greater than yourselves. To make the world better. For yourselves. For your friends. For your families. The Akatsuki was hired by the Revolution to destroy the Blood Prison and deliver a message. A message to the Union—that their tyranny will no longer stand. A message to you—that if you want to change the world, seek out the Revolution. Go back to your homes, your friends, your families. Go back and fight. Fight for a world free of the oppression of the Union. Fight so that good men and women are never caged like you were," he said.

He was a good speaker, Kentarou decided. Not like the shitty gang leaders or politicians. You could hear the deception in their tones. No, Zero believed in what he said. More than that, he made Kentarou believe in it. Made him want to believe in it.

Zero held up a hand. A single finger extended. The Yard didn't dare breathe for fear of missing the words. Zero cast his hand, lazily, towards the main body of the prison. Stone and mortar came undone in an explosion of light and pressure. Kentarou leaned back, eyes stinging, but not daring to blink. Prisoners—former prisoners, Kentarou amended—began to file out. Leading the charge was them. The problem children; Hibiki, Tsuchigumo, Tetsu, and Hikari. The former gang of Bolt Uzumaki.

"The world is changing," Zero intoned. "And you will need to find your place in it."

He held up his hand again. Another explosion tore down one wall, then two, then three, and finally four.

"You are free," Zero told them.

Kentarou grabbed his brother. Koutarou had always been the slower of the two. He was muttering something under his breath—something stupid that would probably get them killed. Kentarou elbowed his brother in the ribs. He found Haruto, Ayaka—he still wanted that blowjob—and Arata. Together, the five of them made their escape from the Blood Prison.

Kentarou looked back.

Hōzuki Castle was no more.

* * *

On the other side of the continent, the air writhed and rippled and coalesced upon itself. An inky, swirling darkness poured forth and ripped a hole through space and time.

Sasuke stumbled through, hand held to his left eye. His breaths came ragged and short. He stood, took a deep breath, and sighed. Then he began to weave hand signs. Five simple, short signs. He pressed a finger to the palm of his hand.

Nothing happened.

Sasuke sighed and his shoulders slumped. He took a deep breath. The jump wouldn't take as much energy now that he was back home. Space compressed and pooled in upon itself. He was whisked away.

There was resistance. Sasuke was surprised. He hadn't expected any. Few people, few beings, guarded against space-time techniques. They were too rare, too obscure, to guard against. Interesting. He pushed through it, and the resistance shattered like glass.

There was a cry, a squawk, of alarm. Suzaku reared up to beat his wings. Sasuke didn't want to deal with that, right now. He was too exhausted. His eyes, one purple and rippled, the other as red as blood, met the hawk's own. They were subsumed and mirrored. Suzaku stilled.

Sasuke sighed and strode to the far wall of the cave. His steps faltered as the light filtered through the cave and illuminated the ancient contract of the hawks.

He laughed.

"Clever, Bolt," he said, to no one. "Clever."

The scarred stone with his name etched on it became whole once more.

Sasuke sent a messenger hawk to the Leaf; to Naruto.

They had to be warned.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I've gone back and touched up chapter 1. If you'd like to give it a re-read, feel free to. Nothing changed, but it now reads much better. Just wanted to put my best foot forward for new readers.

I was going to write a Naruto/Sasuke interlude but... it just fell flat. It was filler—the bad kind. I had 5k words written down, wasn't close to finishing, and just stared at my keyboard and was like "This is boring to read. This is boring to write. Why am I writing this?" So, yeah. No Naruto/Sasuke interlude. The content, the important content, of that interlude will be recycled into the main story at some point in the next few chapters.

This chapter was meant to echo the discussion of "answers" Nagato and Naruto had. I hope I delivered—whether you agree with Bolt's answer or not. This chapter was also the titular chapter. I was pretty excited to write it.

Ages:

Bolt (18)

Sarada (17)

Himawari (16)

Mitsuki (?)

Hikari (20)

Tetsu (21)

Tsuchigumo (17)

Hibiki (20)


	62. Chapter 62

Sasuke strode through the door of the Hokage's office, ignored the secretary, and made his way up the stairs. Other than a squeak from the girl at the front desk, no one did anything to stop him. Which was good, because he was exhausted, and not in the mood to deal with red tape. The ANBU hiding in the shadows did well to stay out of his way.

Sasuke stepped through the door and found Naruto—but not the way he had left him. It was the way his shoulders slumped. Like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep for several years. It clashed with the bubbly personality the fool had. And, now that it was gone, Sasuke found that its absence irritated him more than he thought it would.

"Did you get my message?" Sasuke asked.

Naruto nodded. "ANBU on high alert in every country. Union forces at a state of alert. Kage notified," he rattled off.

Sasuke frowned. Then he nodded. "Good," he said. "I only fought a scout, I think, but it means they are getting closer. A couple more years, maybe, before they narrow it down. Five, I'm thinking. Less if I don't keep them occupied."

Naruto nodded. Sasuke frowned, then sighed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Naruto lied, badly. He was a terrible liar. Never could keep his emotions from showing. It irritated Sasuke that this loser had beaten him. Had managed to dig his way into his cold, dead heart.

Sasuke stared at him. The silence was awkward. Naruto wouldn't, or couldn't, meet his gaze. He busied himself by scribbling out orders and signing forms. Sasuke sighed, then used his Rinnegan to swap the pen for a chopstick that rested in a discarded cup of instant ramen. Naruto looked at the utensil dumbly for a few moments, trying to figure out how he had acquired it and why he had been writing with it.

Naruto looked up, then, met his eyes, looked down, and then sighed. Sasuke wanted to throttle the life out of the little blond idiot. If they weren't going to act like friends, Naruto should have never bothered saving him.

"Bolt is dead," Naruto said, suddenly. "Two years ago, or so. Two years and fifty-three days. Incident with Cloud."

Sasuke flinched, paused, then stared at him. "Naruto, I'm—no, he's not," he said.

Naruto looked up at him, confused. "Bolt isn't dead," Sasuke clarified.

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because the blond idiot's face contorted with an anger that Sasuke hadn't seen since before he had made his peace with the fox. "Don't fuck with me, Sasuke," he growled. His eyes turned a little purple, then red, as the fox's chakra seeped through.

"I'm not," Sasuke promised. "I stopped by the Land of Hawks, remember? Did you even read my message?"

"Of course!" Naruto snapped. "You think I don't remember Kaguya?"

Sasuke bit back his instinctual need to insult Naruto's intelligence. He sighed. "And, while I was there reestablishing my contract, I saw that your son had managed to conive his way into the hawk clan's good graces. His name was still on the wall. If he was dead, his name would have been crossed out."

The red in his eyes slowly faded back to blue as Naruto looked between each of his dōjutsu, as if trying to ascertain the truth. "That's impossible," Naruto said.

"Do you think I'd lie to you about this, Naruto? He might not have been my son, but I cared for him too," Sasuke drawled.

"But—but how? I—I saw him die. I could sense the moment his chakra just... stopped. Hinata couldn't find him the Byakugan and I—I never found a body," Naruto rattled.

"Really? After everything we've seen, everything we've done, everything we know? If you don't have their head on a pike, Naruto, assume no one is ever dead. And, sometimes, not even then," Sasuke intoned. He saw the way Naruto flinched at the mention of Edo Tensei.

Naruto struggled for words. Fine. Sasuke channeled the Animal Path. With a thought, a hawk appeared in a wisp of smoke; one eye, a Sharingan, the other, a Rinnegan. "Reverse summon Bolt Uzumaki," Sasuke commanded it.

The hawk slapped a feathered wing to the ground. A long moment, then—nothing. Sasuke frowned. Naruto was looking at him, torn between grief, anger, and betrayal. Sasuke ignored him. "Is Bolt Uzumaki still a registered summoner for the hawk clan?" Sasuke asked.

"Yes," the hawk chirped in answer.

"Summon him," Sasuke intoned.

"I cannot, Master Sasuke," the hawk squawked.

Sasuke frowned. "When was the last time he called upon your clan's services?"

"Three days, Master Sasuke," the hawk said.

"What does that mean?" Naruto asked. Sasuke shied away from the look of radiant hope in the blond idiot's eyes.

Sasuke shrugged. "Could mean anything," he said. "He could be resisting the summon. I doubt it, since the Animal Path is active, but it's possible. It could be that he is—off world," Sasuke ventured. He could see the color drain from Naruto's face. Yeah, Sasuke wouldn't be too pleased if Sarada had even the smallest chance of coming face-to-face with one of the Ōtsutsuki monstrosities.

"Or, perhaps... a space-time jutsu. Summoning techniques are limited by distance, mass, and the amount of chakra you're summoning. If he's in a pocket dimension, depending how 'far' away he is, not even I have the chakra reserves needed to drag him from it," Sasuke said.

"But the most likely reason... a barrier. A very powerful one. If he was pretending to be dead for all these years, I imagine he is in hiding. A barrier is a useful tool," Sasuke said.

A long pause followed his explanation. During which, Sasuke could practically see the rusty gears and springs that made up the blond idiot's brain churn as he expended energy and effort into thinking.

Then Naruto laughed, sobbed, and then laughed some more. A smile split his face from ear-to-ear.

Sasuke sighed. He supposed he would be happy, too, if he learned his deceased child was alive. Sasuke took pity on Naruto and excused himself, stating that he was tired from the journey—which he was—and that they would talk business tomorrow.

It had been a long, long day.

* * *

Sarada took an aggressive bite of the skewered dumplings she had bought. A bottle of green tea sloshed at her hip. She spotted a pickpocket eying the scroll she kept at her waist where her ANBU uniform was stored. She caught his eyes, glared at him, then flicked her eyes down to his hands where she made an exaggerated cutting motion.

He got the message and scurried off.

Sarada was really not in the mood to deal with little shits trying to steal from her. She just wanted to go home, take a long, hot shower, collapse into her soft, comfortable bed, and then forget that the Revolution was ever a thing.

A week of chasing rats through the harsh undergrowth of the Land of Rivers had left them with more questions than answers, and Squirrel had lost three fingers when one of the terrorists caught her hand with a sudden Earth jutsu.

A more crippling injury than it seemed. It left Squirrel unable to weave hand signs. That had been enough for Commander Hyūga to recall their team. So now Sarada was pissed, tired, and unsatisfied from not being able to have a good fight. Perhaps she'd see if Himawari would come back for a good spar? Or she could go to Mount Myōboku... the oil springs there were heavenly for the skin and relaxing muscles.

Sarada sighed as she turned onto the street where her house was. She really, really wished that her mother would let her get her own place. Squirrel and Octopus gave her constant shit for living at home with 'mommy.'

She unlocked the door, stumbled inside, and called out a feeble greeting to her mother—who, actually, answered her. Sarada frowned. What was she doing home from work so early? And—why was there a man in their house?

Sarada looked between her mother and—

"Dad?" Sarada squeaked. Holy shit! It was him. She nearly forgot what he looked like.

Her father smiled at her, a little tired in the eyes, and poked her in the forehead. Sarada blushed, rubbed at her forehead indignantly, and smiled—really smiled. For the first time in what had to be... years. Since Bolt died, she guessed. Sarada leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her father's ribs and then squeezed him with her chakra enhanced strength.

She smiled as she heard the breath leave his lungs. Her father smiled down at her, running a hand through her hair. He grinned a little, looking at her mother. "You let your hair grow out," he said fondly.

Her mother smiled, just a bit. Then she frowned. "You should ask her why," she said, throwing her to the wolves.

Sarada sighed at her father's expectant look. "This guy I work with—" Sarada neglected that it was _Dragon_ , her captain. "—he tried to shave my head while I slept. Said long hair was a liability in the field. I grew it out to piss him off."

Her father smirked, ever so slightly, but her mother kept a stern, expectant glare trained on her. "And?" Sakura pushed.

Her father seemed to catch on. That there was more to the story. Then his eyes widened. "Boyfriend?"

"Ew! No—" Fuck, now she was going to have to live with looking Dragon in the eyes and knowing her father suggested, indirectly, that she was involved with a fifty year old man. "—I haven't even thought about anyone like that since—since..."

Since Bolt. But she really didn't want to think about him now, too, with the stress of the Revolution wreaking havoc. Her mother winced and came to her rescue. "No," she said. "Her captain. Our daughter joined the ANBU."

Her father's reaction was interesting. Something torn between pride, pain, and sadness. He smiled sadly. "It's a very noble line of work," he said, softly. "Though I would prefer you not, I support your decision."

That was evidently not the reaction her mother was hoping for. She looked scandalized. Then she seemed to steel herself, as if exposing her choice of profession hadn't been the true goal. "Sarada," she took a deep breath. "I—I know you don't like talking about it, and I don't know what it was like, but your father does. Please, if not me, talk to him."

Then she left, without another word. Fuck. Her father looked at her, now, with a new kind of worry. Fuck. Sarada really, really didn't want to have this conversation. She didn't want to have it with her mother. She couldn't have it with Himawari. She didn't feel comfortable enough having it with Mitsuki, and he had disappeared a few months ago.

"What is Sakura talking about?" Sasuke asked.

Sarada bit her lip. Her boots suddenly looked quite fascinating. She knew she couldn't run from this. And, really, Sarada didn't want to. She knew that her father would understand. He was the only one alive who could. Sarada sighed, swallowed, and let her eyes transform. The ghost of _his_ memory haunted her thoughts. Pain, as fresh as the day she watched him die, lanced through her. Her head rose, and her eyes met her father's.

There was a sharp intake of breath and Sarada could _see_ the look of panicked alarm flash across her father's face. She smiled wryly.

"Bolt," her father managed to breathe out.

Sarada nodded.

Sasuke sighed and pushed her into a chair at their kitchen table. Her father looked—distressed. "You know use of the Mangekyō causes blindness?"

Sarada nodded. Her mother had told her. She had been very liberal in her use of her Mangekyō abilities after deducing what they were. "Yes," she said.

"Has your vision deteriorated yet?" Sasuke asked.

"No," Sarada answered. "Not to a degree that I can tell, anyway."

Her father seemed to breathe easier. "Have you ever used your Mangekyō and felt angry? Really, truly angry? Anger you could feel directed at someone, or some place, specifically? Any strong feelings of hatred?"

Sarada swallowed. "I—yes," she admitted. "I try not to dwell on it, though."

"Who?" Sasuke asked, leaning forward.

Sarada studied the grain of the wood. "Cloud, mostly. I know it's not their fault, but... I can't help it. The Hokage, some days. Because he should have been strong enough to—to save him," she said.

"Sarada," her father said. She looked up. "Those feelings? The anger and the hate? They aren't real. The Mangekyō makes you feel them. Especially when you think about what caused you to awaken it. The Mangekyō _wants_ you to use it. The more pain, the more anger, the more hate, the stronger it becomes. It's... a fine line. You have to be careful."

Sarada nodded and took a deep breath.

"Have you... have you tried to project that hate?" Sasuke asked. Sarada looked at him, not understanding. "Have you been able to manifest your Susano'o?"

Oh. "No," Sarada answered. She hadn't tried. She had been scared to try.

Her father nodded. "I'll teach you as much as I can, while I can. Naruto and I have agreed that I will be going back into the field at the end of the month. I'm sorry," he apologized.

Sarada nodded. She knew her father's duties were important, she just didn't know why. She would cherish the time she had with him.

Her father sighed. "Sarada, there's something I need to tell you. About Bolt," he said.

* * *

Bolt was glad he had waited.

Hōzuki Castle wasn't too far of a journey from his current base of operations in the southwestern Land of Waterfalls. It would take a few hours of running, at most, to travel between the two. Then they would be safe, and Bolt would be free to talk with his friends for the first time in a long time.

The nerves he usually dealt with were gone. Bolt spared a glance backwards. They had changed. Bolt didn't think they would have, but they had. He supposed it was only natural. Tetsu was, against all odds, larger than before. Taller, with broader shoulders. He cut an intimidating figure. Towering over him by at least two feet. Tsuchigumo was quiet, but Bolt could tell, could _understand_ , that he was doing better. The madness, the grief, from the One-Tail murdering his family was receding. Hibiki was studying his back a little more intensely than Bolt felt comfortable with. He wore a dazed, warm expression.

And Hikari—well, she still had the elegant grace and simple beauty that attracted him before. Bolt was dismayed. He had thought he had moved beyond those thoughts, those emotions, when he chose the path to peace. He couldn't afford any distractions. He had to be better. He had to be perfect.

Bolt would have to fix that.

His eyes found the diamond-shaped fūinjutsu matrix on her forehead. He smiled a little. She had mastered the technique, as much as he had mastered its creation. That was good. From a rough estimate with his Byakugan, Hikari had to have at least twenty-five to thirty-five the chakra stored in the seal as their entire group—combined. She would make a powerful ally if she joined the new Akatsuki.

Confident that they were no longer at risk of being attacked, Bolt allowed the summoned scythe to return to—to wherever it was he summoned it from. He removed the death mask of the High Priest and stored it within the storage seal on his forearm. The sudden tide of chakra leaving his system left Bolt breathless.

Of the six masks he possessed, the High Priest was the one he favored the most. The High Priest was quiet; soft spoken. Old, too. The High Priest had told him that he could trace his lineage back to the founder of their clan. That made him several thousands of years old. But, above all, the High Priest was the most useful of the masks for combat. The ability to summon a weapon—supposedly crafted by Death himself—that devoured and absorbed chakra? It was invaluable, and made dealing with Warden Kahyō far easier than it would have been otherwise.

Bolt leapt from the boulder he had perched atop and fell over the lip of the waterfall. He plummeted, cloak billowing, and fell to the surface of the river pooling at the bottom. The others followed him. Bolt turned and waded back into the misty spray. He entered the small cave that had been hewn from the rock after thousands of years of erosion. Bolt wove hand signs. The illusion, and the barrier behind it, parted.

Bolt gestured his friends forward and sealed the defenses behind him. "I know it's not much," Bolt said, as a way of breaking the ice. He had an old table with one uneven leg, a handful of chairs, a worn leather couch, a single, simple cot, and not much else. "I don't use much resources if I can help it. Most goes to the Revolution."

"Ha!" Hibiki crowed. "I knew it! It was you."

Bolt nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I—I learned from the mistakes of my predecessors."

Hikari turned her gaze on him. "I think you should explain why you're wearing _that_ ," she said, nodding at the Akatsuki cloak.

He didn't need her to specify. He shrugged. "It's a symbol," he said. "One that people recognize. One that people fear. It's a means to an end. A tool."

"And you just decided to fake your death and rebuild one of the most infamous criminal organizations of all time?" Hikari ranted.

"It was, is, necessary," Bolt insisted. "It gives the group legitimacy. The Revolution struggled with recruitment because it was new. Not so much, now, but it's still a problem. When it comes time for me to show myself, Akatsuki will be taken as a much more serious threat than an unknown fledgling group."

Hikari seemed to mull his answer over. Tsuchigumo was eying the shifting mass of chains that formed the inside of the barrier. Tetsu looked puzzled. "My Lord," he spoke. "Why not face your foes in honest, open battle?"

"It's not that simple," Bolt said. "The Union has more resources—more men, more funding, and more power—than Akatsuki could ever have. The original group lost because they operated in the open and challenged the Great Five. They were doomed to fail from the start. No one, not me, and not them, could defeat the Union in combat. This war is one that will be won from the shadows. Thus, the Revolution."

"It's brilliant," Hibiki chimed in. "You force them to fight a war on two fronts. You, from the shadows, and the Revolution, in plain sight. The Union is forced to split resources between fighting the Akatsuki and the Revolution, meaning they're weakened. They'll devote their time and energy into fighting the enemy they know rather than the ghost they don't know. Allowing the Akatsuki to move unhindered, unchallenged, as you hamstring them when they least expect it. Am I right?"

Bolt nodded with a small grin. "Brilliant," Hibiki breathed, with a look of awe.

"And I suppose you want us to join you on this little venture of yours? That's why you broke us out, isn't it?" Hikari asked, a little angrily.

Bolt sighed, bit his lip, and shook his head. "No," he said. "You don't have to join, though... Hōzuki Castle needed to be destroyed. The Union will be scrambling to capture the escaped prisoners and trying to save face, all while more and more people flock to the Revolution. Saving you was simply an added benefit. You're free to do whatever you want."

"This one lives to serve, my Lord," Tetsu spoke without hesitation, bowing deeply.

"Thank you," Bolt said, with a nod. He had expected as such, but it was still nice to see that his friendships hadn't deteriorated over the past two years.

"Well," Hibiki said, stepping up. "I certainly don't have anything better to do, and I am not going back to prison. The food there is terrible, absolutely dreadful," he said, with a charming smile. His eyes darted between him and Hikari, something akin to hope shining there.

Bolt looked to Hikari next. She wore a small, cute frown. "What's the point?" Hikari relented. "Why the Akatsuki? What's the goal?"

Bolt answered easily. "Peace," he said. "True peace—the sealing, or true death, of every Tailed Beast. The abolition of the Union, every nation, and the ninja villages. The unification of the world and the establishment of a Will of Fire to ensure its security."

Hibiki barked a short laugh. "You make it sound so easy," he said.

"Not easy," Bolt remarked. "But simple."

Hikari sighed. "I—I want to be part of the destruction of Cloud," she bit out.

Bolt smiled. "That," he said. "I can do. Welcome to the new Ak—"

Bolt faltered. He felt a violent pull at his navel. The world began to fold in upon itself, and Bolt could see trees and mountains appear. He was being summoned. But—but not by the hawk clan. Their chakra was singularly unique; airy, wispy, free. Their summons didn't come with force. More of a polite request. This—this summons was a demand. A royal decree.

Bolt clapped his hands together. A chain shot from his lower back, interfaced with the barrier surrounding his current hideout, and then Bolt fortified its defenses. The pull subsided as the unique nature of the Adamantine Sealing Chains began to unravel the foreign chakra. The potent threads of the chakra attempting to summon him were beginning to fray and fade to nothing under the influence of the barrier.

Finally, after nearly a full minute, the attempt to summon him subsided. Bolt remained standing as he was, tense, ready to defend himself again if he had to. He ran a hand through his hair, and it came away slick with sweat. He hadn't realized how much chakra he had to expend to keep from being dragged off by who knew who.

Bolt breathed a sigh of relief. His friends were tense, alert, and ready to fight. Bolt smiled. That was good. "I think we're good, now," he said.

Hibiki was trembling. "—W—What was that?"

Bolt shrugged. "I don't know. I'll figure it out," he said. It was irritating. He would need to visit the Land of Hawks and see if they had actually tried to summon him—which Bolt doubted—or if there was someone in the world playing around with a new, dangerous jutsu.

Hibiki breathed a ragged sigh. "I've never felt chakra that—that powerful before," he said, as he ran a trembling hand through his now waist-length inky black hair.

Bolt nodded. "Like I said. I'll take care of it," he said.

* * *

Sarada took a deep breath. Her eyes opened and tears of blood ran down her cheeks. She felt the anger. The hate. She pushed it outward—pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain— _pain, pain, pain, pain. Pain!_

She grit her teeth. Kept her eyes open. Her skin rippled with pain. Like little needles of molten steel prodding every inch of her. From her head to her toes. It was a bone-deep, all-consuming pain.

"Good," her father said, standing a few feet from her with an expression torn between pride and sadness.

Sarada blinked away the blood and pushed the pain to the back of her mind. She found herself aflame with chakra; a pretty orange-red color, like rust. A single, bony arm protruded from the flames. A crude joint, with thin bones and dextrous fingers. Sarada twitched as she felt a third limb be added to her body. Like her mind was operating two bodies at once. It was disorientating.

Sarada clenched her spectral fist. It was odd. To feel the arm moving, yet knowing her body was perfectly motionless. She didn't think she was capable of moving her body and her Susano'o at the same time. At least, not yet. Not without more training. It took too much concentration, too much pain, to do so. And there was still so much more pain to drown herself in. Her father told her it only got worse the more she tried to manifest the Susano'o.

She couldn't do it. With a final, angry crackle, the Susano'o burned itself away until nothing was left. Sarada collapsed to her knees and gasped for breath. Her hands found their way to her eyes were. She simply held them. Cradled her face. Tried to make herself forget the pain.

A hand settled on her shoulder. "You did well, Sarada," her father said. She nodded numbly. Her father hugged her. She returned it feebly.

The howl of the wind. The rustle of leaves. Sarada turned her eyes skyward. "Come out," she said.

Octopus appeared. She had the decency to look shy. "Lieutenant Uchiha," she spoke. "Briefing in five."

Then she was gone. Sarada nodded to herself. "Sorry," she offered lamely.

"Be safe," her father told her with a nod, and then she was gone.

Sarada sprinted through the woods, quickly found her way to one of the many secret entrances to the underground tunnels only the ANBU had access to, and travelled towards one of the city's many hubs. It took three minutes, forty-four seconds for her to reach the briefing room garbed as Crow.

The room was already full of people. Masked, eagerly pacing like caged dogs. Commander Hyūga stood at the fore of the room. He clapped his hands together and the room went still and silent. "Listen up, people!" he barked. "We've got movement. Revolution is slated to hold a rally in a small town in the Land of Frost. I want eyes and ears on them. Your captains have their orders. Dismissed."

Dragon appeared, with Squirrel in tow, and the four of them were off. Octopus joined them from the shadows, as she always did. It was a good five hours' run to the Land of Frost. The Revolution, tentatively, had their rally slated for nine the following morning. Enough time to get there, sleep for an hour or two, and then set up shop.

That was what they did.

Sarada crouched, hidden in the shadow of a house, and waited. Squirrel was on a rooftop a few blocks away, and Octopus was—wherever it was Octopus was. Sarada suspected she was a Nara due to her affinity with shadows, despite never using the clan's unique abilities. Dragon was dressed as an old crippled man. He, along with nearly five hundred other men, women, and children, mulled about in the town square. People had actually travelled to see what these bastards had to say.

They were a strange mix of nervous and excited. Chattering away about this or that. Sarada shivered. It was cold, and the ANBU uniform, for all its defensive capabilities, was not warm. Sarada checked her watch. Three minutes until nine. The sun crested the mountains in the distance.

They came from the west. Her Sharingan flared to life. It was easy. Nine people; five men and four women. She memorized their manner of dress—formfitting black combat uniforms with featureless white masks. Two of the men and one of the women walked in a way that denoted some kind of training. None of them were armed, but that meant little when they could have a storage seal tattooed somewhere.

The town grew quiet as the nine of them approached. They were waiting. One of the men, shorter than the rest with an obvious gut, coughed and stepped forward. "P—people of the Land of Frost! Brothers! Sisters!" he spoke, with the slightest tremble. "My name... is not important! What is important is the message I bring to you!"

Sarada frowned. A name to put to a face would be nice. Oh well. Intelligence could have their fun cracking them. "I speak on behalf of the Celestial Maiden, leader of the Revolution! Many of you know of us," he said. "We stand for freedom, for equality, and for justice! Your home, like mine, was razed during the Fourth War by the Union and the Great Five. They promised aid, promised supplies. They did not keep those promises!"

There were grunts of agreement and a few yells of anger. The man speaking nodded—Sarada dubbed him Teapot, named after a jingle she heard as a child; short and stout, something, something...

"But where the Union failed to keep their promises, the Revolution will deliver!" Teapot declared. That was a cue for one of the women and one of the men to step forward, withdrawing a single scroll each, and unsealing them. Large wooden crates appeared from wisps of smoke. Twenty-two, her Sharingan told her.

"Food! Seeds for farming! Medicine! Tools!" Teapot rattled off. The people were cheering. "All are the Revolution's gift to you—no strings attached. We would, however, take any volunteers willing to join our ranks! Recruits are given training, food, shelter, and pay. Those who do not wish to join, but do not wish to hinder us, should avoid supporting the Union in any way possible. Intelligence, housing, business. The Revolution would be all too happy to provide their services in the Union's stead!"

Sarada watched, a little awed, as the Revolution gave away what had to be nearly ten million ryō in supplies. Who had that kind of money to just give away? The idea that the Revolution was a middleman for one of the un-allied nations festered in her mind. People surged forward, claiming their fair share of the supplies under the supervision of the other eight members of the group.

Men carried away saws, hammers, torches, pliers, wrenches, drills, shovels, ladders, and tens of other things she could only observe with her Sharingan. The women were dragging away food and seeds in large cloth bags. Sarada realized that the Revolution had, quite literally, given these people the tools and supplies needed to rebuild their homes.

It was... so simple. Why hadn't the Union done this years ago? It would have costed money, yes, and time, and manpower, but it was so simple. Now they had waited too long. The Revolution was the one to provide aid, not them. Teapot was saying something, but it was drowned out by the clamor. One of the women and one of the men were holding out clipboards and sheets of paper. A handful of people, mostly boys and young men, approached and quickly scribbled out a few things.

Her Sharingan read the movements of their hands. Their names. Their addresses. Their skills. Their reasons for joining. They were signing up to join the Revolution. Sarada tensed. Where was the signal, Dragon? They wouldn't move until he gave it. And—there it was.

Octopus erupted from the shadows, leapt and cleared the distance between herself and the members of the Revolution in a single bound, and struck one of the men square in the chest. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Then people started screaming. The crowd scattered. A few brave, stupid few stuck around to watch. The terrorists scrambled to find each other in the chaos. Teapot was a few feet away from her, hiding and whimpering behind an upturned crate.

A woman charged her. Sarada lurched to the side, evading a wild, untrained fist that wore a set of brass knuckles. Sarada hit her in the thigh with a low, sweeping kick. She frowned as she heard bone snap. The terrorist screamed. She fell to the ground, clutching at her leg. Sarada moved to find her next opponent. A cloud of glowing, whirring shuriken chased her. They spun and spun with a visible sheen of chakra.

Someone had taken the woman she incapacitated. Sarada looked around. She couldn't see her—there. The terrorists were regrouping. Dragon was fighting two burly men, and Squirrel was dancing around a group of three women trying to make their way to the center of the town square. Octopus was... in the shadows, hiding, presumably.

"Ready!" Teapot barked, having recovered from his bout of cowardice. Sarada turned on him. He, and three others, were grasping their forearms and holding their palms aloft with splayed fingers. "Aim!" Sarada leapt forward. "Fire!"

Her eyes widened. A screaming arc of electricity tore itself from the palms of their hands. A Lightning Release jutsu so powerful that she would have likely been unable to perform it. Sarada kicked her foot against the ground and leapt skyward. A wave of chirping electricity danced below her as it surged forward. Squirrel, as agile as ever, leapt to the rooftops. But—

"Dragon!" Sarada screamed a warning. Her aging captain looked up from his fight, weary, and met her eyes. Sarada could see the way the blue glow of electricity reflected in his eyes. He collapsed, convulsing, whilst his two opponents scampered away unharmed as the electricity licked at their uniforms.

Sarada saw red. She inhaled a great breath and exhaled a roaring, raging inferno of fire. Two of the terrorists went up in flames, screaming, as they ran to and fro in an attempt to quench the fire. Her jutsu spread to two nearby homes and set them ablaze.

Squirrel ran to Dragon, dragging him into the shadow of a nearby alleyway. Octopus had emerged once more, and had taken down two more of their opponents with a barrage of shuriken. Sarada covered her, using her overwhelming strength and durability to utterly break three more.

Five down, four to go. Where was Teapot? He was—

"Fire!" Teapot squealed.

Sarada made to grab for Octopus, but the woman was already slipping back into the shadows from whence she came. Instead, she kicked the ground and leapt skyward. A good thing, too, as two more waves of screaming electricity tore its way across the ground. The terrorists held their hands aloft, spraying the electricity in wide, grasping arcs as they tried to electrocute her in the air.

Strange. They didn't have control over the path the jutsu took. Unnatural, considering the potency of the jutsu. Sarada inhaled, exhaled, and bathed them in fire. Teapot erupted from the smoke and flames screaming and blubbering. The other three were lying on the ground, charred, and unmoving.

Sarada followed him. The fat man was rolling in the dirt and had finally managed to extinguish the fire. He scrambled to his feet at her approach and scampered off. Sarada gave chase, as much as the panicked shambling could be called a 'chase.'

"W—Wait!" Teapot squealed. He kneeled, raising his hands in submission.

Sarada paused. "You are under arrest for sedition," she intoned. "Lay down, place your hand on the back of your head, and surrender peacefully."

Teapot nodded and began to go prone. He splayed his fingers and thrust his palms forward.

The world was washed away in a sea of grays and reds. Sarada cried tears of blood. Before her, time frayed. There were surprisingly few futures where she survived. Some kind of jutsu, Wind Release, she suspected, and unseeable to the naked eye, cut her to ribbons. She stood only a few feet from the man. Not enough room, not enough time, to dodge. The Wind Release jutsu was powerful. Too powerful to block. At least, not fully. The frayed thread where she blocked ended with her dying at the hospital with both arms missing and a wicked gash in her chest.

Sarada shrugged. She chose one of the threads and followed it to its natural conclusion. A spectral arm of bone blossomed into existence with a roar of crackling flames. Sarada brought it down, fist clenched, atop the terrorist at her feet.

He was reduced to a fine, meaty pulp. Like raw hamburger. Sarada turned and strode to find Squirrel and Octopus. She wanted to check on Dragon. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarada caught the people of the town staring at her with horror.

She found Squirrel kneeling over one of the dead terrorists. She looked up at Sarada. "Crow," she whispered. "These people weren't ninja," she said, with dawning horror. Squirrel tore at the black uniform and revealed a gauntlet of gray steel. "They were normal people."

Sarada swallowed. She nodded. "How is Dragon?"

"He's fine," Octopus rasped. "Muscle damage, probably fine motor control damage, but he's alive."

Sarada nodded. "Good. Let's—"

Her Mangekyō told her of the threat before it even began. She grabbed Squirrel, crushed the woman to her chest, and leaped away. The gauntlet the terrorist had been wearing was consumed in a spiralling sphere of inky black chakra that reduced the gauntlet and everything around it to dust.

Sarada was breathing heavy. "Let's go home," she said. "Commander Hyūga will want to know about this. Tag and bag the bodies."

* * *

" _Shocking footage was released today, showing a squadron of Leaf ANBU brutally and ruthlessly assassinating nine unarmed, untrained members of the group calling themselves 'the Revolution.' The five men and four women were holding a peaceful rally in a small village in the Land of Frost where they gave away free food, medicine, tools, and supplies to the citizens of the war-torn nation."_

Bolt watched the broadcast with growing satisfaction. Nine of his people, dead, but the footage Daichi recorded was the perfect material for propaganda with some minor editing. And, really, it was minor. His people had barely managed to launch a coordinated attack. The ANBU had systematically destroyed them.

He was only barely dismayed that Sarada had been among them. Her use of Susano'o to butcher the team's leader had been... extreme. But, it made for good television.

" _Witnesses described the carnage as an unprovoked attack by the ninja of the Leaf who gave no consideration to the lives and property of the people living there. The members of the Revolution attempted to defend the citizens of the town, but were ultimately slain."_

The broadcast cycled through a number of people—some, actual citizens of the town—each denouncing the Leaf and the Union for their hostility towards the Revolution and their inadequacy in providing meaningful aid to the Land of Frost.

Perfect.

" _Already, there is a growing number of people clamoring for reparations from the Leaf. A number of young men and women were eager to join the ranks of the Revolution, here in the Land of Frost, with more recruits from the nearby Land of Sound and Steam. It seems a growing number of people are dissatisfied with the Union."_

Bolt smirked.

* * *

 **A/N:**

As much as I love Code Geass, any similarities between Bolt and Lelouch were entirely coincidental. I chose 'Zero' for his codename mainly because it was the name of the ring that Yahiko/Deva Path wore (whose corpse Bolt mistook for Nagato). But, I guess, if you have to be compared to Lelouch... that's not a bad comparison, eh? I may go back and change his masked name from Zero to Pain simply to avoid the similarities.

To answer some questions...

The rings — they are both symbolic, a nod to the original Akatsuki, and utilitarian, in that they serve a very real, very useful purpose. Kishimoto originally planned for them to serve some purpose in the Akatsuki, but abandoned it for what I assume was simplification. A refresher, then, for those that don't remember: when Deidara lost his arm to Kakashi, he was more worried about losing the ring than the limb; when Itachi severed Orochimaru's arm, Orochimaru took it and the ring with him and kept it preserved (as seen last chapter); Zetsu recovered the ring, specifically, from Sasori's body to give to Obito so he could join Akatsuki.

Death masks — Bolt possesses six of them, and I'm thinking only ever six (he won't steal more from the Uzukage). They are vaguely modelled after Menma's masks, including appearances and abilities. The mask we saw last chapter, and this chapter, the 'High Priest' is based off the Shinigami, whose unique ability is the summoning of a scythe that absorbs chakra (think of it as another Samehada). I've hyped the death masks up a bit, but as all things are in my stories, they have a set of strengths and weaknesses that make them balanced.

Marcel — Ha, I actually didn't based Tetsu's manner of speech off Grey Worm. But, now that I think about it, they are kind of similar. I'm a big Game of Thrones fan, and it honestly never occurred to me.

Mew — Bolt won't become a jinchūriki. Not only does this go against his personal philosophy of gaining true strength to avoid being seen as a failure, but I am also trying to move away from the Tailed Beasts as a whole. As for power comparisons, I don't really like to make them with characters from different universes. There's no way to compare them. I will say that Hiei is one of my favorite characters, ever.


	63. Chapter 63

Naruto tapped his fingers and tuned out the arguing Kage. He tapped them again. Oh, how he wished he sometimes had the authority to decide things for the world. The sheer amount of bureaucracy they had to deal with, even as Kage, made him think of hanging up the Hat—permanently.

Then Naruto remembered that if he was responsible for the entire world, he would probably kill himself after a year or two from stress. He tapped his fingers. He sighed. "Listen, can we decide on a course of action or not?" Naruto demanded. The other four Kage stopped their bickering. "It was bad enough when the Revolution was simply abducting and killing the top brass of the Union. Now they're hitting us where it hurts: public opinion. Let's agree to push out some tangible financial support and show them they're wrong."

"We can't," Chōjūrō countered. "The general assembly budget limit for this fiscal year is nearly—"

"And if we keep doing nothing, the Revolution will gain more and more support among the people. We can't just sit here and do nothing because of some arbitrary rules," Naruto said. "Call in some favors. Grease some palms. I don't care. We need to do something."

"I agree," Gaara said.

"As do I," Daui spoke. Surprising, really, considering Cloud was still reeling from the damage his son had dealt them.

"We don't have the money," Kurotsuchi said.

"We do," Naruto countered. "We just have to be willing to accept the loss of it and not expect returns. This is humanitarian work. We're buying goodwill. The Leaf has been helping rebuild—only fair, since Sasuke and I caused most of the destruction—but we're only one entity. It would, it has, taken decades. It will take decades more, at this rate."

The Tsuchikage sighed. "Fine. I agree," she said.

Chōjūrō nodded. "We are in agreement, then," he said.

Naruto cracked a small smile. He—he winced as memories of a clone seared through him. Land of Steam: clear. Naruto frowned. He had hoped his clones would have had better luck tracking down Bolt. Granted, it had only been a few days, but still. It irritated him that he couldn't physically leave the Leaf. Not with how dire things were, these days.

"Very well," Darui said. "And what do we do about our other issue?"

"We do nothing," Naruto intoned. On this, he wouldn't budge. "The people are angry at us. The Revolution might have stoked that fire, but it was us who started it. We are not going to attack them. We are not going to punish them. Can you imagine what the backlash would be? If we, officially, cracked down on the non-ninja? We would lose all credibility."

There were hesitant nods of agreement. "Let them protest. Let them speak. Let them vent their anger. But don't do anything that would break the law; written, or unwritten," Naruto said. "This is a pivotal moment in stopping the Revolution before it finds its legs. Take the support of the people away, and they are nothing."

More nods of agreement. One-by-one the screens went dark. Naruto sighed. "Is it always like that?" Sasuke asked.

Naruto nodded. "Unfortunately," he said, rubbing at his temples.

"Any progress on finding Bolt?" Sasuke asked.

Naruto shook his head. "None," he said. "Have you tried summoning him again?"

"Yes," Sasuke said. "He's discovered a way to resist the Animal Path. It can grab at him, but it's like trying to catch smoke with your hands."

Naruto nodded and ran his hands through his hair. "How is Sarada taking the scrutiny?"

"She's fine." Sasuke shrugged. "She's more upset that she didn't see whoever was recording them and that they caught her using Susano'o."

"Good," Naruto said. "Good. They didn't do anything wrong. The Revolution played it well. We'll just have to beat them next time."

"I still don't see why we can't just kill them all," Sasuke remarked.

Naruto frowned, opened his mouth to lecture Sasuke, and then noticed the small smirk he wore. Naruto deflated. "You shouldn't tell jokes, Sasuke. No one but me will understand you're not being serious."

"Who said I was joking?" Sasuke asked.

Naruto glared at him but could see the twinkle of humor in his mismatched eyes. "You're a real bastard," he grumbled.

The door to his office was slammed open, and only Naruto gripping Sasuke by the forearm kept his friend from murdering Shikamaru as he ran into the room. "Naruto! We've got a problem!"

Naruto sighed. Great. Did the problems ever stop? Shikamaru handed him a scroll. Naruto skimmed it.

"Hōzuki Castle has been destroyed," he mumbled.

Naruto let a weary sigh escape his lips. He was going to go gray from stress before the time came to hang up the Hat.

* * *

Bolt held one of his six death masks in his hands. The Sage of the North. The mask's face was long, like a horse's, with exaggerated cheekbones and brow. A necklace of prayer beads had been carved below the chin. He pressed the mask to his face.

The powerful chakra of one of the most powerful Uzumaki fūinjutsu masters coursed through him. Bolt exhaled. In his mind's eye, the Sage of the North appeared. Tall, with broad shoulders despite his age, and a long, flowing beard of white. He was bald, with long, drooping eyebrows, and eyes that shone a unique color of muddy red—like the moon.

" _Hello, young one,"_ the Sage of the North greeted him.

"Hello, Master," Bolt replied, pressing his right fist to his left palm. "I am in need of your guidance."

The Sage of the North and the Sage of the South were brothers of great power and fame many, many generations ago. Both achieved near legendary status for their prowess with fūinjutsu, but what truly earned them their place in the annals of history was their ability to use barriers. The Sage of the North created a barrier jutsu that defended against any chakra-based attack, and his brother, the Sage of the South, created its opposite; a barrier jutsu that defended against any physical-based attack.

They, among all his masks, were the most wise and intelligent.

The old man hummed and inclined his head. "I believe that someone has created a summoning jutsu unique to my person and is attempting to capture me using it," Bolt summarized.

Bolt shuddered as he allowed the Sage of the North to wash through his memories of the summoning. He nodded and began to pace. _"Indeed,"_ the old man spoke. _"A powerful jutsu. One that is not my area of expertise. Perhaps the Divine Summoner would be more useful to you."_

Bolt nodded. "I was going to speak with her next," he said. "I had hoped your barrier jutsu would be able to defend me if the summoner attempted to summon me again."

The Sage of the North nodded. _"I believe it would,"_ he said. _"My barrier would repel all but the most devastating of attacks."_

Bolt knew that. It had been said that, together, the Sage of the North and the Sage of the South had repelled the raging Three-Tails from destroying the Land of Whirlpools. Apparently, their barrier jutsu shielded them and the land from the chakra bomb he had seen the One-Tail use. Truthfully, Bolt didn't want to test that theory in combat. If the barrier shattered, there would be nothing left of him.

Bolt nodded. "Thank you, Master," he said, bowing again. The brothers came from a time of respect and honor, and it didn't cost him anything to adhere to that.

The Sage of the North nodded and raised a hand in parting. Bolt removed the mask, stowed it in the storage seal on his forearm, and withdrew the next mask. A woman's face snarled up at him. Contorted with bestial features. Lips stretched back to reveal a maw of fangs. A heavy brow that sat over two slitted eyes.

Bolt donned the mask of the Divine Summoner. She was a strange woman, Bolt thought. The Divine Summoner possessed a strange—not beauty, but a certain charm. Wild crimson hair and amber eyes, she held herself in a way he hadn't seen in anyone except a few of the older members of the Inuzuka clan. Like she was prepared to fight to the death at any moment.

Bolt didn't bow to her. Didn't greet her. Of all the Uzumaki clansmen sealed into their death masks, she was the troublesome. She didn't respect honor or authority. She respected one thing and one thing only: power. If you showed you were weak, that you were prey, the Divine Summoner had no qualms about acting the part of a predator. The first time they met, Bolt had made the mistake of attempting to be respectful and talk to her. She had nearly seized control of his body.

He wouldn't make that mistake again. His eyes bored into her own. Neither looked away. Neither dared. Two predators eying each other. Trying to decide who was the apex predator. The alpha.

Eventually, the Divine Summoner broke into a wide, feral grin. _"So, pup, you must be truly desperate to come to me,"_ she growled.

"You are the most talented fūinjutsu master when relating to space-time and summoning techniques," Bolt replied easily. He continued before she could make a scathing remark. "Someone has created a summoning jutsu unique to me. I need to develop a way to counter it."

" _Oh?"_ the Divine Summoner said with a grin. Her eyes shifted from predatory to—amused. That was the word. _"Sounds interesting. But I doubt anyone has been born that is as great as me at the summoning arts. You sure it's an enemy, and not your summoning clan?"_

Bolt frowned. "I haven't checked," he admitted. "It didn't feel like the hawk clan's summons. It was more powerful than anything they could perform."

" _Well, let's find out. Shall we?"_ she said.

Bolt found his hands had already weaved three of the five hand signs for the jutsu before he had came to his senses. On the fifth, a small messenger hawk appeared in a wisp of smoke. The once nice thing about the Divine Summoner—no need for blood offerings. "Wait here," Bolt told the hawk. "Summon me back upon my request."

The bird squawked its affirmation. Bolt weaved another five hand signs. The request resonated. A moment later, he was whisked through time and space to the mountainous home of the hawk clan. Bolt blinked. He appeared in a voluminous cloud of acrid smoke. He frowned. The extra chakra from the death mask was making it more difficult, more inefficient, to summon him. He would have to remember that. Bolt gave the hawk that had answered his call a nod of thanks before quickly scaling the mountain and heading for the lair of Suzaku.

Bolt knew something was wrong. The buzz in the back of his mind chattered to life—and not in the good way. He leapt up to the lip of the cave and warily entered. Suzaku was strangely, unnaturally, still. Bolt crept closer and closer and—

"What the fuck?" Bolt swore. Suzaku's eyes. They were—altered. Not the slitted, golden eyes he expected. The right eye was a Sharingan, and the left... a Rinnegan. Bolt swallowed. His eyes found the stone wall at the far side of the cave.

Bolt swore, backing away. There, on the wall, was a name that he knew should not be there. Sasuke Uchiha. His Master, and one of the only people in the world he really, really didn't want to fight.

Bolt looked up. Suzaku was staring at him with an unnerving intensity.

" _Pup! We need to leave, now! Incoming chakra—"_ the Divine Summoner was screaming. Her voice reverberated in his skull. He had already finished weaving the hand signs. He finished the fifth one just as the air rippled and coalesced before him. The first thing he saw was a pair of eyes; one Sharingan, and one Rinnegan. Both were locked on him.

Then he was gone. Bolt ripped the mask of the Divine Summoner from his face, donned the mask of the Sage of the North, and basked in the eruption of dark blue chakra that blossomed forth from the barrier technique. Bolt felt powerful tendrils of chakra snake around him and _pull._

His heart hammered in his chest so hard that Bolt thought his ribs were going to break. The tendrils slipped around, off, the barrier. Like water parting around stone. He could feel their touch, but they did nothing more than just that.

Bolt collapsed to his knees and released a ragged breath. The tendrils of chakra continued to lick at him for some time. The minutes passed with such tension that Bolt couldn't get his body to relax. He was terrified. Terrified that Sasuke would succeed and tear him from his hideout and take him back to the Leaf. Then he would be trapped between two forces of nature; his father, and Sasuke.

Then the tendrils withered and died. Bolt waited. One minute. Two. Three. Ten minutes. Thirty. He allowed his body to let the fight leave it. His friends stood around him, wary, and looking at him with some degree of worry and fear.

Bolt sighed. "I'm fine," he assured them. "I'm safe—we're safe."

The words were more for him than them. That had been close. Too close. He had nearly been caught. His movement would be over before it even truly began. He breathed in, held the breath, then breathed out. He had to be better. He had to be perfect.

The one saving grace? He hadn't worn his Akatsuki cloak. That—that would have been the final nail in the proverbial coffin. His plans all hinged on the assumption that Akatsuki could operate in the shadows. A known entity, but one no one could track or anticipate.

"What was that?" Hikari asked, kneeling next to him. She looked worried.

Bolt clenched a fist and watched how the sheen of dark blue chakra rippled over his skin and clothes. "Nothing," he said. "Just a minor problem. One that I will have a solution to shortly."

Hikari looked like she wanted to argue otherwise, but didn't. Bolt silently thanked her for that. He didn't know if he could handle having to bare his fears and worries to her. A single crack in the foundation would be all it took for him to crumble. He couldn't afford to crumble—not yet.

Bolt looked around. They had done nothing as a group despite the three of them having formally agreed to join the new Akatsuki. Bolt had been meaning to get back on the path. Back on the hunt. He smiled. "It's time for our first mission," he said.

"And that is?" Hikari asked.

"There are some rules to operating as a member of Akatsuki," Bolt told them. "Ones designed to keep us and the organization safe. We don't openly display our allegiance to the group unless we know it is safe to do so. That means we don't walk around wearing the cloak." He was ever thankful he had adhered to that rule.

"However, there is one part of the uniform that you need to wear, and care for, at all times," Bolt said. He brandished his right hand, where his ring, Zero, rested around his thumb. "These rings denoted membership in the old Akatsuki—but they also served a purpose. A powerful fūinjutsu that was capable of sealing a Tailed Beast in its entirety."

Tsuchigumo, in particular, perked up at that. "The more rings we possess, the easier the technique is to use. I've been collecting as many as I could find these past two years, but there are still seven unaccounted for. Our first mission will be to recover two from where I believe they were last seen," Bolt finished.

There was a collective pause as everyone took a breath.

It didn't take long for them to depart.

* * *

Hibiki had eyes only for Bolt as they sped across the landscape. They were headed towards—towards somewhere in the Land of Fire. Hibiki couldn't be certain. He hadn't been paying attention. He was, however, a bit terrified that they were willingly entering the one nation they should be most wary of.

His chakra had changed. It had matured—that was the word. Like a fine wine. It grew better, stronger, with age. It was electric, that hadn't changed, but there was more depth to it. Electric, yes, with arcs of power that made his skin crawl and his hair stand on end. But, deeper. A coldness that wasn't there before. Not a chilly cold—a _burning_ one. Like touching ice with your bare skin for too long. And, below that, his chakra became even _more_ alluring. It wasn't a sensation, but more of a sensation—like when you knew someone was watching you. Predatory. That was the word.

Hibiki sighed. It was truly wonderful.

"We're here," Bolt said. They came to a stop, perched atop the branches of a copse of trees. Three small, sprawling towns sat at the bottom of a valley. Between them, a truly massive swathe of land had been hewn from the ground. The people of the nearby towns had came together and carved a path down into the depths of the crater. A mine, Hibiki concluded.

"What are we looking for?" Hikari asked.

"This is, as far as I can tell, the place where Deidara of the Akatsuki died," Bolt told them. "He apparently used an Explosion Release of some power, as you can tell." Hibiki shuddered at the thought of a jutsu that could alter the landscape. "The ring he wore was 'Blue.' I'm not sure if it survived the blast, but I'd like to check. There are other rings that disappeared under extreme circumstances. If they have been destroyed, if they can be destroyed, it would save time to know now."

Hibiki nodded along, even though he didn't know the first thing about fūinjutsu. "We'll check the mines first. My Byakugan should make short work of it. The rest of you, split up and search," Bolt said.

"Let's go, Tsuchigumo," Hibiki told the puppeteer. Hikari and Tetsu paired up and headed down into the mines. Bolt was perched atop the tip of the tree and peered down into the mines below them. Hibiki could feel the way his chakra fluttered as his dōjutsu cast its gaze outwards.

The path that the miners had carved into the stone was rough and uneven. It was damp, slick from rain and clusters of moss. Hibiki kept a wary eye on the ground. One slip and—he peered over the side of the path and into the deep. He whistled. It was a long drop.

Ahead of them, a pair of miners emerged from a tunnel bored into the wall. Hikari, with a casual swing of her arm, impaled them each with a single needle. They dropped. Hibiki was pretty sure they were just unconscious and—yes, definitely just unconscious. He carefully stepped over their bodies.

Truthfully, Hibiki didn't know how much help they were going to be. They were scouring the crater for a piece of jewellery no larger than a coin—a piece of jewellery that would have been buried for near three decades, now. If it had survived the explosion that created the crater in the first place. If the miners hadn't found it and taken it to buy a few more loaves of bread for their families.

The only one who stood a real chance of finding the ring was Bolt. So, why did he bring them? Hibiki thought back to the—force. It was easiest to think of it as a force of nature. The force's chakra was... singularly unique, in an ugly sort of way. It reminded Hibiki of a dark, damp, cold cave covered in moss. And that cave was frozen, but melting; thawing. A sort of slimy, slick texture. Yet, at the same time, it spoke of an overwhelming power just beyond the maw of the cave.

Hibiki shuddered. Was that why Bolt brought them with him? Because he was afraid of the force coming back for him? Or, was it because he was afraid of the force coming for them while he was away? Both were equally possible. Both were equally terrifying. Hibiki didn't know what was worse. To have to be crushed and subsumed by that dark chakra, or watch Bolt perish to it first.

That would be truly cruel.

They reached the bottom of the mines soon enough. Hikari took care of the miners they met along the way. She told them that they wouldn't remember a thing—and if they did, well, each of them was wearing a featureless mask of white. Standard issue for the Revolution, Bolt explained.

It was hard to tell where the crater ended and the mines began. The differentiation was critical. The ring could be anywhere between where the crater ended and the bottom of the mines. Hibiki gazed out into the world with his mind's eye. If the rings were so powerful, they should have a chakra signature of some kind.

He didn't sense anything. Hibiki sighed. Tsuchigumo was combing through rubble with chakra threads. He had become remarkably dextrous with the technique considering he only had one arm. Hibiki thought it was quite callous of the powers that be to not give the puppeteer proper treatment. They had the severed limb. It would have been easy to reattach it. But, then again, they were—are—terrorists; wanted rogue ninja. They weren't owed anything.

Shafts were bored into the stone and ran for miles and miles in any direction. Hibiki could see smaller shafts split off from those shafts, creating an ever expanding web of tunnels. They could wander for months searching for the ring. Hibiki sighed. He turned and found Tsuchigumo rifling through the pockets of a few of the miners that had been drugged.

"Find anything?" Hibiki asked. Tsuchigumo shook his head. "Thought so—"

An echoing crack resonated from the base of the mine. Hibiki ran back the way they had came. He blinked. A massive, sinuous snake with scales of pure gold sat before him. Larger than any creature that slithered had any right to be. It towered above him atop countless coils of rippling, sinuous muscle. It turned its bestial eyes on him, full of rage and hate and a barely restrained malice. "Return," it hissed. "The ring is not here."

Then it disappeared, all hundred feet of it, in a wisp of acrid smoke. Hikari and Tetsu were already making their way back up the crude stairs as he and Tsuchigumo emerged fully from the tunnels. At the top, Bolt was waiting for them. He wore a different mask than before, and his eyes roamed the city as he scoured it looking for the ring. "The ring isn't in the mines, but it is here," Bolt said. "Somewhere."

Hibiki wondered how he knew that. He shrugged and followed after him. The five of them swept through one of the three towns, leaping from rooftop to rooftop and keeping to the shadows. Below, people went about their daily lives in blissful ignorance of the wolves among the sheep just above their heads.

Hibiki spotted a pawn shop a few blocks away. He smiled. An opportunity to prove his worth. "Bolt," he said. "There's a—"

"Not that one. It's the wealthy part of town. The miners wouldn't have cause to be there," Bolt said, even as his chakra continued to ping erratically.

Hibiki nodded and rubbed at his eyes. He breathed the world in as his senses blossomed once more as his mind's eye opened. They came to a stop atop a house overlooking a downtrodden neighborhood. Homes were in shambles with broken windows and peeling paint. Bolt leapt down and crossed the street before entering a small shop. A small sign with three golden spheres hung over the door.

The four of them leapt after their leader. The shop was dark and dimly lit. Row upon row of shelves lined the main and only room, with a counter at the fore with several more shelves behind it. A stocky, burly man manned the counter. He was edging away, towards the back, as soon as he saw their masks.

"Don't," Bolt spoke, in a way that promised retribution if he was not obeyed. "We just want to talk. Tell us what you know, and we'll leave."

The shopkeeper's eyes darted between Bolt, them, and the door. Hibiki could see the man's fear in his chakra with his mind's eye. He nodded. "We're looking for a ring," Bolt said, his voice firm and carrying. "One of the miners might have found it. Anywhere between ten years ago until now. Know anything?"

"No, sorry," the shopkeeper said. "Afraid I haven't."

Hibiki felt the tremor in the man's chakra. He took a breath. "You're lying," he said.

Electricity screamed to life as it danced across the wooden boards of the floor. It burnt the wood and caused tendrils of smoke to slither upward. The shopkeeper's eyes widened. "The truth, this time," Bolt intoned.

The shopkeeper nodded. "Old Isamu," he rattled. "Found a ring, couple years back. Tried to sell it to me but wanted an outrageous price. Hear he keeps at as an heirloom now. Lives in the cabin at the west end of the town."

Bolt nodded and pressed a hand to the counter. A pile of ryō appeared in a wisp of smoke. "For your family," he said. Then a spear of electricity tore through the shopkeeper's chest. He dropped dead.

Hibiki blinked, then shrugged. The five of them quickly fled the shop and made their way west, towards the location of the ring.

"Was that really necessary?" Hikari asked.

"Yes," Bolt answered; smoothly, easily. "No one can know of the new Akatsuki until we're ready to reveal ourselves. Our greatest strength is that we're unknown. If someone connected the appearance of a group looking for rings that the old Akatsuki wore, it wouldn't take a genius to theorize the formation of a new group."

Hibiki nodded.

They found the old man's cabin soon enough.

* * *

Bolt could see it. The rubble of a castle that had been destroyed. It wasn't too far from where they had recovered Deidara's ring, Blue. It was made of a silvery steel, like the others, but set with a beautiful blue-green gemstone that reminded Bolt of tropical water when it caught the light just right.

The five of them leapt from the trees to the forest floor. The mangled, scorched stone of the castle loomed before Bolt. A mountain wreckage that was once a stronghold of the Uchiha clan. The entire forest was thick with ambient chakra. A strange feeling that made the chattering in the back of his mind that much louder. Bolt scoured the castle with his Byakugan.

He didn't even know if Vermillion was buried here. Reports were—not up to standard, around that time of the war. Nagato and Konan were preparing to attack the Leaf, and no one still living had been there to witness the clash between brothers. Whether Sarada's father had moved his brother's corpse after murdering him, Bolt couldn't say.

But the thought repulsed him. He couldn't think of a worse crime against nature to commit. Bolt couldn't—didn't want to—imagine a world where he murdered his sister. His dreams tormented him enough with that nightmare already. He didn't need his waking thoughts occupied by it too.

" _Focus,"_ the Divine Summoner growled at him. Bolt nodded and she resumed her lesson. _"The limiting factor of summoning techniques when you approach the equilibrium of chakra between summoner and summon is distance..."_

"I know that," Bolt muttered to himself. It drew an odd look from Hikari.

" _You make a new summoning technique on your own then, brat,"_ the Divine Summoner growled.

Bolt bit his tongue.

" _That's what I thought!"_

Bolt sighed. "Just—just less lecturing," he said.

" _You can't cancel the summoning contract without the permission of Suzaku,"_ the Divine Summoner said. _"But you can invalidate it through a number of methods. You could sufficiently alter your blood in such a way that—"_

"No," Bolt said. That was disturbingly close to something Orochimaru would do. As powerful as the snake was, Bolt didn't want to be associated with him—even in his mind.

The Divine Summoner sighed. _"Fine, be that way. No fun,"_ she said. _"Then the best method available to you would be to create a new summoning contract—a human one."_

Bolt paused. That was an interesting idea—a good idea. "Spread out," Bolt told his friends. "Look for a grave. It should be new relative to any of the older ones, if there are any. Crude, maybe, too."

They nodded and wandered through the forest looking for the grave of Sarada's uncle.

"I thought human summoning wasn't feasible," Bolt said.

" _Normally, it isn't,"_ the Divine Summoner said. _"Human-to-human summoning is difficult because the summoning technique becomes more strenuous the more chakra you try to move over greater distances. Most ninja don't have the chakra reserves to summon someone as strong as they are across a city block, let alone someone stronger than them across the entire country. Summoning clans have dedicated summoners empowered by natural energy that let them bypass that issue, for the most part."_

"Then how do you propose I get around that particular problem?" Bolt asked.

He could see the Divine Summoner grin with his mind's eye. _"You are powerful, and knowledgeable about fūinjutsu, and you have me, the greatest summoner of the Uzumaki clan to ever live. I have a few ideas,"_ she said.

Bolt sighed. "Something to keep in mind, then," he said.

He wandered the woods surrounding the old Uchiha fortress. Bolt could feel the thoughts of the Divine Summoner whir in the back of his mind as she perused her great library of techniques. He hoped one of them would be the solution to the very reason he was reluctant to sign the contract with the hawks in the first place.

"My Lord!" Tetsu called out. Bolt quickly found his way to where Tetsu was. The others were already there.

It was a crude thing. Little more than a large stone set atop a mound of dirt and rock at the base of a great tree. But, yes, his Byakugan revealed to him the contents of the grave: a single skeleton—male, based on appearances—who wore a ring on his right ring finger. The grave appeared to have been disturbed at some point, but Bolt could see nothing that had been stolen or destroyed.

"It's him," Bolt told them. He kneeled and began to scoop dirt and rock. Itachi Uchiha had not been buried deep, but Bolt felt no desire to disturb the grave anymore than he had to. The hole dug, he reached in and carefully withdrew the ring.

Bolt rubbed it clean with his shirt. It was a pretty thing. Silvery metal with a gemstone of a rosy red set in the center. 'Vermillion' was inscribed upon its face. Bolt nodded to himself. He looked to his friends.

"Tetsu," Bolt said, handing him Vermillion. Tetsu placed the ring upon his right ring finger. A twitch of his fingers, and his storage seal produced White, Sky, and Blue.

"Hikari," he said, handing her White. She slipped the ring onto her right middle finger.

Bolt turned to Tsuchigumo and offered him Sky. The puppeteer held his left, and only, arm aloft. Bolt slid the ring onto his little finger.

"And Hibiki," Bolt finished, entrusting him with Blue. He smiled, tooth and charming, as he slipped the ring onto his right index finger.

Bolt took a step back and nodded. "That's five of ten," he said. "The other five will be more... difficult to obtain. Two of which, I assume, reside somewhere in the Leaf. They will be the last we secure. We'll also need to find members to wear these rings."

Everyone nodded along. Bolt heard the chattering in the back of his mind. "But, for now, I want to check on Tsuchigumo's old hideout. We need to make sure the One-Tail is secure, and, hopefully, a prosthetic arm can be made," Bolt said, looking to Tsuchigumo. "About that... I—I'm sorry."

Tsuchigumo smiled, ever so slightly. "It's fine," he mumbled.

Bolt nodded and sighed in relief. He made a single hand sign. A clone appeared in a wisp of acrid smoke. "Fetch Katasuke," he ordered it. "Meet us there in no more than three days."

His clone nodded and broke into a casual trot through the forest north, towards the Land of Waterfalls, where Bolt had stashed the good doctor. He turned to his friends. "Let's go," he said.

* * *

" _Ladies and gentlemen,"_ his father greeted the audience; reporters all with microphones, flashing cameras, and good old notebooks with pencils. _"Yesterday, the terrorist organization known as 'the Revolution' released a video which has become nationwide news. I understand you are angry. I understand you are frustrated with the Union for its apparent lack of action regarding relief efforts in the Lands of Frost, Steam, and Sound."_

The crowd was silent save for the hiss of flashing cameras.

" _And you are right. You are right to be angry. You are right that the Union hasn't done enough. Which is why, effective immediately, the Union has come to a unanimous decision to send reconstruction crews to all three nations—at no cost to you, the people. Crews from Leaf, Mist, and Cloud are already on the way, with more from Stone and Sand as they make the journey."_

The audience applauded. Bolt frowned.

" _The Union has also approved a fifty million ryō stimulus package, this year, to be spread between the governments of the Lands of Frost, Steam, and Sound. This will be followed by a twenty million ryō package next year, and a ten million ryō package the year after that. It is our hope that, within the next five years, we will be able to return the nations ruined in the wake of the Fourth War to their pre-war glory."_

" _I urge you not to heed the message of the Revolution. You are angry, and rightfully so, but violence is not the answer. The means the terrorists employ do not excuse the ends. The only power the Revolution has is the power you give them. The willingness to turn a blind eye to their activities in your homes. The willingness to boycott the Union for missions. The willingness to raise arms and attack your fellow countrymen. Be the change you want to see in the world, and I guarantee peace and prosperity will reign. Thank you."_

The crowd cheered.

Bolt slammed a fist to the table. "Well played, dad," he said. "Well played."

* * *

 **A/N:**

This arc is the 'powder keg' arc. It details the rise of the Revolution, the formation of the Akatsuki, and the rising tensions between the Revolution, the Union, and the people of the world.

I figured, since this arc includes a lot more of the Union acting as an entity and less of a looming axe, I should explain what, exactly, the Union is. It functions as the successor to the alliance of the Fourth War and operates on a similar premise as the United Nations. Member nations send representatives to a general assembly that is responsible for trade agreements, territory disputes, environmental concerns, and human rights, among other things. These representatives vote and forward agreed upon suggestions to the security council, which consists of Leaf, Cloud, Stone, Mist, Sand, and the Land of Iron. The security council has the final say on what is approved or denied, and generally requires a unanimous vote.

The masks, so far: the High Priest (bukijutsu; esp. chakra absorbing scythe), the Sage of the North (fūinjutsu; esp. barriers that block chakra attacks), the Sage of the South (fūinjutsu; esp. barriers that block physical attacks), and the Divine Summoner (fūinjutsu; esp. summoning techniques). All are based on the Nine Masked Beasts that Menma uses—give the movie a watch if you haven't seen it.

The rings, so far: Zero (Bolt), White (Hikari), Vermillion (Tetsu), Sky (Tsuchigumo), and Blue (Hibiki).


	64. Chapter 64

There were so many things he had to attend to and so little time to attend to them. Was this how his father felt? Bolt could sympathize now. Working from dawn until dusk with the knowledge that he would have to do it again the next day.

So many, many things to attend to.

Orchestrate the transportation of equipment and supplies to the mountainous hideout they now called home. Tsuchigumo needed a lab. They had plans, there. The construction of a puppet army. An eye and a ear in every town and village from the Land of Wind to the Land of Lightning. Hubs needed to be built so that Tsuchigumo could expand his range beyond the borders of the Land of Wind. He would have the Revolution for that.

Katasuke needed more funding, more supplies, and a more advanced lab. Bolt was reluctant to invest in the disgraced scientist. He did, however, feel more than comfortable investing in Tsuchigumo. They could share the lab. Perhaps even work together. Yes, that was ideal.

The Revolution needed to respond to what the Union was doing. Their strength was in playing on the people's anger, their fears, and making them a reality, before sweeping in and solving them. That didn't work when the Union mobilized in force. They had more resources; more people, more money, more supplies. The Revolution couldn't match that. So they would have to make their own goodwill. That was unfortunate.

Bolt had to find a solution to the compromise of the hawk clan. His lessons with the Divine Summoner and the Sage of the North progressed. Still, with Sasuke trying to summon him, it made moving about freely a lesson in paranoia. Bolt couldn't operate in the manner he had become accustomed to. He needed to be secure in his ability to lead the Akatsuki and the Revolution.

He had to train. Had to be better. Had to be perfect. His enemies were the most powerful men and women in the world on their own, to say nothing of the forces and resources they commanded. The fight with the Raikage played out in his mind. He had to be stronger. Had to be better. Had to be perfect. His Lightning Armor still had inefficiencies. His use of the Cursed Seal told him an even greater speed was awaiting him. The Hidden Cloud's system of electrical transportation lit a fire in him. The Rasenshinsei, too, had room to be perfected. His mastery of the Adamantine Sealing Chains was far, far from being complete.

The Akatsuki needed more members. People powerful or intelligent enough to facilitate their goals, of which, capturing the Tailed Beasts was beginning to seem the easiest. Bolt needed to find and secure the missing five rings. He needed to learn the fūinjutsu technique Nagato recorded in his scrolls.

So many, many things to attend to.

Bolt blinked as Tetsu swung his sword forward in a wide, arcing slash that threatened to slice across the bridge of his nose. He focussed his mind. Concentrated on the spar. Slapped away the sword by the flat of its blade. Thundered through the practiced, instinctual motions of the Gentle Fist.

It felt good to be able to spar with someone. To fight without holding back for fear of killing them. Bolt missed it. Perhaps it was made even more enjoyable by the fact that he was fighting a friend. Helping them improve. Tetsu was rarely pushed as hard as Bolt pushed him. Bolt could tell by the way his friend's face was contorted with effort as he used his sword to knock aside palm thrusts and finger strikes.

Bolt pushed his Lightning Armor to its limits without ascending to the next level of activation. That Tetsu could keep up with him at this blinding speed with nothing more than sheer physical alacrity was a feat in and of itself. Bolt swept forward with a wave of Gentle Fist attacks. Tetsu batted them away, then surged forward and rammed him with his shoulder. Bolt reeled, and Tetsu unleashed a vicious Flash of raging chakra.

He cut through the crescent and threw a fist forward. Tetsu caught him, threw him, grappled him using his own speed and strength. The rough stone floor rushed up to greet him. Bolt felt something break. He acknowledged the pain, then pushed it to the side. He found his feet. Slapped away the sword arcing towards his shoulder with one hand, and with the other, slammed a whirring Rasengan into Tetsu.

Their fight ended with an explosion of light and pressure.

Bolt gasped for breath as he held a hand to his face. A wisp of acrid smoke parted to reveal one of his masks. The Universal Healer. Placing it upon his face, foreign chakra surged through him. The explosion of scorching steam always took him by surprise. Flesh and bone bubbled and regrew and knit themselves together.

Broken ribs mended, Bolt approached Tetsu. He bit his forearm and allowed his blood to fall to the gaping wound his Rasengan had inflicted. Steam billowed forth as Tetsu was made whole once more. The sight of new, raw flesh bubbling into existence made his stomach churn. Bolt offered a hand and helped Tetsu to his feet.

"A most excellent spar, my Lord," Tetsu said with a bow, though his features were contorted with pain.

Bolt nodded, chest heaving, and removed the mask of the Universal Healer. He frowned. The wound that he used to expel the healing blood didn't heal. They never did. Scarred forever, it seemed. A side effect of the ability.

He sighed. Yes, the fight was good. Tetsu was strong. It eased the burden on his shoulders. Tetsu could act as his literal sword. When a task needed to be dealt with that required strength, Bolt could dedicate Tetsu to it. It would free him to act on other, more important matters.

"Tetsu," Bolt said. "I have a mission for you."

Tetsu stood straighter. "This one lives to serve, my Lord," he said.

"The Akatsuki needs more members," Bolt said. "We can only do so much with just the five of us. You, me, and Hikari? We can fight. But Tsuchigumo? Hibiki? They aren't suited for fighting on the frontlines. That's fine. They have a different role to play. But we need more fighters."

Tetsu nodded. Bolt smiled. "I want you and Hikari to head north, to the Land of Earth, and recruit the Akiyama sisters. Tell them—" Bolt paused. "—tell them, I know why they became rogue ninja. Tell them that I know how to solve their problem. I have other tasks that need seeing to. I'm entrusting this mission to you."

"Yes, my Lord," Tetsu intoned with a bow. "My Lord?" Bolt could hear the hesitance. "I would be remiss in my duties to leave you unattended. What task are you undertaking?"

Bolt grinned. "The Union will defeat the Revolution at this rate. I intend to stop it. What is the first step in outmaneuvering your enemies? Identify their plan. Then plan around their plan, while assuming they are intelligent enough to plan around the plan that you are planning around their first plan," he said.

Tetsu looked confused. "Then—then plan around that plan?"

Bolt shook his head. "Then they would plan around _that_ plan. No. It's simple," he said, withdrawing a headband from the storage seal on his forearm. The steel glinted in the light as the emblem of the now defunct Hidden Frost stared up at him.

"You cheat," Bolt said, tying the headband around his skull.

* * *

Sarada groaned.

Consciousness came to her. She didn't even open her eyes. The echo of an alarm rang in her ears and reverberated within her skull. An instant later, she heard the sound of boots pounding in the corridor and the rustle of sheets as Squirrel and Octopus leapt from their beds.

"Crow! Wake up!" Octopus hissed.

"I'm up," Sarada grumbled. She threw her legs over the side of her bed and dropped to the floor from the second bunk. The three of them quickly dressed and donned their masks. The blaring alarm continued to ring in her ears.

Sarada and her team joined the rush of bodies as they made their way to the briefing room. There were—lots of people. More than just her company. The entire battalion, perhaps? They weren't all part of ANBU, either. Sarada saw some faces from Torture and Intelligence, as well as medics from the medical corps.

Commander Hyūga was pacing up on the stage. Every few minutes a runner would come in, whisper something to him, and then leave. Sometimes, Commander Hyūga whispered something back. Sarada resisted the urge to use her Sharingan to read their lips.

"Alright, people! Listen up," Commander Hyūga barked. The entire room grew silent. "At oh-five-hundred hours we received reports of fighting near the border of the Land of Frost and Land of Steam. The resources and reconstruction crews transporting them were attacked, the workers killed, and the supplies stolen."

"The Revolution, again?" Bear rumbled.

Commander Hyūga shook his head. "Preliminary reports peg the defunct Hidden Frost as the culprits," he said, gesturing to the screen behind him. It lit up and displayed several corpses. Ninja, all, with the headbands naming them as ninja of the Hidden Frost.

"... Fuck," Wolf swore, summing up their collective thoughts.

"Fuck indeed, Captain Wolf," Commander Hyūga intoned. "At oh-six-thirty, the other supply trains were attacked. One, by the Hidden Sound, and the other, by farmers and fishermen in the Land of Steam. The whole thing has turned into a shitshow as everyone and their dog scrambles to steal a piece of the pie before it's gone."

"Your mission," Commander Hyūga spoke. "Is to be the eyes and ears of the Leaf during the day, and its dagger during the night. The Hokage wants these terrorists put down—permanently. Capture bosses or high-ranking members if you see them and are capable of capturing them. Team leaders have their missions." Sarada felt a scroll be pressed to the palm of her hand. "Dismissed."

Squad after squad of ANBU operatives filtered out from the underground base and began to make their way northeast towards the Land of Frost. Squirrel and Octopus trailed behind her, with Owl, Dragon's replacement, bringing up their rear. Dragon had been forced into an early retirement due to nerve damage from the electrical damage sustained from fighting the Revolution.

Sarada felt a little guilty that she was happy he was gone—after all, it made her captain. But she was happy that he had lived to retirement in an occupation where you frequently died a horrible death at a young age. She had learned much from him, so he could rest easy.

The temperature shifted. From the cool morning breeze to the frigid bite of an afternoon winter. The farther north they ventured, the colder it got. The civilians they saw during their travels were weary and frightened. Some were obviously fleeing in the wake of open banditry. Sarada eyed them closely. None of them appeared to be armed nor move with the distinct grace honed by years of martial training. She let them pass and moved through the Land of Steam.

They stopped for the night in a small town nestled on the border between the Lands of Steam and Frost. It was a quaint little place. A few natural hot springs dotted the mountainscape. The people maintained them and made a living off tourism.

"I'll take the first watch," Octopus stated.

Sarada didn't argue. Octopus was in her element during the night when the shadows were abundant. Truthfully, Sarada didn't think she could beat her during the night hours without resorting to her Mangekyō.

Sarada was woken some hours before dawn. She yawned. It was best, in her opinion, to have the first or last watch. You didn't have to worry about falling asleep and waking back up again only to have to fall asleep again after your watch was done. You did your watch, then you could sleep. Or wake up, as it were.

She sat perched among the rafters of their rented cottage and watched the sun rise. It was quite beautiful this time of year. Cresting the mountains of the Land of Steam and bathing the land in hues of orange and gold. Sarada smiled and dropped to the floor. Octopus and Squirrel were beginning to wake.

"I'm going to grab some food," she said. Sarada received a few stern nods as she slipped out into the early morning breeze.

There were already quite a few people wandering the market square. A number of travellers and tourists were staying in the town. The inn was full, which was why Sarada had been forced to rent a cottage for the night. She found a vendor selling freshly baked pastries and bought a dozen for her team to split. Sarada smiled as a little girl, no older than six or seven, ran through the street and weaved between the legs of the adults. She grinned when the girl began to circle a man dressed in fine robes, distracting him as another young boy slipped behind him and stole his wallet.

Sarada looked up, and by pure chance, met a familiar pair of blue eyes that she hadn't seen in more than two years. She blinked, and they were gone in a flash of blond hair. Her Mangekyō seared her optical pathways and Sarada had to bite her tongue to avoid hissing the _name_. Time stopped, for her, then unravelled.

There were countless threads branching into even more innumerable threads. Sarada followed each and every one. She lived and breathed every single one. Sometimes, she wandered the town aimlessly and never saw a glimpse of Bolt. Other times, she abandoned all pretense of secrecy and leapt after him with all her speed. She caught a few glimpses of him as he sped away from her. A handful of times, she returned to the cottage and fetched Octopus and Squirrel. But the three of them could not find Bolt, and if they did, they couldn't catch him.

But there was no escaping her. So long as there was a will, a way, even a single chance in a thousand, she would find it. And Sarada did.

She blinked. The world, once awash with grays and reds, returned to normal. Sarada kicked the ground out from beneath her with all her strength. She was launched forward in a burst of speed that her body wasn't capable of producing by running. The townsfolk gasped and cried out in alarm. Sarada ignored them. This was more important. This was far more important. She cleared the outskirts of town and darted into the forest.

Sarada had run this path thirteen times before. Each time, she mapped out the path Bolt took a little more. Until she knew where he would be. What tree, exactly, he hid behind. What time, precisely, she needed to strike. Ninety-nine choices that resulted in nothing; one that gave her what she wanted. Sarada barrelled through the tree with a clothesline that shattered wood to splinters.

And there he was. Bolt had turned, eyes wide, as she crashed into his world. And he was _fast._ His body from the waist up simply vanished, leaving a blur and a pair of legs behind, as he leaned out of the path of her punch. Sarada skidded to a stop, kicking up dirt and rock, and sported a victorious grin.

Bolt was older and taller. He still had the same blue eyes and wild blond hair that he got from his father, but his face was all Hyūga. The noble features were only more pronounced with age. He definitely got the haughty, intimidating look from his grandfather; arching eyebrows, pronounced cheekbones, angular jaw.

Yes, he definitely had the angry Hyūga look down. And—

And—he was weaker. Sarada frowned. That didn't make sense, but her Sharingan told her he had less chakra than he did two years ago. Not too awful much lost, but enough. A full fourth of his strength; gone. But he didn't _seem_ weaker. He felt colder, more calculated, more disciplined. Despite the loss in chakra, Sarada thought he would be a more fearsome opponent.

Bolt tensed. "Wait!" Sarada shouted. "Don't go!"

He hesitated. Good. "Don't go, please," Sarada begged. "I—I don't want to fight. Can't we talk? Please?"

Bolt edged a little further away. Sarada felt her anger at his betrayal war with her elation at seeing him alive. "You were watching me," Sarada said. "You wouldn't have if you didn't want to talk to me. Please, Bolt. I won't fight you. I won't try to capture you. I just want to talk. Please."

He relaxed and gave her a hesitant nod. Sarada smiled. "See? Nothing to worry about," she said.

Bolt gave her a little, sloppy smile. "Was worried more about your dad," he said.

"Yeah, he's kind of upset with you," Sarada admitted with a grin.

The two of them descended into an awkward but relieved silence. Sarada didn't know what to say. So, instead, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Bolt and squeezed. There was a very satisfying rush of air as his breath was driven from his lungs. Sarada released him, then slammed her knee into his groin using just a little bit of her enhanced strength. Bolt made a _very_ interesting sound. Something between a strangled, gurgling squeal and a scream.

"That was for letting me think you were dead, asshole," Sarada spat.

She didn't think Bolt heard her. He was moaning pitifully and writhing on the ground. She felt a little bad. Just a little. Sarada dragged him over to the trunk of a nearby tree and propped him up. Then she sat down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. It was nice. Bolt was taller than her, now, but just the right height to lean on.

After a few minutes the pain faded. It must have, because he stopped breathing like he had only half a lung. " I guess I deserved that," Bolt wheezed.

"You did," Sarada agreed. "Where have you been? What have you been doing?"

Bolt coughed. More of a choke, really. "Oh, you know," he said. "Keeping my head down. Helping people here and there. Heard there was trouble around these parts, so here I am."

Sarada brightened at that. He was still the same Bolt she knew. She smiled. "Not planning on visiting Cloud again?"

Bolt frowned and Sarada immediately regretted the witty remark that sounded much better in her head. "No," he said.

"Sorry," Sarada apologized.

"Don't worry about it," Bolt waved her off.

There was so much Sarada wanted to talk about, ask about, but the words didn't come to her. They didn't feel right. So, instead, she simply sat there with Bolt enjoying the afternoon sun and the sounds of the forest. It was nice. Sarada caught him sneaking glances at her a few times. That had been gratifying. She was older, taller, but still thin. Just like her mother. She wasn't like Himawari, who had grown in all the right places the past two years. She was a little jealous. Just a little.

"I'm sorry," Bolt said, suddenly. "For—you know, everything," he said, gesturing to her eyes.

Sarada looked away. She didn't like to discuss the Mangekyō, and she especially didn't want to talk about it with Bolt. It was more than a little awkward. _"Yes, hello, I awakened_ _my Mangekyō when I thought you died, Bolt. Yes, that means you were—"_ Are, she amended. _"—the most important person to me."_

Sarada thought she would die if she had to say that aloud. "It's okay," she said instead.

Talking was easier after that. They spoke of the little things. What they had been doing for the past two years. Where they had travelled. How their training had progressed. What they thought about this or that. Bolt talked about how great the hot springs were. Sarada avoided talking about her 'work.' Bolt avoided talking about, specifically, what he had been doing, too. Sarada didn't push. It was easier, that way.

The sun was high in the sky when Sarada noticed the time. "I should get back," she said, standing up. Bolt nodded and stood. He was a little shaky on his feet. Sarada licked her lips. "Can we do this again, sometime?"

Bolt looked hesitant. "Please?" Sarada asked. "Not all the time. I won't tell anyone I saw you. I just—just don't want to lose you. Again."

Bolt let a ragged, defeated sigh escape his lips. Sarada grinned. "Fine," he said. "I—the tracking seal on you still works. I'll find you when I can. If I can. I can't promise it'll be often, and we can't meet in the Leaf, or even the Land of Fire, really, but I'll try."

Sarada nodded twice, quickly, and then stepped forward and pulled him into a much gentler hug. She laughed a little at the way he twisted and contorted so that she couldn't knee him in the groin again. Sarada stepped back, hand twisting a lock of inky black hair around a finger. She smiled, looked up, stood on the tips of her toes, and leaned forward—

A kunai sailed between them. More towards Bolt than her. His eyes never left hers, but his arm lashed out and plucked it from the air. Sarada leapt backwards as she saw the explosive tag dangling from the hilt. The characters on the tag glowed a bright, brilliant orange. Sarada braced herself for the coming explosion of light and heat—it never came. The tag glowed and glowed, then fizzled out. A dud.

Sarada landed near the far side of the small clearing the two of them had been lounging in. The forest became eerily quiet. Bolt held the kunai by the hilt and raised it to his eyes so that he could more easily examine the explosive tag. He pressed a finger to it and the lines danced and writhed as they rearranged themselves. Then he hurled it back into the forest.

The explosion tore through swathes of trees and uprooted tons of dirt and rock before searing skyward in an eruption of fire, smoke, and heat so blistering that Sarada could feel it licking at her skin from where she stood.

Well, that was new.

Octopus and Squirrel were forced to leap from the forest and into the now much larger clearing. Sarada swore under her breath. Of course her teammates would have came looking for her when she didn't return immediately. They would have gone into town, spoken with the people, and discovered she had sprinted into the forest. Then they came looking for her, expecting to find an enemy.

And, in a way, they did. Bolt looked entirely displeased. Insulted, almost. Sarada could definitely see an older, graying Bolt dressed in formal robes looming over the Hyūga clan. He looked the part. His grandfather would be proud.

Her Sharingan painted flashes of crimson light in her eyes. Bolt lunged forward with an unearthly speed. Sarada kicked at the ground and kept up with him. Bolt threw a pointed finger at Squirrel—right at her chest. Sarada felt pain blossom through her body. The flaming, orange-red skeletal palm of her Susano'o caught the Gentle Fist before it could do its damage.

That was what was terrifying about the Gentle Fist. The Hyūga used it to incapacitate. Nothing more, and nothing less. The only clansmen Sarada had ever seen use it for its more lethal purposes, like striking at organs, were ANBU operatives, and Bolt. A single, casual touch, nothing more than a finger brushing against your skin, and a Hyūga could scramble your organs like an egg.

Sarada appreciated the clan's restraint. "Back off, both of you," she snarled. "That's an order."

Her Susano'o faded, and with it, the all-consuming pain that clouded her thoughts. She expected Bolt to run. He didn't. He didn't so much as move. Sarada looked down. A thin shadow bridged the gap between him and Octopus. "Let him go, Octopus," she growled.

"But—Captain Uchiha!" Squirrel squawked.

"Open those eyes, girl," Octopus said. "We can't let an S-class threat walk away."

"I am your commanding officer!" Sarada shouted. "This is an order! Let him go!"

Then the crackling started. Bolt had become impatient. Chakra rose from him like steam before igniting into a storm of electricity. Octopus took a knee from the sheer strain of trying to retain him. Then a spear of screaming electricity formed from the ambient arcs the Lightning Armor emitted. Squirrel grabbed Octopus and ran even as she maintained the shadow jutsu. The tendril of lightning gave chase. It coiled upon itself and slithered forward, like a snake, as it thundered through the air and after her subordinates.

Sarada was a little awed by the display of chakra control. Then she intercepted the attack before it could kill her subordinates. Bolt stopped the technique before it could run her through. He looked more than a little irritated with her. She gave him a shrug before throwing a flashbang tag into the air. The sudden, blinding flash of light drove all shadows from the clearing.

When the light faded, Bolt was gone. Sarada felt the ghost of an itch where her tracking seal had been branded to her skin. She assumed that was his way of saying 'thank you.' Squirrel and Octopus rubbed at their eyes and took turns flashing her glares.

Owl, tall and burly, emerged from the ground. He wouldn't have been much help as an Earth Release specialist. "I've placed a tracking tag on him, captain," he told her.

Sarada laughed a little under her breath and pointed at the ground where the charred remains of a sealing tag lay burning. Owl sighed. She swallowed nervously as the adrenaline faded and the tension settled in. Her father told her that the only people who knew Bolt was alive was her, the Hokage, and himself. The Hokage probably told his wife and Himawari, and her mother probably knew as well. So, six people. Six people knew. Now she had to run damage control with her team.

Sarada looked between them. It was a choice of if they were more loyal to her, their friend and captain, or their institution. There was a strange, fierce camaraderie between those in black ops that wasn't present in the ninja corps. They understood the world. They saw it through clearer eyes. The blood, the darkness, the hate. Those who saw that world alongside them were closer than their blood family.

"Do you trust me?" Sarada asked.

The three of them nodded. Sarada took a breath. "Then you'll keep what you saw here a secret," she ordered them. "Brass already knows. You ratting on what happened here only makes things harder. For them, and for me. I'm asking you a personal favor. As your friend. Your captain."

Her team was eerily quiet as they silently came to an answer. They spoke a subtle language borne of years of training to serve the Leaf in the dark of the night.

Then they nodded. "Fine," Squirrel said.

Sarada smiled. "Thank you," she said.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This chapter was a little short and mostly fluffy. I was going to include the Akiyama sisters vs. Tetsu and Hikari, but didn't feel like it. Next chapter may or may not be delayed. I need to catch up with some course work. So expect a similar-to-longer update time as this chapter.

The Universal Healer is the only one of the death masks not based on Menma's masks. It is, however, based partially on Karin's healing ability—which is unique to the Uzumaki clan. Just, taken to the most extreme.


	65. Chapter 65

Bolt breathed in deeply. The mountain air was crisp, clean, and cold. He ran out of breath easier because the air was thinner. It really was the perfect place for a secret base of operations, even for a group that was famed for its secrecy. Too far out of the way for anyone to stumble across it unless they were looking, specifically, for it.

Bolt didn't think he would have been able to find the base without the aid of his Byakugan. He leapt down the side of the mountain, hopping from boulder to boulder, as he made his way into the valley below. There, he could see a great sea of old trees. The forest was so dense that there was no identifiable path forward. Only small deer trails and tunnels through the undergrowth. It was beautiful, in a way. A land untouched by human hands. A land where nature ruled.

What truly caught his eyes were the towering, monolithic bones of some creature far larger than any that still lived. The sheer size of the skeleton evoked a single, terrifying thought: Tailed Beast. Bolt idly wondered if the bones were the remains of some long dead Tailed Beast, slain in an era before recorded history.

Bolt walked along the center of the ribcage. Each rib would have taken him several minutes to circumnavigate. They towered above even the trees for hundreds of feet. Bolt wondered where the spine was. Buried far, far below his feet, most likely. He marvelled at the skull. It was titanic. Bolt could, with ease, create his limit of clones, each standing atop the others' shoulders, and he still would not have spanned the gap between the top and bottom of its eye. He doubted even a fully grown Akimichi could have.

He shuddered and continued walking. At the end of the creature's spine, where the base of its skull would have been, Bolt came upon a great, gaping maw of a cave. He supposed this was it, then. The Mountains' Graveyard. Bolt slipped inside and immediately found a problem.

The cave had collapsed. Someone, or many someones, had destroyed large sections of underground tunnels and caverns that had snaked beneath the mountain. Bolt sighed. He began the laborious process of moving rocks and boulders—carefully, so as not to disturb the others—and working his way deeper and deeper into the underground base.

It was tedious and dull. Worst of all, it left his mind free to wander while his body toiled. That brought back thoughts and emotions that he wasn't quite prepared to deal with. Like today, for example. It had been nice—too nice—to be just Bolt Uzumaki for once. He had only spent a few hours lounging and talking with Sarada but it had removed a weight that he hadn't known he had been carrying. The cold, hard mentality he had honed over the past two years had been dulled by it.

It was terrifying. Years of work and training undone with a few touches and words. Worse—it had been nice. He had enjoyed it. It was a temptation. One that he couldn't afford. Not if he was going to galvanize the world into a new era. And he had promised to meet Sarada again. Promised to dull himself, willingly, a little bit more. Bolt grunted as he slipped between a crack in the rocks and wormed his way through a tunnel.

There had been one logical, beneficial gain from their surprise meeting, though. Bolt had seen her Mangekyō firsthand. He didn't know what it did, and he hoped he wouldn't ever find out.

An unnatural, powerful headache hammered his skull relentlessly as Sarada chased him through the forest. Bolt despised Orochimaru, what the snake had done to him. He hated calling it a headache. But, it was better than referring to it as a vague chattering in the back of his mind. That made him sound insane. He had been lucky Sarada's opening punch hadn't cleaved his head from his shoulders with how much the pain distracted him.

But Bolt smiled, all the same. Sarada was strong. He could admire that. Even if he harbored a little anger over her dishonorable attack. The shadow of pain lanced through his thighs and waist.

A young woman's giggle made him still. Bolt resisted the urge to shiver before returning to his labors. "We could always hurt her back," the Universal Healer whispered to him. "With my power, she wouldn't even suffer lasting damage."

The Divine Summoner may have been the most difficult of the masks to work with, but the Universal Healer was the most disturbing. She took the appearance of a young woman, perhaps in her late teens to early twenties—though, with her Uzumaki blood, it was possible she was older. The Universal Healer had died young. Put to death by her own clan for her sadistic ways. Her power granted her blood healing properties seen in few of their clan, and she had taken great pleasure in torturing both enemy and ally only to restore them to perfect health afterwards.

"No," Bolt said strongly, firmly. "I don't want to hurt her."

And he was surprised, momentarily, that it was true. Bolt frowned. He was letting his emotions overrule his logic. If Sarada had to be hurt for the world to know peace, know justice, than that was a sacrifice upon the altar of the greater good he had to make. As much as he didn't want to make it. As much as it would hurt.

"You're no fun," the Universal Healer pouted.

Bolt didn't respond to her. It was easier, that way. Her usefulness began and ended with her ability to heal wounds—his wounds. Bolt channeled some of his anger at Sarada for forcing him to use the mask's ability. He certainly wouldn't have been able to make the journey to the Mountains' Graveyard without healing himself. Walking had been a lesson in agony.

Bolt grunted as he heaved a boulder out of the way and cleared a path into a large cavern. Progress. It looked as if, at one time, someone might have called this place home. A thick layer of dust coated destroyed tables, chairs, couches. Bolt could see a handful of bookshelves that had been crushed by falling rock when the cave had collapsed.

But, most of all, everything was horribly burnt. Wood was charred. Stone was scorched. Whatever books or scrolls that had been stored on the bookshelves had been turned to ash. A shame, really. This was the second Akatsuki hideout he had found after the one in the Land of Rivers. If it was anything like the first, it would be a veritable trove of treasure.

But it was not to be. Bolt scoured the room. There was nothing left. It had all been destroyed in the war. Bolt frowned and kicked the charred, blackened remains of a chair. It shattered and blossomed in a cloud of ash. He sighed. There were more tunnels, more, smaller caverns farther beneath the mountain. Bolt made his way to the collapsed tunnel and prepared himself for more tedious hours of moving rock.

Eventually, he tired. Bolt heaved the last rock to the side and emerged into a small room that might have once been a study. He rested his back against the stone and slid to the ground. Bolt felt his eyes grow heavy. He sighed, admitting defeat for the day, and quickly scrawled a seal on the wall of the cave that would alert him if oxygen levels plummeted to unsafe levels, recycle and purify the air he breathed, and wake him in the event that a foreign chakra signature was detected within a mile of his location. Not his best work, true, but it was enough that he felt safe to sleep.

Bolt exchanged the mask of the Universal Healer for the Sage of the North. Safe in the knowledge that Sasuke couldn't summon him in the night, he closed his eyes. Bolt dreamed of standing on the field of battle; one on side stood him, and on the other, everyone he had ever known.

Breakfast was a subdued affair. Travelling rations. Bland, tasteless, and drowned in preservatives. The pastries were good, though, if a little dry. Work continued in much the same way for several hours. Until, that is, it didn't.

Bolt admired the seal. It was beautiful in its archaic formulae and spiralling design. An older seal, written in a script that hadn't been written in the Land of Fire for—it had to have been a century, if not more. Bolt was having trouble deciphering it. Funny thing, dialect. People spoke differently, wrote differently, a century ago. It was based off the Uzumaki script, sure, but it had nuances all its own.

He was pretty sure the seal was designed to make the stone surrounding it, and connected to it, nigh indestructible. That or, depending on how you read the last two swirling characters, it was designed to bend space and teleport trespassers inside the stone. A messy, quick death. One that Bolt wasn't interested in experiencing. So he withdrew an inkwell and a brush and began to systematically and surgically undo the seal layer by layer and command by command. It was rather like a puzzle. One with hidden meanings, redundancies, traps, and unorthodox naming conventions designed to make disarming it a lesson in futility and pain.

Bolt found it entertaining.

It took an hour, if not more, to disarm the seal. Bolt smiled as a satisfying flash of blue chakra signalled its dissipation. There was a sound, like a rumble of thunder, as a door of stone slid forward that Bolt hadn't seen or noticed before. The seal had been hiding it—even from his Byakugan. Bolt eagerly descended. His vision told him that, unlike above, this part of the base had been untouched by the destruction.

It was an eerie room. The sight had the cold chill of fear crawling up and down his spine. Small, yes, but designed like an operating room. A row of metal tables in the center of the room; two, even, had bodies lying atop them. The very reason he had came to the far flung base sat before him atop a small, short medical table. A ruined Akatsuki robe had been flung over it, and atop it sat a single ring of silvery metal. A purple jewel, perhaps an amethyst, with the character for 'Jewel' adorned it.

Bolt grinned in triumph as he pocketed the ring. He took the time to gaze around the room and scoured it for what treasures it held. To the left, a wall of what appeared to be safes but was, in reality, a morgue. To the right, row upon row of shattered and cracked glass cylinders filled with a viscous green liquid. Some rotten organic globules of tissue bobbed atop the surface and filled the room with the pungent scent of decay.

The room was bare and spartan bereft of the ring. Bolt had hoped for more scrolls; more techniques, more secrets, more information that wasn't fit to be written in the history books. He was not so fortunate. Bolt sighed and made his way back towards the exit. As he did, he idly examined the two bodies. One was a skeleton that had been picked clean by the years. The other? The other looked like he had died yesterday.

Bolt frowned. Was someone still using the base? That was impossible. No one knew this place existed outside of a very elite few. Kage, mainly. Bolt had a hard time imagining one of them commandeering an old Akatsuki base to store corpses in.

The man was tall and older in his years. His right arm was missing, save for a gnarled stump at the shoulder. The missing limb looked odd. The skin surrounding it was a papery, wrinkled pale white color. Little sprouts of green—plants—were growing out of it and across the man's chest until the skin faded to a pale pink.

The face, though. The face whispered something to him. The aging features with exaggerated lines and folds. The crisscrossed scar on the chin. Bolt felt as if he had seen this man before. It irritated him that he couldn't place the man's face. Who was he? Someone from the Revolution? No, Bolt didn't think so. He looked like... someone from the Leaf—

Danzō Shimura.

Bolt could see the man's face in his history textbook as clearly as if he had been an Academy student yesterday. Danzō Shimura—student of the Second Hokage, leader of the defunct Root, and candidate for the position of Sixth Hokage. He was a lesson to younger generations, his teacher had said. That the ends do not excuse the means.

Bolt laughed a little. If only Professor Aburame could see him now. But, still, that begged the question. Danzō Shimura had died before the Fourth War had even begun. What was his body doing here? Had the Akatsuki been responsible for his death? That was interesting. A footnote—one of many—that didn't make it into his history book.

But what was more interesting was the fact that, even after all these decades, the body had not decomposed. There was something strange about the corpse. Bolt was intrigued. He sealed the body of Danzō within the storage seal on his forearm. Another task in the ever growing list of tasks for Tsuchigumo and Katasuke.

Bolt made his way through the rest of the underground base with the same slow, steady progress. It was daunting work. He was beginning to doubt that what he sought was ever actually at the Mountains' Graveyard.

That was, until he found the room. It was bare and crude, resembling every other personal quarters that Bolt had stumbled upon, but the stone appeared to be of a different texture. Like it had been melted and then allowed to cool. Everything else was charred and blackened beyond recognition. Whatever had happened here had been the genesis of the destruction of the base.

By pure chance, Bolt looked down. At his feet, and then beyond. There, buried within the once molten rock, was another of the Akatsuki rings. Bolt sucked in a breath as he kneeled and examined the rock. The ring appeared to be no worse for wear despite having been submerged in liquid stone. He held his hand aloft as it sparked to life in a storm of electricity.

This was one thing that the Lightning Armor could do that the Chidori could not. Bolt pressed his fingers to the stone and channeled more chakra into the technique. The rock began to glow a pleasant red-orange color as he pressed forward. The Lightning Armor coating his skin protected him from the extreme heat. Slowly, carefully, Bolt cut the ring from the rock.

The ring was cool to the touch as he drew it from a small pool of liquid stone that illuminated the room. A band of silver with a green gemstone set in its face. An emerald, perhaps. Etched into the jewel was the character for 'Boar.'

Bolt breathed a sigh of relief. He had found and recovered seven of the ten rings. That left three to find. Two, worn by Hidan and Kakuzu, he presumed resided within the Leaf. As best as he could tell, both members of the Akatsuki had met their ends by ninja from his home. Their bodies should have been recovered for examination. Standard protocol. They would be difficult to find and reclaim.

The other, worn by Kisame, could be hidden anywhere. Kisame had outlived both Nagato and Konan, so neither of their writings held a clue upon the fishman's final resting place. Bolt hummed in thought as he headed for the surface. Perhaps he would task some of the Revolution's spies to keep an open ear for any rumors surrounding Kisame's death. Yes, that was the best course of action.

Leaving was far easier than entering the Mountains' Graveyard. Bolt breathed deeply as he emerged once more into the light of day.

* * *

The Land of Earth was a harsh land. Dotted with mountains that stretched skyward and yawning valleys of boulders and rubble between them. Flat, even ground was a rarity. The people built their homes upon the slopes of the mountains. Some, even, carved them from the stone. A rare few built beneath the rock entirely.

It reminded Tetsu of home. But it lacked the harsh, cold bite of the Land of Iron. There was no howling wind, no oppressing snow, and no blisteringly cold ice. Instead of an eternal winter, the Land of Earth was watched over by a clear sky with wispy clouds of white.

Tetsu kept a wary eye on his surroundings. Ever watchful. The people that called the Land of Earth their home were as comfortable with the rock as he was with the cold. They could be hiding, watching them, even now. And Tetsu could not abide failure. His Lord had bequeathed upon him a most vital task. To gather more servants under his banner. A most worthy cause; to spread the glory of his Lord to the commoner masses.

It was not difficult to track the Akiyama sisters. Tetsu respected them. They did not hide. They fought their enemies, face-to-face, on the field of battle with honor. And at every turn they emerged victorious. One had only to follow the trail of bodies and destruction to find the Akiyama sisters.

It led Tetsu and his Lady—though her position in the court had been somewhat lessened—to the foot of the Akiyama mountains, for which they had been named. Their father was a noble of some power, his Lord had told him. A fat, pompous noble who owned every rock and stone from the Land of Grass in the east to the Land of Iron in the west. He was a man who brought dishonor to the mere notion of nobility. That he had sired daughters of such power was the man's sole claim to contributing to the good of his country.

"We're here," Hikari whispered.

Tetsu nodded as he gazed up at what had once been an outpost for the Hidden Stone. A place for the border guards to rest their heads, perhaps. Now, it housed two of the most dangerous rogue ninja alive. A wall of dark, glassy stone flowed from the roof of the building like water. Tetsu frowned as he walked past a corpse of a woman who was missing the entire left half of her body. It had simply been blown away.

The sisters were waiting for them as they approached. Tall and willowy with flowing blonde hair and dressed in elegant but utilitarian robes. The elder, Kagami, to the right, with her hands in her pockets—the most dangerous place for them to be. Her fingers were already poised to snap and unleash her bloodline, Tetsu knew. The younger, Kagari, to the left and behind. She made herself small, standing sideways, to more easily avoid being hit.

"Well, well," Kagami said. "You two looking for a rematch? Where's blondie?"

Tetsu frowned at the casual manner in which she addressed his Lord. He did, however, respect how both sisters' eyes began to scour the land for his Lord. Not that it would have saved them.

"Not today," Hikari told them. "We're here to talk."

Kagami tilted her head and raised her chin in a way that made her appear to be looking down upon them from up high. "So talk," she said.

"We're here to offer you employment, of a sorts," Hikari said.

"Oh?" Kagami and Kagari hummed, together, in an odd display of solidarity.

"We represent an organization looking to expand its membership," Hikari told them. His Lord had been very specific in his instructions. Under no circumstance were they to reveal the existence of the Akatsuki unless the two agreed to join. "Membership, of course, comes with extensive benefits."

"You and blondie work for the Revolution?" Kagami asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Hikari said.

As one, the sisters scoffed. "No thanks," they said.

"You didn't even hear us out," Hikari said. "Do you treat all your prospective clients this way?"

"What could you possibly have that we can't earn ourselves? We have more than enough money," Kagami said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"It's more than just the money," Hikari told them. "It's the security. You're a thorn in the Union's collective asses, just like we are, and just like us, sooner or later they're going to come down on you—hard. When that happens, you're going to want allies to stand with you. We don't want to interfere in your operations. In fact, quite the opposite. We want you to increase them. Not only do you get to keep the payment for your mercenary work, we're prepared to pay you extra for each successful job depending on how much attention you draw. Outside of your duties within the organization, you're free to do whatever you like. And, if you're ever in trouble, we will be there to ensure you make it out alive and clear."

It was the logical, tactical decision. One that Tetsu would have agreed to had it been offered to him.

"No thanks," the sisters growled as one.

Hikari glanced at him. Tetsu nodded ever so imperceptibly. "We thought you might say that," Hikari said. "We were told that if you declined, we were to impart a message."

"Oh?" Kagami hummed.

Hikari nodded. "Our employer knows why you two became rogue ninja," she said.

Kagami scoffed whilst Kagari giggled under her breath. "I doubt that," Kagami said.

"The true reason you became rogue ninja. Not the shit the Union spews, or the rumors you spread. Our leader says that he can... assuage it," Hikari finished.

Both sisters paused. "Fuck you," Kagami said with a sneer as she tore her hands from her pockets and snapped her fingers in one quick, practiced motion.

Tetsu was ready. His Lord had trained him for high-speed combat, and in turn, Tetsu had taught his Lord how to fight an opponent far stronger than him. He lunged forward, drew his sword, and cut the spark of explosive chakra in twain. An eruption of fire, light, and heat blossomed to life to his left and right. Tetsu stepped through the fire and cut another two sparks down.

As planned, Hikari leapt at the younger sister. Kagari leaned forward and vomited a wave of molten rock that was blinding to gaze upon. Hikari responded with a wave of water that cooled the lava before it could come to her sister's aid or attack the two of them. Tetsu focussed on cutting down the barrage of explosive sparks of chakra.

Together, the Akiyama sisters were a force of nature clothed in human flesh. Apart, they were merely powerful, talented ninja. The latter they could defeat. Tetsu lunged forward and swept his sword upward in an arcing slash that forced Kagami to leap out of the way. Tetsu advanced, putting himself between the elder sister and the younger even as Hikari did the same.

A thick cloud of steam bubbled across the battlefield as lava and water clashed. Tetsu batted away another barrage of explosive sparks. Kagami beat a hasty retreat even as she continued to wave her fist back and forth with snaps that unleashed explosive blasts. Tetsu gave chase with a speed second only to his Lord.

"Fucker!" Kagami snarled as he drew closer. She slammed her palm to the ground.

Tetsu reeled as the ground rose up and hurled him skyward. There was a brief moment of weightlessness as he reached his apex. Below, Kagami was hurling sparks of explosive chakra at him as she sprinted to her sister's aid. Tetsu unleashed a roaring Flash that collided with her attacks in an eruption of chakra that sent a concussive blast of wind racing across the mountainside.

Tetsu braced himself for impact as he channelled chakra through his limbs. He slammed, feet first, into the unforgiving stone. He broke into a sprint as he chased after Kagami, who was now working in tandem with her sister to hem in Hikari. Tetsu raised his sword arm. Chakra blossomed to life along the blade of his sword with tongues of flame licking at the air. He unleashed a raging inferno with a Fire Release: Flash.

Hikari was protected, wreathed in a frothing sphere of water, but the Akiyama sisters were not so fortunate. They banded together, weaving hand signs, and erected an earthen barrier from the stone. The stone glowed a dull, lifeless orange as his fire heated it. Hikari emerged from the safety of her shield and hurled a scroll as thick and long as her forearm into the air. It unravelled, unveiling a web of elegant swirls and ripples, the fūinjutsu language of his clan. From it, a massive quantity of water spilled forth.

The flames of his Flash were extinguished, and the water levels began to rise and rise until the earthen barrier the Akiyama sisters had erected was submerged entirely in the roaring river that had spilled forth. The two sisters emerged, cold, soaked, and angry. Kagami set to sending a barrage of explosive sparks their way, whilst Kagari began to build a platform of hardened volcanic rock for them to stand upon.

Tetsu sprinted forward. Hikari swam beneath the waves, as fast in the water as she was on land—if not faster. She merged from the depths in an explosion of frothing water and mist. A single, chakra augmented punch carried such strength that it created a gust of wind that parted the river. The sisters were only just quick enough to avoid the debilitating blow.

But they were, both of them, too focussed on the threat before them to defend against Tetsu. He approached, a blur, and struck Kagari with the flat of his sword. She crumpled, unconscious, and the platform of volcanic rock turned to dust and eroded before the might of the roaring river that spewed from the scroll. His actions did not escape the notice of Kagami.

"I'll murder you, you fucking bastard!" Kagami roared, charging him with fists raised.

Tetsu raised his sword and blocked the fist with the flat of the blade. He regretted that choice. An explosion, more powerful than any thus far, tore itself from the elder Akiyama sister's fist. Fire licked at his exposed skin, charring and blistering it, as a wave of pressure slammed into his chest, so powerful his bones rattled, and hurled him into the river.

An Explosion Release fighting style. Tetsu fought his body's natural instinct to draw breath. Inhaling water would only hinder his ability to fight. He rose up from the depths and stood atop the waves with some effort. A breathy sigh escaped his lips. Hikari had Kagami pinned with a needle to the woman's throat.

Tetsu saw the elder Akiyama sister go limp. He approached, but did not sheathe his sword. The tip of his blade joined the needle. "Do you yield?" Tetsu asked her. She glanced at her sister's unconscious body, bobbing up and down in the river, and then nodded ever so slightly.

Hikari growled and withdrew her needle. "We're not going to kill you," she said. "Hear our leader out. If you don't like what he has to say, you're free to go. No strings attached."

Kagami glared at the two of them, but nodded all the same. Hikari released her and fetched the scroll that continued to spew forth enough water to fill a lake. A most useful tool, prepared by his Lord. Tetsu kept a watchful eye on Kagami as she fetched her sister.

Together, the four of them made their way south, towards the Land of Rain, and beyond it, the Land of Wind. Tetsu hid a small smile. He had served his Lord well.

* * *

Bolt strode through the threshold of the barrier he had erected around the old mountainous base Tsuchigumo operated from. It was good be home—or as close to home as he could get. They had decided, tentatively, to place down roots in the Land of Wind. The harsh environment and natural terrain was as much a deterrent to enemies as any barrier. Together, their base was nigh invisible to all who didn't know what to look for.

He smiled as his dōjutsu revealed that Hikari and Tetsu had been successful. Excellent. If the Akiyama sisters joined the cause, they would provide much needed boots on the ground. Together, they possessed seven of the ten most wanted fugitives in all the nations.

The others gathered as the barrier informed them he had returned. Bolt steeled himself. This was not the time for smiles and happy reunions. He needed to recruit the Akiyama sisters. He wasn't Bolt Uzumaki. He was the leader of the new Akatsuki. He allowed his iron grip over his chakra to slip and exude a tangible presence of chakra.

It had the desired effect. What little conversation the group was having faded to silence in his presence. Bolt looked to each of them in turn before his gaze fell upon Kagami and Kagari. The younger sister sported a nasty bruise that ran from her temple to her chin.

Bolt ignored them. He turned to Tsuchigumo and held his hand aloft. From it, his storage seal disgorged the corpse of Danzō Shimura. He strangled the urge to grin as the two sisters went still. It was always good to prove to your subordinates that you were not above casual murder. It kept them obedient and loyal.

"Tsuchigumo," Bolt said, by way of greeting. "I want you and Katasuke to examine the corpse. Specifically, the stump of the right arm. Take tissue samples, but keep the body intact. When you're done, turn it into a human puppet."

Tsuchigumo nodded and collected the corpse before shuffling away. Bolt turned to face the Akiyama sisters. There was a certain dark glee to seeing the knowing fear that adorned their faces. They had willing followed the lion to its den, and now they realized it. Kagami and Kagari took up defensive positions and prepared to defend themselves if needed. Bolt grinned at that. They wouldn't be fit to join the new Akatsuki if they didn't have a spine. Bolt waited. It didn't take long.

"Well? Whaddya want, blondie?" Kagami growled.

Bolt smiled a little at the nickname. Ironic, considering the sisters sported a head of sandy blonde hair themselves. "No doubt my companions informed you that I wish to recruit you," he said.

Both sisters scoffed. "Yeah," they said, as one. "So, you're the leader of the Revolution, huh? Didn't see that coming. How's daddy feel about it?" Kagami said, for both of them.

Bolt frowned. He ignored the barb. "True, technically," he admitted. "But not what I need you for. Your talents would be wasted in the Revolution."

"So... what, then? Doubt you'd need bodyguards," Kagari chirped with quirked lips.

"It's not what I need you for," Bolt said. "Rather, it's what you need me for."

Bolt knew he had them from the moment the words left his lips. "You're bored," he said. The words babbled forth. They fit. "It's not the money, not the freedom, and not the infamy. You became rogue ninja because you were simply bored. Old souls born into young bodies, maybe. Born too late for the warring clans era. Or, maybe, born too soon for the next great period of war."

Both sisters were quiet and thoughtful. Bolt smiled. "And I can change that," he said. "I can provide you the entertainment you crave. The thrill of battle against worthy opponents. A cause to support, one that will put you on the path to even more thrilling battles in the future. Opponents so powerful you couldn't even imagine."

He waited. It was the timing. It had to be right.

"... And how would you do that?" Kagami asked, her voice subdued.

Bolt smiled reassuringly. "It's simple," he said. "You're free to keep doing what you've been doing. Collect bounties, attack the Hidden Stone, take mercenary work for the highest bidder. You'll be free to take more risks, because you'll have the backing of our organization. In return, occasionally, you will be given tasks by the organization which will give you the thrill you've been seeking."

"... You said we wouldn't be working for the Revolution," Kagari said.

Bolt pressed a finger to the seal on his forearm. He withdrew his Akatsuki robes in all their infamy. Confusion clouded the sisters' features before it morphed into a horrified, if allured, awe. Bolt could practically pick the thoughts from their minds as their thoughts raced. The great risk they took upon themselves becoming members of the universally hated Akatsuki. The allure of the enemies, the opponents, they would garner from being members. There was horror, fear, too. They pieced together the clues he had dropped. The Tailed Beasts—they would have to fight the Tailed Beasts. The fear warped and turned to a dreadful euphoria, an unbearable anticipation.

He had them.

As one, Kagami and Kagari nodded their assent.

Bolt grinned. "Welcome to the new Akatsuki," he said.

* * *

Bolt settled into his quarters with a relieved sigh. It had been an exhausting day. A long trek from the Mountains' Graveyard to the Land of Wind. The stress of recruiting the Akiyama sisters. And, even now, his day was far from over. Bolt weaved a single hand sign, crossing his fingers. A single clone coalesced from thin air with a quiet snap. Dangerous, considering how thin he was stretched, but Bolt had no desire to mull over fūinjutsu. There were no acrid wisps of smoke, Bolt noted, which was good. It meant his control was becoming even more refined; all efficiency, no waste.

His clone set about working through the many, many scrolls that he had been scribbling over the past month. It was the very rough beginnings of a human summoning technique that would, hopefully, solve the looming axe hanging over his head that was his former master, Sasuke Uchiha. Perhaps he could get Sarada to convince her father to stop? Bolt doubted it.

Bolt eased himself into a meditative position. He had more interesting, less stressful things to plan for. As the Revolution, and the Akatsuki in turn, moved forward, they would encounter resistance. The Kage and their most powerful subordinates. And, eventually, the Tailed Beasts. Bolt knew he had grown stronger the past two years, and with the aid of the death masks, he was somewhat confident of his ability to fight a Kage.

But he had learned a valuable lesson fighting the Raikage. That the Five Kage were not to be underestimated. They were the five most powerful ninja of the five most powerful nations. The best of the best. Bolt would not—could not—underestimate them. So he needed to be more powerful. Faster, stronger, with an even greater chakra control and quantity.

Bolt unravelled the scroll one of his spies from the Revolution had turned in. It was nice, having spies. It would be even nicer when Tsuchigumo and his puppet army would add to their eyes and ears. His eyes devoured the information within. The technique he had seen the Cloud use to transport goods and information within their city walls. The Heavenly Transmission Technique. A jutsu developed by the venerated, deceased secretary of the Fourth Raikage. She had died in the Fourth War, but left record of the technique behind in the case of her death.

Smart, Bolt thought. Unfortunately for her, though, the technique found its way into his hands. Bolt scowled at how wasteful, how arrogant, Cloud had been. A technique had been laid at their feet, already developed, that allowed one to take the form of electricity? A technique that outclassed even the Hōzuki clan's Water Transformation Technique.

Bolt grinned. That, he could use. Bolt whittled away the hours as he tried various techniques to replicate the Heavenly Transmission Technique. He looked up, scowling, as his clone tapped him on the shoulder. "It's nearly midnight, boss," it said.

Bolt looked to the clock. Ah, his clone was right. He sighed. With a thought, the clone disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Bolt frowned. His control had slipped. He sighed, again, disappointed in himself. Bolt moved to the bed, kicked off his boots, and laid down. His eyes followed the second hand as the clock ticked down. At twelve, precisely, Bolt's eyes rolled in his skull as memories of his clone, half the continent away, dissipated. Darkness claimed him as he was swept away by a tide of information.

As his consciousness fled, Bolt smiled. The Celestial Maiden, and the Revolution, had made good progress.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Phew, lots happening this chapter. More rings gathered, new members for the Akatsuki, and more escalation as Bolt prepares to make his move. Eagle-eyed reviewers will be able to deduce why Sarada noticed Bolt had such diminished chakra last chapter.

Kagami and Kagari are the physical embodiment of the woes of ninja society in the wake of institutionalized peace. Ninja, a profession built upon war, has suddenly became an obsolete way of life. Many countless ninja have 'gone rogue' in an attempt to hold on to some small piece of their culture and way of life. Thus, the growing mercenary problem and presence in the nations.

The Mountains' Graveyard was always a little plot bunny that I found odd. Obito had a secret lair of spare Sharingan and presumably other rare goodies, yet no one bothers to do anything about it after the war ends? For shame, ninja. For shame. I've taken creative liberties with what was found, as: Obito had a number of Sharingan stored in case he was forced to use Izanagi. They have since rotted and decayed over the years. Danzō's ultimate fate is never revealed. Technically, Black Zetsu wore the Akatsuki ring, not White Zetsu. Thus, it was sealed in the moon with Kaguya. I decided to change that. Obito discards his Akatsuki robe and ring after murdering Konan and stealing the Rinnegan.

The death masks, in their entirety: the High Priest (bukijutsu; esp. chakra absorbing scythe), the Sage of the North (fūinjutsu; esp. barriers that block chakra attacks), the Sage of the South (fūinjutsu; esp. barriers that block physical attacks), the Divine Summoner (fūinjutsu; esp. summoning techniques), the Universal Healer (medical ninjutsu; esp. Uzumaki regenerative blood), and the Celestial Maiden (fūinjutsu; esp. a unique sealing technique using ribbons).

The Akatsuki rings, thus far: Zero (Bolt), White (Hikari), Vermillion (Tetsu), Sky (Tsuchigumo), Blue (Hibiki), Boar (unclaimed), and Jewel (unclaimed).


	66. Chapter 66

Naruto dragged his chopsticks through the still steaming bowl of ramen that sat neatly at its place of honor on his desk as he stared blankly into the screen of his monitor. He had eaten many a bowl of ramen at his desk during his reign as Hokage. So many, in fact, that he could see a small circle where the bowl had worn away the veneer.

He sighed as he arranged the noodles into a vaguely human smile. "Naruto," Shikamaru scolded him, taking the chopsticks and moving the bowl to the side. Naruto earned a slap to the head for his wandering thoughts.

The monitor buzzed to life with a crackle as the other Kage connected. The third meeting in as many as seven days. Micromanaging the latest international incident was becoming a lesson in tedium. "Alright, let's keep this quick," Darui said firmly, right as their mics lit up.

"Agreed," the other Kage mumbled.

"What the hell is going on over there?" Kurotsuchi demanded. She looked more than a little haggard; the skin under her eyes was dark, her hair was wild and untamed, and Naruto could see little red veins snaking through the whites of her eyes.

"ANBU reports are still coming in," Naruto said with a sigh. "But what we believe to have happened is that the Revolution attacked one of the convoys carrying workers and supplies under the guise of ninja from the Hidden Frost. They spread the word that each nation promised aid was attacking and stealing resources. The others panicked and began to do the same before it was all gone."

"What a shit show," Darui grunted.

"Indeed," Chōjūrō added.

"The good news is that we've managed to convince those who stole to return the goods. We even let them keep their portion of the promised aid. We've taken a hit, yes, but not as bad as we thought," Naruto said.

"How bad of a hit are we talking, Naruto?" Gaara asked.

Naruto looked to Shikamaru. He was already rummaging through a handful of leaves of paper. Shikamaru found the page he was looking for and handed it to him. "Estimates are... ten to fifteen million," Naruto said.

"Just over a sixth of the total promised aid over three years," Chōjūrō noted.

"A slight increase in taxes, barely noticeable, over the next three to five years would cover it," Gaara proposed.

A quick round of voting, with some grumbling from Kurotsuchi, assured the Great Five would stay in the black and keep their promised aid flowing.

"Now," Darui said, leaning forward. "What do we do about the Revolution? They've been a thorn in our collective asses for far too long."

"I agree," Naruto said. "But it's not that simple. They're not like any enemy we've fought before. We haven't had to fight a battle where we couldn't march up to our enemy and trade fists with them before. This is a war of hearts and minds. The Revolution is making emotional and intellectual appeals to the people disenfranchised by the ninja system. Most of their members are people untrained in the way of the ninja, or rogue ninja and mercenaries."

"So?" Kurotsuchi sneered.

"So," Naruto grumbled. "We can fight the rogue ninja and mercenaries, provided they are actually willing to fight us on the field of battle—which they haven't. The Revolution has been too smart, so far, and avoided a direct military confrontation. They make a move and force us to respond to it. It's a good strategy. Their untrained members? The Revolution _wants_ us to attack those people. We'll be proving their message right by doing so, and no doubt, as we've seen already, they'll be prepared to spread propaganda and smear our name when we do."

"In addition," Gaara added. "We couldn't even find the non-ninja even if we wanted to detain them, let alone fight them. They blend in with the populace. Any farmer, miner, fisherman, baker, or lumberjack from here to the Land of Water could be a member of the Revolution—and we'd never even know."

"Then what do we do?" Chōjūrō asked.

"It's difficult," Gaara said, a little breathy. "We need to reinforce governmental legitimacy and effectiveness while, at the same time, reducing the influence the Revolution has over the populace." He paused, took a deep breath, and began speaking again. "We need to render the Revolution ineffective and non-influential. We're doing that now, but we didn't take them seriously when they first appeared and we were too focussed on trying to fight the war our way instead of theirs."

Naruto nodded. He could always count on Gaara. "We keep providing relief," Naruto said. "We prove the Revolution wrong at every turn, no matter what they do in retaliation, and we take away the power they hold over the populace."

There was a collective nodding of heads in agreement and understanding. "We'll meet again, say, three days from now? To discuss a plan of action going into the future?" Naruto suggested.

More nods of agreement.

* * *

Himawari pranced through the streets of the Leaf. Her wooden sandals clicked and clacked with each step and a pleasant breeze made the yellow sundress she wore flap in the wind. She earned more than a few odd looks.

She hadn't been home for five long months. Really, it didn't even feel like it had been that long at all. Mount Myōboku and the surrounding mountains and forests had become something of a home away from home. She couldn't stay away forever, though. She missed Sarada. She missed her mother. She missed her father in a strange, sad sort of way. She knew that, even if she came home, he probably wouldn't have much time to spend with her. Still, he made the effort to try. That was all she could ask for.

Himawari found her way to the street Sarada lived on. People seemed to part as she walked, which made the trip all the quicker. She knocked on the door. It opened, barely a few moments later, revealing Sarada. She already had her boots on and a backpack slung over her shoulder. Like she had been expecting her.

"Hi—"

"How long can you stay?" Sarada gushed.

Himawari frowned. "I don't know. I told the Elders I would be back in less than a week, so..."

"Perfect," Sarada said. She grabbed her hand and began to haul her back down the street. The door slammed behind her.

"Where are we going?" Himawari asked, more than a little confused.

"I have somewhere for us to go. Someone for you to meet," Sarada answered. "Trust me, you'll enjoy yourself."

"Are—are you trying to set me up with a date?" Himawari stuttered.

"What? No!" Sarada hissed. "Besides, Shikadai would be jealous... Hey, that's a good idea!"

"No," Himawari countered. "It's not."

"Come on," Sarada teased, bumping her shoulder. "Give him a chance."

"It'd be weird," Himawari said, bumping her back just a little bit harder. "I was always the third wheel when he came over to visit my brother."

"Come on," Sarada begged. "Do you know he's asked me three times about where you were and how you were doing since you last visited?"

"I do now," Himawari grumbled, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

"So, is that a yes?" Sarada asked.

"No," Himawari said. "But I'll think about it," she added, to shut her up if nothing else.

Her mother and grandfather had been nosy about her personal life. It was one of the reasons she didn't like to come home very often. With her brother gone, it fell to her to continue the main line of the Hyūga clan. Aunt Hanabi hadn't married and had no plans to, judging by her attitude. Though, she knew that her brother's jōnin teacher, Konohamaru, had been acting strange around her aunt for a few years. Perhaps there was something there? Himawari decided to focus Sarada on playing matchmaker between the two of them instead of her and Shikadai.

If her aunt didn't marry, that meant she would. Himawari wasn't thrilled with her familial duties.

The two of them quickly escaped the gates of the city and loped through the forest. Sarada led to west—just west. No particular path or destination in mind. Himawari gave up on conversation and just let a comfortable silence hang in the air as her body ran forward on muscle memory and instinct.

They stopped for lunch and then continued on their way. The Land of Fire was really quite beautiful, Himawari supposed, now that she could feel it teeming with life and energy. Not nearly as much as Mount Myōboku or the other lands rich in natural energy, but enough that she could appreciate it.

"Where are we?" Himawari asked as they stopped for the day. They were somewhere far to the west of the Leaf. Near the Land of Grass, or Rain, possibly.

"I don't know," Sarada said, as she began to set up camp. "But that's perfect."

Himawari frowned. What did that even mean?

"We'll have to wait a few days, I think," Sarada continued. "But you've got a week, so we should be good."

And, so, they waited. Himawari spent most of her time meditating. Sarada was a bundle of nervous energy, always keeping a wary eye on the forest. She didn't need to worry too much. The trees had a language all their own. If you were quiet and patient, they told you their secrets. Himawari didn't sense anyone in the forest except them.

On the third day of their camping trip, as she had come to think of it, that changed. The trees told her of a presence that intruded upon their domain to the southwest. Sarada seemed to feel it too, somehow. She was more nervous than she had been since they left. Himawari couldn't resist a wary glance with her Byakugan.

She saw nothing. Too far away, just out of her range. Himawari shrugged, figuring that Sarada knew what she was doing, who they were meeting. Maybe it was some kind of top secret ANBU stuff?

They spent a few hours like that. Sarada pacing back and forth muttering under her breath angrily. Himawari spent the time meditating and feeling the ebb and flow of nature around her. It was noon before she had enough.

"Sarada," Himawari snapped. "What are you doing? What are _we_ doing?"

Sarada wrung her hands nervously. "Just—just wait a few more hours, okay?"

"Fine," Himawari said, closing her eyes. As she did, she caught sight of trails of dried, pink-colored stains marring her friend's cheeks. Himawari frowned.

Time passed. The air grew colder. Himawari opened her eyes when she heard Sarada sit down next to her. Unlike before, she was smiling, her lips turned upwards like a particularly clever cat who caught an elusive bird. There was a shine in her eyes, mischievous, yet pleased. Himawari doesn't like that look. The sun was setting. She could feel the Fire fade, as the moon rose to take its place, and Water reigned supreme.

It was an interesting flurry of emotions that burned her to cinders as the presence at the edge of the forest stepped into the range of her dōjutsu. Himawari couldn't describe it. She felt like the sea in a storm. Churning, frothing, angry, _furious,_ yet cold. So very, very cold.

Her brother walked through the woods slowly—for it could only be her brother. No one else had those same scars on their cheeks that she did; no one else had the same eyes she did; no one else wore the same peculiar color of hair their father did. He looked torn. The skin under his eyes was dark. Veins of red webbed through the whites of his eyes. He walked, nervous, like his legs were carrying him forward and he wasn't quite sure why or how they acted on their own.

Bolt ducked under a low-hanging branch and stepped into the meadow she and Sarada had camped in. He raised his head, and his eyes hesitantly met her own.

Himawari screamed her fury at him as she lunged forward. Her fist connected with her brother's jaw with a resounding crack. He collapsed, boneless, but writhing. Bolt was just blinking away the darkness as she raised her leg high and brought down her foot heel first. He rolled out of the way with a yelp and the ground beneath them exploded in a mist of dirt and pebbles.

"—Wait, Hima!" Bolt slurred, his words sluggish from her punch.

Himawari certainly wasn't going to wait. Her brother had lied to her, hurt her. Lied to their mother and father. Hurt them too. Any happiness or relief at seeing him alive was overshadowed by that raw anger. She screamed and lunged forward, again. This time she threw an angry, sloppy Gentle Fist strike forward. Palm open, fingers splayed.

Bolt had his hands up in the universal gesture for "Please, not the face."

So she hit him in the face. Chakra lanced from her fingertips and broke through his guard. Bolt rocked backward, eyes wide and unfocused. Himawari kicked him square in the chest and sent him flying with a satisfying grunt of pain as the air was driven from her brother's lungs.

Himawari weaved hand signs as her brother picked himself up slowly. She took a breath. During her training to become a Sage, she had become more attuned to the elements. It was a natural process. When the energy of the world flowed through her veins, she could feel the Earth in the dirt and the rock, the Water in the streams and the rivers and the lakes, the Wind in the breeze and the sky, and the Fire in the sun as it shone down upon her.

Fire was the element of life. It ate; it breathed. Himawari exhaled. She spat forth a raging inferno of living fire that greedily devoured the grass and the trees and the bushes, even as it sucked in great gasps of air that robbed her of her own breath.

She could see her brother's eyes widen in surprise, respect, pride, and a gratifying, however small, fear. Then, it was gone, and so was he. Gone with a blur of blue-white and an audible crackle of electricity.

Lightning was the cold, dead Fire. Similar, in so many ways, yet so wildly different. Where Fire burned, Lightning scoured. Where Fire ate and breathed, Lightning was dead and lifeless; cold. A bit like how her brother had become, Himawari supposed.

Which is why she felt it. She didn't need to be in Sage Mode to hear the way the Wind wailed as Lightning tore it asunder. Himawari didn't need to look back. She raised her hand, slapped away her brother's two pointed fingers, turned, and crushed the palm of her free hand to his sternum.

Bolt was hurled backward by the force of her blow. He connected with a thick trunk of a tree and then kept going.

The forest was painted in golds and oranges in the twilight of the sun setting and the moon rising. Faint stars twinkled in the sky. It was quiet No birds or insects or animals made a sound. Himawari could feel them, they were there, but they were solemn and quiet at the two humans' squabbling. She could hear the twigs snap and the brush part as her brother marched toward her.

Bolt was smiling in that smug way of his. Lips upturned ever so slightly, teeth peeking through his lips. He slipped into a strange parody of the Gentle Fist. Side facing her, his body made small, with his legs bent at the knees and closer together than normal. An amalgamation of the strange, dancing style the Uzumaki clan used.

But his wasn't the only style that had adapted over the years. Himawari didn't just learn the Toad Sage Fist, she mastered it. Made it her own. Blended it with the Gentle Fist. It was an awkward style, for the Toad Sage Fist had no defensive stances—she simply didn't need any when in Sage Mode—but what it lacked in defense it more than made up for in aggressive offense.

Himawari darted forward and swung a wide, telegraphed punch at her brother. He turned, pivoted on the balls of his feet, with one arm lashing out to slap away her arm and guide it around him harmlessly. The other arm came up with pointed fingers and dug into her captured arm mercilessly. Himawari could feel the way her chakra pathways sang with agony as he closed three points in the blink of an eye.

She returned the favor by sweeping his feet out from under him with a wide, arcing kick. Her brother recovered swiftly, putting a hand to the ground to brace himself and then pivoting with his pelvis. He brought his right leg up in a high-kick that Himawari blocked with her forearm. The whole motion was precise and quick. No wasted movement. Like a bird.

Himawari recoiled as the bones in her arm rattled, but she gave Bolt a parting stomp for his troubles. Her brother grunted as she stepped on his fingers. She smirked when he stood, a little red in the face, and cradled his hand. Electricity arced up and down her brother; from his right leg, to his waist, across his chest, and down his left arm. It leapt forward, a mind of its own, guided by some invisible path.

Too fast to dodge. Himawari broke into a whirlwind of chakra, rotating on the balls of her feet. The lightning broke upon the shield of her Revolving Heaven: chirping, screaming, angry. Just like her. She saw Bolt weave hand signs. She did the same.

When she came to a stop, Himawari breathed a sea of flames to life. Her brother only had eyes for her as he spat forth churning waves of water. Opposites collided, fire and water, with an angry, echoing hiss.

Himawari growled. Her brother had more chakra, and an elemental advantage. Steam billowed like an encroaching fog through the forest. She abandoned their test of wills and waded forward. Himawari channeled Earth chakra into her skin that turned it a sickly shade of charcoal gray. The steam was blinding, composed of both their chakra, but her dōjutsu revealed to her the nuances of its density. Her brother shined like a light in the dark compared to the ambient chakra.

She darted forward, through the steam, and tackled Bolt before he could discern her location. The two of them grappled with each other, each fighting for dominance. Her brother might have more chakra than her, might have been faster than her, but years of living among the toad clan and learning Sage Mode made her stronger. Himawari pinned him, her arms holding his above his head, straddling his chest with her thighs. Bolt stared up at her with a small frown and narrowed brows.

She slammed her forehead into his nose.

The crack was satisfying, but the resulting yelp of pain was even more so. Her brother was trying to buck her off and slip a knee into her abdomen to push her off. Himawari didn't let him. She moved his arms until she could hold them both by the wrists with one hand. Dominant arm freed, Himawari curled her fingers into a fist and slammed it into the side of her brother's jaw.

The punch knocked his head to the side with a solid echo of bone striking bone. Then again, and again, and again. Bolt blinked up her, eyes glassy and unseeing, a sloppy smile on his bloody, split lips. When he breathed, blood ran down his chin.

Himawari rubbed at her eyes furiously to clear the tears welling up. She gave up, sobbing, and wrapped her arms around her brother's neck and pulled him into a crushing hug.

* * *

Sarada smiled as she peaked through the branches of the tree she was hidden in. Himawari could be terrifying when she wanted to be. She hadn't known if Bolt would willingly show if she brought someone else to their meetings. But if anyone could bring him back into the fold it was his sister. He had hesitated but Sarada was confident he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of seeing Himawari again.

And, as the two Uzumaki siblings cried and hugged each other, scarred cheeks touching, Sarada felt her mission had been accomplished.

* * *

Bolt rested his chin on his left fist as his eyes scanned the scroll that sat before him. Every so often, he would glance over to his right hand that he held aloft. It was more of a break, really, from the tedium of reading. Scrolls were an excellent source of knowledge, but it was difficult to learn and master a new technique from reading alone—even for a genius. Bolt distracted himself by practicing his version of the Heavenly Transmission.

A rather interesting bit of ninjutsu, that. His eyes remained transfixed on the tip of his index finger as he weaved the technique into existence. His flesh glowed with an inner light. Bolt could see the tiny bones of his finger clearly. Then, with a flash and an audible sizzle, the tip of his finger was transformed into raw electricity. It screamed, wailing loudly, before the jutsu frayed and unraveled. Bolt hissed in pain as he was suddenly left bereft of the top inch of his finger.

It was a tedious, complex technique. It was all about _steps._ Being able to imbue each cell in his body with chakra and transform them all into electrons. Accelerate each particle with a strong electric field, fueled by even more chakra, and propel them forward at great speeds. The technique robbed the air of its own electrons, forming a pathway of ionized air in which to travel.

That was just the beginning. Once Bolt had his body transformed into electricity—which took a nigh godly level of concentration to maintain—the steps continued. His electrical body, in theory, proceeded forward at a set interval every microsecond with a leader particle guiding him, followed by a much longer pause of thirty to fifty microseconds for the rest of the particles to catch up with the leader. The process repeated ad infinitum until he reached his destination. The whole process took no more than a few milliseconds.

It was just that the human mind, even augmented with the Lightning Armor, was not capable of processing conscious thought at that kind of speed. Which is why, Bolt supposed, no one from Cloud had ever looked into military applications of the technique. It was downright impossible.

Bolt was determined to prove them wrong. Their problem was that they tried to control the lightning. That wasn't the path to victory. You had to _become_ the lightning. No thought; only instinct. Until he could control the element with as much ease as his own heartbeat.

That was the theory, anyway.

A quick application of the Universal Healer's power had him sporting a tender replacement finger with angry, pink-colored skin. The new bone ached something fierce. Bolt wasn't sure if he should continue practicing with the same finger, and risk escalating the pain, or move to a new one and risk spreading the pain. Both were nearly equally terrible annoyances.

Back to the scroll. An incredibly useful technique, if it could be learned. And Bolt needed to learn it if he was to recruit the next member of the new Akatsuki. That aside, it was incredibly useful for unmonitored, untraceable, and instantaneous communication over long distances. The problem being that Bolt didn't know if it was even possible to use the technique without the Rinnegan. Nagato had been more powerful, more knowledgeable, and more experienced than he was.

Bolt sighed. He was never going to learn the technique without practice. He straightened in his chair, took a breath, and focussed intently. He wove a long, complex chain of hand signs as his chakra coiled upon itself like a snake within him. He envisioned his goal in his mind and bent his chakra to his will. With a thought, he pushed his mind _out._ "Astral Projection," Bolt grunted under his breath.

It was a strange feeling. Like being in a hall of mirrors and seeing many copies of yourself. Bolt tried to blink, but found that he couldn't. Instead, the hazy, incorporeal shadow of himself blinked. Yet Bolt could still see with his physical eyes, as he hadn't closed them. His shadow was hazy and flickered in and out of focus. It was iridescent, like oil, and shone with blues, purples, reds, yellows, and greens. The only thing that appeared tangible and real were his eyes.

Bolt exhaled and frowned as the technique came undone. Right away, he could tell he would never, could never, reach the same level of proficiency in the technique that Nagato had alluded to. He wasn't suited for it. It was based on Yin Release—which he had only rudimentary mastery of, unlike his Yang Release—which made it all the more difficult. Line of sight, possibly, but nothing further. His mind simply wasn't suited to expanding its senses beyond his body. He wasn't a sensor.

Luckily, he had one of the most talented sensors in the world in his employ. And, even more fortunate, Hibiki already knew their potential recruit. It would simply be a matter of learning the material, teaching it to Hibiki, and waiting for him to master it.

There was a knock at the door. "Enter," Bolt called.

Kagami and Kagari entered. They had, quite quickly, adapted to their new allegiance. Bolt had given them two of the newly constructed and finely furnished rooms in the upper level of the mountain complex. Bored they may be of life, but they were rich, spoiled bitches that had come to expect a level of luxury and comfort afforded by the mercenary lifestyle. Best to keep them happy. Less troubles in the future.

Both sisters grinned as they saw his face and took in his battered countenance. He debated whether or not being seen by them in this state would have lessened his authority. In the end, he did not allow himself to heal his wounds that Himawari had dealt him. They were his penance for hurting her. He would bear them until he healed naturally. And if the Akiyama sisters thought that meant he was weak? Well, they would learn the hard way that he was the most powerful rogue ninja alive.

Kagami rested a hand on his desk and leaned forward in a way that deliberately gave him an eyeful of her cleavage that was spilling out of her low-cut top. "You called, blondie?" Kagami asked with a wily smile.

"Yes," Bolt said, keeping his eyes safely above her neck. "You were in the Explosion Corps for a short period of time before your defection, correct?"

Kagami nodded. "Good," Bolt said. His eyes darted down to the scroll on his desk. "Have you ever heard of a man named Deidara?"

Kagari giggled. "Of course," Kagami said, shooting a glare at her sister. "Biggest disgrace and worst kept secret of the Explosion Corps."

"Are you aware he possessed a unique kinjutsu that allowed him to infuse his Explosion Release chakra into clay through mouths on his hands?" Bolt asked.

Both sisters looked suitably disgusted. "I don't know about that," Kagami said. "Some of the older members liked to talk about the old days, though. They said Deidara was a student of the Tsuchikage. When he went rogue, he stole three parasites that had been bred by the Explosion Corps for generations."

Bolt grinned. "Excellent," he said. "Do you know where the Hidden Stone keeps them?"

"They don't," Kagari answered for her sister. "The three he stole were the last three alive. That was why Stone was so furious with him. That, and he blew up the Tsuchikage Tower."

Bolt frowned. "A pity," he said. "I suppose it doesn't matter."

"Why?" Kagami asked, having stood and removed the temptation of her body.

"Your first assignment," Bolt said, smiling at the way the two of them perked up. He had promised them worthy opponents, after all. "It would have been made easier had you been able to mass produce explosives. As it is, you'll have to make do without."

"Out with it, blondie," Kagami hissed. "Give us something good."

"How familiar are you with ANBU?" Bolt asked.

The sisters, as one, shrugged. They looked disappointed. "They're not half bad," Kagami said.

"But they're not a challenge, either," Kagari finished.

"Which was not what we agreed upon," they said, as one, in that disturbing unison.

"The Leaf's ANBU are a cut above the rest, I assure you," Bolt said in an attempt to placate them. "In addition, I have it on very good authority that there _is_ a worthy opponent among the ANBU. One that I think you won't be able to defeat."

His words had the desired effect. Anger, yes, but a spiteful desire to prove him wrong. Excitement, too, at the opportunity to have a real battle with their hearts hammering in their chests and their blood pounding in their ears.

"What's the job, boss?" Kagari asked sweetly.

One member state of the Union had more resources and manpower at its disposal than the entirety of the Revolution combined. It was exceedingly difficult to accomplish any meaningful progress with ANBU operatives breathing down their collective necks. So he would give them something else to chase.

Bolt smiled. "Have you ever heard of the Great Naruto Bridge?"

* * *

 **A/N:**

I am back! Sorry for the delay. I had midterms and was determined to do well in them (which I did). I didn't have much time or desire to write during them, so no chapter last week.

This chapter was beta'd by reader SentientEchidna! Big thanks to him for the help. Hopefully the improved quality is noticeable.

The process by which the Heavenly Transmission is described is actually the basic mechanics behind the _initial_ stroke of lightning. The described "steps" are the reasons why we, as humans, can perceive the "motion" of the initial stroke of a lightning bolt as it strikes. The return and subsequent strokes are so fast they approach the speed of light, and are not perceivable by humans—not that Bolt (or any character) will ever approach anything near the speed of light. It is based primarily on an amalgamation of the Heavenly Transmission, Suigetsu's Hydrification Technique, and the "Lightning Armor" that Indra used in the anime.


	67. Chapter 67

It was not the way Bolt had expected to spend his nineteenth birthday. Cold, in the dead of night, atop a grassy knoll in the middle of the Land of Sound. But he was not alone. Hibiki braved the chilling cold and the howling winds alongside him.

The two of them gazed eastward though Bolt could not see the den of the viper that had took him hostage and nearly killed him. They were too far for even his Byakugan to spy Orochimaru. But they were within the range of Hibiki's extrasensory perception and that was enough.

"Ready?" Bolt asked quietly.

"Ready," Hibiki confirmed, reaching out with his left hand.

Bolt intertwined his fingers with Hibiki's. Together, they formed the half-Ram sign with their free hands. Hibiki took a deep, shuddering breath. "Astral Projection Jutsu," he whispered under his breath, in that lyrical, lilting tone of his.

Bolt felt the tug at his mind. He didn't fight it. Instead, he let it drag him from his body. His consciousness flowed, like water, as it spanned the gap of whirling, churning chakra that was the world in its most base form. A moment later, he and Hibiki appeared within the subterranean complex that was Orochimaru's den.

Back in his body, Bolt could feel his stomach churning with the feeling of a violent vertigo. With his astral body, he blinked. The room he stood in was a strange monochrome of grays. Washed out, lifeless. The only physical occupant of the room was asleep. Yasuo, or the body which he possessed, slept soundly.

" _Yasuo,"_ Bolt said. His voice came out warped and distorted.

The result was instantaneous. Yasuo threw himself out of bed, dropped into a defensive stance, even as he threw his right arm outwards. A small construct barely larger than a centipede leapt from some dark corner of the room and passed through his astral body.

All three of them froze. After a moment, Yasuo blinked. "You still owe me ten million ryō," he said.

Bolt resisted the urge to grin. _"Yes,"_ he said. _"I do. However, I don't think you're in a position to accept the rest of your payment."_

With a casual wave of his hand, Yasuo dismissed the miniature puppet back to the shadows. "No, I don't suppose I am," he said.

There was a pregnant pause as both danced around the other. Bolt revelled in it. _"What would you say if I could change that?"_ he asked.

Yasuo—or the body he inhabited—raised an eyebrow. The man was short and fat, obviously a scientist of some kind, and had enough meat on his brows that his entire face shifted. "How?" Yasuo asked.

" _I've come to make you an offer,"_ Bolt answered. _"An invitation to join an organization with the resources necessary to pay you your ten million fee for rescuing me, and much, much more."_

"Not interested," Yasuo replied without hesitation.

" _You possess a very unique set of skills. Skills that could help many people. Name your price,"_ Bolt countered.

"I'm not interested in money," Yasuo said.

" _Every man has his price—but not every man deals in money,"_ Bolt said.

Yasuo paused, then. The fat man he possessed took a raspy breath. "I would consider your offer in return for help killing Orochimaru," he offered.

" _That is acceptable,"_ Bolt said with a nod. _"The death of Orochimaru is one of the key goals of the organization. That was why we wished to recruit you."_

Yasuo looked between him and Hibiki with narrowed eyes. "I also want the rest of my payment—with interest. Fifty million ryō," he said.

" _Done,"_ Bolt agreed. It would take some fiscal management on the part of the Revolution, but he could swing fifty million in the budget. And, well, if he couldn't? The Union could. It was simply a matter of reallocating the funds from their bank account to his own.

Silence settled between the three of them. Bolt could hear the sound of boots on metal outside the door. He, Hibiki, and Yasuo all watched the gap between the door and the floor as light and shadow filtered into the room. A tense minute later, the guard passed and was none the wiser.

Yasuo returned his attention to them. "... What would I be expected to do? As part of this 'organization'?" he asked.

" _We have many goals,"_ Bolt answered easily. _"Chiefly among them, and concerning your role, is the destruction of the Union and the death of anyone who would threaten the peace."_

"You work for the Revolution?" Yasuo asked.

" _In a manner of—"_

A blaring alarm rang through the facility accompanied by flashing red lights.

" _Shit!"_ Bolt swore. _"Yas—we—alk—ter."_

Bolt scowled. _" —ibiki!"_

"— _ot me—"_ Hibiki grunted. _"—int—fer—nce!"_

Their astral bodies flickered as erratically as their voices. Bolt could tell Hibiki was losing the connection. He just didn't know why. Or how Orochimaru had detected them. He cast Hibiki a piercing glare. Hibiki's astral body began to flicker in and out of existence, but his own began to stabilize.

" _We'll—speak later,"_ Bolt hissed out. He didn't know how long he had before the interference returned. _"Stay hidden, stay safe—welcome to the new Akatsuki."_

Their astral bodies faded to nothing. The last thing Bolt saw was Yasuo slitting the fat man's throat and turning into wispy, pink-colored smoke.

* * *

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Bolt asked.

" _Of course,"_ the Divine Summoner said. _"Mostly,"_ she added quietly in the recesses of his mind.

Bolt took a shaky breath as he stood opposite his shadow clone. Around him, ream upon ream of scrolls sat furled and stored around the room. All failed prototypes of the human summoning technique. This one, the Divine Summoner assured him, would function properly.

Truthfully, Bolt was a little fearful of testing it. Space-time fūinjutsu, like the summoning technique, were a frightening discipline of the sealing arts. One small mistake, one wrong character or punctuation, a line here instead of there, and disaster struck. People who failed space-time seals were lucky if they merely died. There _were_ fates worse than death—like being stuck between the third and fourth dimensions for all eternity.

Bolt bit his thumb, weaved five hand signs, and pressed his palm to the floor. It was like being hit in the gut. A sudden, terrifying plummet in chakra that made his heart hammer in his chest. There was that strange pulling sensation in his navel that he got whenever he used the summoning technique. It lasted only an instant before fleeing. Bolt was left staring, face-to-face, with his clone.

Bolt smiled and the Divine Summoner cackled loudly, her laughter reverberating in his skull. _"I told you!"_ she crowed. _"I am the greatest space-time fūinjutsu master in all of history!"_

"Yes, yes," Bolt humored her, removing the mask as she devolved into mad ramblings.

"I—I don't feel so good, boss," his clone said, looking a little pale. The clone doubled over, coughing, and then disappeared in an acrid wisp of smoke. The phantom pain of a missing organ in his belly tore through Bolt and made his vision go white.

"Note to self," Bolt muttered, scribbling over the contract they had used. "Missing body parts during transfer."

A minor setback, but a setback all the same. It didn't stop the spring in his step as he marched down the halls of their mountain fortress. Bolt descended into the bowels of the mountain. The floors and walls faded from clean, sterile tile and became rough rock. Here and there, crude puppets continued construction and modernization of their base of operations.

It didn't take long to reach the laboratory constructed in the deepest level of the mountain. Puppets marched in and out, carrying supplies and tools, even as electricity arced wildly from some new kind of generator Katasuke had rigged up that was based on Lightning Release. From the ceiling hung a complex web of glowing chakra threads that cast the room in a sterile blue light. They pulsed and moved as Tsuchigumo shuffled around the lab. His technique was singularly unique and the most powerful he had ever seen.

Bolt was pleasantly pleased to see that Tsuchigumo had completed the construction of his prosthetic arm. It was remarkably lifelike. The only thing that gave it away was a slight gleam and a mismatch of skin tone that couldn't quite be replicated. He had known that loss of limb was not as debilitating an injury to puppeteers compared to normal ninja. Amputations were sometimes, even, performed willing to replace a limb of flesh and blood with plastic and metal. This was the second of such augmentations Tsuchigumo had assumed, after the spinal implant.

"Young master!" Katasuke greeted him with a mad gleam in his eyes.

"Hello, Katasuke. Tsuchigumo," Bolt said, inclining head. "It's good to see you've completed your arm. I wouldn't have been able to tell it wasn't real if I hadn't known beforehand," he added.

Tsuchigumo nodded with quick and precise motions. "Thank you," he said.

Katasuke coughed to clear his throat. "If you're here about the mark three Kote, I can assure you it will be finished—"

"I'm not," Bolt dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Take your time. I have full faith in you. It's more important that it can replicate high-level jutsu perfectly. I'm here about our mutual friend. What have you discovered so far?"

"Ah," Katasuke said, gesturing with a wide arc of his arm and scurrying to some dark corner of the lab. Tsuchigumo trailed after him, so Bolt followed the two of them.

"Quite remarkable, really," Katasuke explained. "It appears he suffers from some form of genetic chimerism—which appears to have been artificially achieved. His right arm, or lack thereof, is comprised of grafted tissue with remarkable regenerative properties. So powerful, in fact, that the cells continued to replicate long after the body's death. That was why the corpse was so intact."

"Yang chakra," Tsuchigumo added.

"Yes, yes," Katasuke crowed. "The cells have such a powerful Yang chakra that it is almost inhuman! I thought we were examining the cells of a plant for a moment. Absolutely remarkable. Unheard of. Not even you, young master, hold a candle to it."

The three of them stepped through a hole in the wall that had no door and into a small cavern. It was cold, so cold that Bolt could see his breath, and lined with metal slabs and drawers on the walls. In the middle of the cavern were several glass cylinders taller than he was. All were empty save for one that was filled with a putrid green liquid. Inside, the corpse of Danzō Shimura floated peacefully.

"Have you made any progress with turning him into a human puppet?" Bolt asked Tsuchigumo.

Tsuchigumo shook his head. "No," he said, tucking away a strand of white hair. "Strange cells don't react to my jutsu. The rest of the body, maybe, but not the right arm."

"That's fine," Bolt said. Danzō's right arm could be exploited in other ways. The man's face, his chakra, that was where the corpse's real value was. "Take as much tissue samples as you can. I don't want any of the arm going to waste."

Tsuchigumo nodded his agreement.

"Excellent!" Katasuke declared. "What would you like us to do with the tissue samples? I have several ideas I think you'd like, and—"

"No," Bolt said. He already knew what he wanted. There had been one large piece of the puzzle missing: if his goal was to seal the Tailed Beasts, what did he seal them in? The previous Akatsuki had some sort of statue—Nagato had been vague on that—where they could safely store and contain the Tailed Beasts. Unfortunately, such a thing was not available to him. And the Tea Kettle of Bunpuku would only hold the One-Tail for so long. There were several other ancient artifacts which could serve as vessels, but without creating a jinchūriki, there was little in the way of a lasting prison for the Tailed Beasts.

Until now.

Jinchūriki were excellent prisons because their chakra actively suppressed the beast within, and their own mind naturally was repulsed by the idea of sharing a body with another being. Combined, the Tailed Beast was effectively caged for as long as the jinchūriki lived. If he could make a jinchūriki that was immortal and had no mind for the demon within to influence, but at the same time, allowed for conscious suppression...

And if it didn't work? Well, he would simply continue with the original plan.

"I want you to attempt to create a body with a working chakra pathway based on these cells," Bolt told the two of them. "No consciousness, of course, not even a brain if you can help it. This—thing should never truly be considered alive. Understand?"

Katasuke and Tsuchigumo shared a look. "If it's possible, it will be done, younger master," Katasuke swore.

Bolt nodded. "Keep up the good work," he said. "This takes second priority after the Kote. We won't need a finished product for at least a year, if not more, and—"

"Bolt!" Hibiki ran into the cavern, eyes a little wide as he took in its contents, holding a scroll clutched in his hands. He was a little breathy and promptly shoved the scroll into his hands.

On it were four words he had been waiting to hear for weeks. Bolt smiled. "Tell the Akiyama sisters to begin," he ordered Hibiki.

Bolt watched as Hibiki hurried back the way he came. This would be the first of many battles that would hone his new Akatsuki to a cold, perfect edge. Sarada would act as the whetstone, and the Akiyama sisters the blade. Both would eat away at the other, and in the end, emerge sharper, deadlier, than before.

It felt right.

* * *

"Do you really have to go, dad?" Sarada whined.

"Yes, Sarada," her father told her.

She knew he had to go. He always did. Some penance for sins he committed long ago, he told her, and a duty to not just the Leaf, but the world. "You can't tell me what you're doing? Where you're going? Why?" Sarada begged.

Her father smiled at her sadly. "No, I can't," he said. "When you're older, you'll understand."

Sarada frowned. She was nearly eighteen and a member of an organization that didn't officially exist and regularly performed assassinations, espionage, and torture. When, exactly, would she be old enough? She wasn't a little girl anymore.

"When will you be back?" Sarada asked. "At least tell me that," she added quietly.

Her father didn't answer immediately. He tapped her in the forehead with his index finger. "I don't know," he answered. "But I will be back. I promise."

There was nothing to say after that. Her mother crushed her father in a powerful, bone-crushing hug. Sarada looked away as they kissed. A vortex of whirling air and inky black darkness appeared before her father. He took a step forward, hesitated, and turned back to face her. "If you see Bolt, tell him..." he paused. "Tell him not to get lost. He'll know what it means."

Sarada nodded and then he was gone. She was thankful she had been given time off. The last week had been stressful enough. Getting Bolt and Himawari back together, then her father leaving right after. Sarada didn't think she would have been able to handle her ANBU duties on top of it.

Instead of moping around her house, she leaped across roofs until she made it to the Hyūga district. The leaps became progressively larger as the streets became wider and the houses became surrounded by fences and guards. Eventually, she was forced to the ground and walked the winding path that led to Himawari's house. It was kind of odd, calling it that, since she had thought of it as Bolt's house for so long.

Hinata answered the door. She looked much better these days. She always did when Himawari returned, but Sarada would bet that learning Bolt was still alive somewhere out in the world helped too. "Hi!" Sarada exclaimed. "Is Himawari here?"

"She's in her room," Hinata said with a demure smile, opening the door and gesturing her inside.

"Thanks!" Sarada said with a backwards wave as she ran up the stairs. It was always odd, Sarada thought, visiting Himawari when she came home. Her room had remained unchanged, even as she herself grew up. Too frilly and girly. Lots of warm pinks and soft blues. A small army of stuffed animals. A number of them won by Bolt at arcades and festivals.

But Himawari wasn't in her room. Sarada frowned and traced her steps back down the hall. She came to a stop when she noticed a small opening, barely a crack, in a door. Sarada peered inside. She stepped inside, quietly, and sat down next to Himawari on the bed. Sarada snuck a glance at her friend. Really, it was frightening how similar the two of them appeared. Even without the scarred cheeks, no one would ever be able to mistake them for anything other than siblings. They had the same facial structure and eyes.

It was Bolt's room. They had kept it exactly as it had been. A small bed that would have had Bolt's feet dangling over the end. A desk tucked in the corner with one of those old, boxy monitors sitting atop it. Next to it, a framed photograph of her, Mitsuki, Bolt, and Konohamaru. A stout bookshelf brimming with their Academy textbooks.

All of it kept in pristine condition. Nothing touched, nothing out of place. Not a spec of dust.

"He's really back, isn't he?" Himawari asked. Her eyes were focussed on a small metallic rectangle on the desk. Some kind of device or tool. It looked dated and crude.

"He is," Sarada said softly.

"I should have hit him more," Himawari muttered.

Sarada laughed. "He wouldn't be as pretty if you scarred him too badly," she said.

Himawari smiled and bumped her shoulder. "I—"

"Captain Uchiha," a shadow spoke. Sarada had a kunai pressed to the man's jugular in an instant. He didn't even flinch. Himawari had stood, taken a defensive stance, and a faint sheen of visible chakra pooled on the tips of her fingers.

The shadow revealed itself. Wolf, in full ANBU regalia. He coughed. "Code black-alpha-zero. You're to report for duty immediately," Wolf told her. Then he was gone.

"What does that mean?" Himawari asked.

Sarada sucked in a breath. "An act of terrorism," she answered.

* * *

The Great Naruto Bridge burned.

Sarada stared, horrified, as people trapped between the flames were forced to leap to the water far below. It was only a few hours into the afternoon. Hundreds of people used the bridge to cross from the Land of Fire to the Land of Waves. How many were dead, Sarada wondered.

"Lizard, put those fires out! Bear, with me! Save as many people as you can!" Wolf barked. His two subordinates darted forward. Lizard spat a wave of water upon the roaring fire and Bear erected an earthen walkway parallel to the bridge for people to leap to.

Sarada nodded to Octopus and Squirrel. The two of them ran forward to help. Owl had been transferred to another squadron. That was fine. Sarada hadn't opted to replace him. The three of them worked well, though they did earn some teasing for being the only cell composed solely of women.

That was when it all went wrong.

From the fire came a wave of bubbling, hissing molten rock. Lizard cried out in alarm but was swallowed whole in an instant. He screamed. It was one of those screams that Sarada would remember until her dying breath. She would hear it every night she closed her eyes. A shrill scream of fear and agony as the man was cooked alive and subsumed by lava.

Bear was leaping back to them when an impossibly small, impossibly fast _something_ slammed into the earthen walkway he had created. It exploded, all fire and light and pressure, and the explosion hurled Bear all the way to their feet. Sarada could tell he was dead with a single glance. His body was peppered with stone shrapnel. It looked as if someone had taken a meat tenderizer to him. All bloody pulp.

Octopus and Squirrel retreated and joined Wolf and her in a defensive formation. And, from the fire, two women emerged. Sarada envied them, in a way. They were museum quality paragons of the female form. Long, flowing blonde hair with matching pairs of stormy blue eyes. Sharp, refined features; prominent cheekbones, thin lips, and straight noses. Curves in all the right places, accentuated by tasteful clothing that bared just enough skin to draw the eye.

But, mostly, Sarada hated them. Because what were two of the most dangerous rogue ninja, the Akiyama sisters, doing so far from the Land of Earth? The Hidden Stone was supposed to have them under control. They were supposed to contain the damage.

The sisters laughed. It was sardonic. Fake. The kind of laugh someone made when they were supposed to, not because they actually found something funny. "Not much of a challenge so far," one of them sneered. Sarada couldn't tell them apart. But it was easy enough, once the fighting started. Kagami made things explode. Kagari burned everything.

Wolf growled something unintelligible beneath his breath. Then he hurled a fistful of shuriken at the sisters.

Then the fighting began. Simple as that.

Sarada leaped out of the way as the woman who had spoken held her right hand aloft and snapped her fingers three times in quick succession. Her Sharingan predicted the attack with a flash of red light that foreshadowed the path that her Explosion Release would take. Octopus and Squirrel were right behind her. They had worked together long enough to know that she would keep them alive with her dōjutsu.

Wolf charged forward like a fool, angry at the deaths of his friends. Kagami snapped her fingers at him. To his credit, Wolf managed to leap out of the way, avoiding the blast as it shook the ground, and roll forward. He broke into a sprint and drew his standard issue shortsword. Sarada covered him with two fistfuls of shuriken. Octopus hurled three kunai with quick, precise throws while Squirrel spat a lance of water at Kagami.

None of it mattered. A towering wave of lava surged forward. It consumed their steel and melted it down to nothing. The heat was so intense that Sarada could see Wolf's mask and armor begin to melt. "Wolf! Retreat!" Sarada screamed.

He did. Burned, his skin a bright red color, Wolf ran to them. Sarada exhaled a raging ball of fire that obscured the distance between Wolf and the Akiyama sisters. He nodded his thanks. The ground shook as an explosion tore through several of the bridge's supports. A wave of lava bubbled over the fire and extinguished it. Fighting fire with fire was not a wise idea. Not when your opponent could spew forth something so scorching that even fire appeared cool in comparison.

Sarada weaved two quick hand signs and thrust her hand forward. A spear of screaming electricity tore itself from her fingertips and lunged at the two women. Kagami and Kagari leaped away and avoided the attack. Sarada threw her arm outward and brought the spear of electricity down upon them like a falling sword. It missed Kagari, but Kagami only narrowly avoided being bisected by the attack.

Wolf and Squirrel hurled a handful of kunai at the sisters, explosive tags trailing their hilts. Kagari spat forth a strange, muddy liquid that seemed to posses a life of its own. It took the shape of a small ball, or bubble, and shielded the both of them within as the explosive tags detonated.

Her Sharingan told her of the explosions before they detonated. Sarada grabbed Squirrel and Wolf by the collar of their armor and pulled them backwards. Octopus created a dome of hardened stone as she did. The shield cracked from the force of the explosion and Sarada could feel the sweltering heat threatening to cook them alive. "Out!" Sarada hissed.

A tunnel yawned open and swallowed them whole. Sarada quickly led her team and Wolf towards the bank of the bay. Both of the Akiyama sisters relied on Earth Release as one half of their elemental bloodlines. Being over the water would deprive them of that, though they could still generate their own if they so chose. The water would also serve to keep the heat and the fire at bay.

They dug through sand that flooded with murky water. Sarada sucked in a breath and dove forward. She kicked her legs and paddled with her arms, using chakra to hasten her speed. She emerged from the water only enough to open her eyes and allow herself to breathe through her nose. Her team followed her example.

Kagami and Kagari stood, back-to-back, waiting for them to reappear. The dome of hardened stone had been melted down to a puddle of molten rock. A good thing Sarada had ordered them to move.

Sarada held her hand above the water and flashed through a series of signs. Crude, yes, but they conveyed her plan of attack.

Sarada leaped from the water, along with Wolf, and weaved hand signs under the influence of her Sharingan. Her chakra pathways contorted and coiled upon themselves in a way that they were not built to, in a way her mind could not ever fathom naturally. She spat a wave of water forth that met Kagari's wave of molten rock. Both techniques collided with a furious hiss that created a billowing cloud of steam.

Octopus emerged from a hidden tunnel. Her appearance masked by the steam, her shadows lashed out at anybody they could find.

"What the fuck!" Sarada heard a woman scream. She smiled. One down, one to go. She darted forward, leaping over the wall of hardened lava, rolling to break her fall, and broke into a sprint. Wolf was there, just ahead of her, leading the charge.

Until he wasn't.

Wolf went down, screaming and clutching at the stump of his leg. From his shin to his toes, the limb was simply gone. Sarada sucked in a breath as she took a step backwards. The toes of her boot were no more than a hair or two from the edge of a pool of bubbling, smoking mud that she hadn't seen under the cover of steam.

Sarada grabbed Wolf by the collar of his armor and dragged him to safety. She hurled a fistful of shuriken towards the epicenter of the steam, where she thought the Akiyama sisters were hidden. She heard no scream of pain or squelch of steel cutting flesh. A shame. Sarada ignored the churning in her gut as the putrid scent of cooked flesh reached her nose.

"Come on, Wolf," Sarada grunted, keeping her head low. A ball of fire roared overhead. "Stay with me."

"Hurts," Wolf whimpered.

"I know," Sarada whispered. She could hear the sound of steel clashing against steel somewhere in the cloud of steam that was slowly dissipating. Her team, no doubt.

"Crow!" Octopus shouted. "I can't hold her for much longer!"

Sarada swore under her breath as she stowed Wolf behind a fallen support pillar from the bridge and shoved a medkit into his lap. Then she rejoined the battle. This time she wouldn't hold back. Kagami and Kagari had hurt her comrades, hurt her friends, and she would not tolerate that. Sarada felt hot, warm tears streak down her cheeks.

Time unravelled and bared itself before her. All paths were hers to see. Hers to choose and weave. The name resounded through her mind like a bell. "Omoikane!" Sarada hissed under her breath.

In one future, Sarada saw, Kagami broke free of the shadow binding her and cast a barrage of explosive sparks at Octopus that reduced her to a fine, misty cloud of blood. Time frayed. In one branch, Sarada sprinted forward to pull her friend to safety. It ended in Octopus' death and her own maiming. She was too far away, too slow, to cross the distance. In the other, Sarada attacked Kagami before she could attack. That drew the elder sister's attention from Octopus and diverted it to her. That time ended when a blast tore through a hastily constructed Susano'o and killed her.

Sarada frowned. Time frayed. A third path. A satisfactory path. Sarada blinked and began to weave hand signs under the influence of her Sharingan. Again, she experienced the thoroughly unnatural feeling of her chakra pathways contorting and channeling chakra in a manner that they were not designed to do. A dome of hardened stone, much like the one Octopus herself had created, erupted and shielded her friend.

An instant later, an explosion shattered the dome. But Octopus lived. Dazed, yes, and hurting, almost certainly, but alive. "Get up!" Sarada barked. She obeyed. A pained scream echoed across the bay.

Time frayed. Squirrel was clutching at her badly burned right arm. A glancing blow from a lance of spat lava. Kagari advanced on her. In one future, Kagari drowned her friend in a wave of molten rock. In another, Squirrel was eaten alive by a pool of acidic mud that opened beneath her feet.

Sarada blinked, leaped forward, and knew the true meaning of pain. Like needles pricking at every inch of her skin, the spectral, skeletal right arm of her Susano'o burned to life. The limb lashed out with surprising alacrity and snatched Squirrel up just as a wave of molten rock poured from the younger sister's lips.

Kagari saw her and her eyes widened. "Sis!" she barked.

Time frayed. In all futures, Kagami came to her sister's call. In them, Sarada did battle with a hastily constructed Susano'o that was whittled away by explosions and molten rock while she defended Squirrel. In one future, Sarada fled with her friend on her back and left Wolf to fend for himself whilst Octopus hid in the shadows.

Neither paths were acceptable. So she chose the one path, out of the thousands, where she was perfect. Where her perfect future self was at the height of her power; where she made no mistakes; where she could save her team.

Sarada blinked as orange-red fire blossomed to life all around her. Squirrel gasped something low and inaudible. Thick cords of muscle rippled up and down the skeletal arm of her Susano'o—pain. A tiered spine of vertebrae erupted behind her—pain. A cage of ribs and half-formed muscle—pain. A left arm joined the right—pain. A skull crowned the spine, bulbous with a maw of crude teeth—pain.

Sarada fell to one knee—pain—as her heart fluttered—pain—painfully in her chest—pain. Her mind faded—pain—to white—pain—with agony. She gritted her teeth, blinking back tears, and stood. She could deal with pain. She knew it would hurt. She—

The Akiyama sisters laughed gleefully. It was different from their earlier laugh. Eerie, yes, and strangely haunting—but real. "That's what we were promised!" Kagami and Kagari cackled as one.

Kagami snapped her fingers in rapid succession. Thick cords of muscle rippled across her Susano'o—pain. Sarada could feel the explosion rattle the bones of her spectral guardian. She stowed Squirrel within the ribcage and brought the other arm down where the two sisters stood. The ground exploded from the force her Susano'o brought to bear.

Kagami and Kagari leaped out of the way. Their speed was lacking, Sarada thought, unlike a certain other blond she knew. The two sisters were too used to standing still. Kagari defended with her Lava Release and Kagami attacked with her Explosion Release. They had probably never faced an opponent who could have gotten close enough to force them to dodge.

Until now.

There was some foreign spark of energy in the sisters' eyes. A bloodlust, maybe, that Sarada hadn't seen in anyone before. Kagami unleashed two sparks of explosive chakra in quick succession while Kagari bathed the base of her Susano'o in molten rock and corrosive quicklime. The temperature was sweltering. Sweat poured down her back but her defenses held.

Sarada lashed out with both arms this time. Kagami ran to the right and her sister ran to the left. Splitting her focus. It was a good strategy. But not one that would help them defeat her.

Time frayed. In one future, Sarada tried to swat the sisters like the insects they were. Kagami and Kagari deftly evaded her Susano'o and whittled her down through numerous attacks. In another, her focus wavered and the pain overwhelmed her. When her Susano'o fell, Kagari murdered Squirrel.

But in no future could Sarada see a path that led to her killing either of the Akiyama sisters. Both women had been forged in the fire of battle. They were, above all, survivors. But Sarada could see the next best thing.

Kagari spat a waterfall of lava over the head and shoulders of her Susano'o. Sarada could feel the flesh of her Susano'o burn and its bones begin to melt. She kept her calm and commanded her construct to spin. To shake itself like a wet dog. It rained fat drops of molten rock. Kagami screamed as a spray of lava caught her.

"Kagami!" Kagari screamed in alarm. Then she turned her eyes on her. "You bitch! Burn!"

The molten rock came again. This time, it was more controlled. Kagari didn't give Sarada the chance to use their elements against them. Sarada waded forward, nestled safely within her Susano'o, and raised her skeletal right arm.

Then she came to a sudden stop. Sarada blinked. The lava had hardened in an instant, forming a prison of glassy volcanic rock. Sarada growled. The anger had been real—the loss of control had not. Kagari was helping her sister to her feet, Sarada could see, and Kagami wore an expression of fierce agony and anger in equal measure, with a hint of sadistic pleasure. Leaning, shoulder-to-shoulder, Kagami weaved hand signs. Lightning crackled to life up and down the woman's arms and across her fingertips.

Sarada brought the arms of her Susano'o across its chest as Kagami unleashed a blast of electricity that was an unusual yellow-orange color. It struck her Susano'o in the forearms, across its guard, and erupted into a searing, blinding explosion that made her vision go white and her skin blister.

Sarada blinked, dazed, as her vision returned to her. Both the Akiyama sisters had fled, and the Great Naruto Bridge still burned in the distance, but they had won. Her friends were still alive. With a thought, Sarada commanded her Susano'o to tear itself from the volcanic rock. Octopus revealed herself, stepping from the shadows, with one arm dangling limply at her side and the other clutching at her ribs.

Sarada smiled as her vision faded to darkness. The last thing she saw was the corpse of her Susano'o burning away.

* * *

Bolt enjoyed the rain.

It was kind of funny, considering he didn't like it when he first came to the Land of Water. It was cold, ever present, and bone-chilling. But there was something about it that captivated him. His time in the Land of Rain, perhaps? It was cool against his skin, it was the comforting rhythm—it was the smell, he decided. Pleasant and earthy with a touch of sweetness.

The wind howled, the ocean churned, and the rain continued to pour.

"Ready?" Hikari asked him.

"Yeah," Bolt answered quietly. The words were torn from his lips by the wind.

He took a step forward but stopped as Hikari grabbed his wrist. "Head in the game, Bolt," she said.

Bolt smiled wryly. "I should be the one telling you that," he said. On the horizon, he could just make out the soft blue glow of electricity beyond crags of stone. The Hidden Cloud was only a handful of miles away; her vengeance was only a handful of miles away.

"I'm fine," Hikari reassured him. He almost believed her. "Let's go."

This time, Bolt stopped her. "I promised Cloud would fall, and that you'd be a part of it," he said. "I haven't forgotten."

Hikari paused a foot away from the crags they stood atop. She turned, ever so slightly, and peered through the slits of her mask at him. Bolt caught a flash of ocean green. "I know," she said. Then Hikari leaped from the crags to the ocean far below.

Bolt smiled and gave chase. He took a great breath before diving into the water. With a minor application of his chakra, his body slid through the water with ease and grace. Every kick of his legs and paddle of his arms propelled him ten times farther than a normal ninja. Lightning may have been his primary element, but he felt a certain fondness for Water. Still, he was nothing compared to Hikari. She swam as fast as she could run over land—if not faster.

Hikari led the way. She dove deeper, swam faster, and made sure none of the guards spotted their approach. Ahead, Bolt could see a creature of titanic proportions swimming slowly up the coast of the Land of Lightning with his Byakugan. It might have been a turtle, once, but chakra and the ages had warped it into something monstrous. It was far larger than anything he had ever seen. It dwarfed Suzaku several times over and made even mountains appear to be only hills by comparison. The turtle was larger than even the giant skeleton of whatever creature called the Mountains' Graveyard home.

It was beyond description. Less of an animal and more of a landmass. The Island Turtle. It was aptly named.

The two of them drew closer and closer. The Island Turtle was faster than any creature its size had any right to be. And yet in all its glorious awe, it was still but a beast. It didn't sense their approach, nor did the guards atop its shell. Hikari breached the surface first, kicking furiously to keep above the churning waters in the wake of the island's passing.

The wake and the misty spray of the ocean shielded them from prying, watchful eyes. Bolt took in a slow, deep breath as he resurfaced. Ahead of him, Hikari gripped the sheer wall of the island's shell and clung to it with a thin sheen of chakra coating her hands and boots. Bolt scampered up after her. The climb was daunting. At the base of the shell, it was a near vertical ascent. The higher they climbed, they more the shell curved and the easier it became. By the time they reached the top, Bolt felt a pleasant burning in his arms and legs from exertion.

They were greeted by a sprawling forest of old, towering trees with trunks that would have taken fifty paces to circle the base. The air was thick with chakra. Bolt could practically smell the acrid tang. A thick fur of moss and vines covered the island's shell and crawled up the trees. The island was eerily quiet save for the churning waves and the moaning trees.

A low, rumbling growl broke the silence. Bolt blinked in disbelief as a tiger stalked through the trees and into the clearing he and Hikari stood in. The beast towered over him. Bolt didn't even come up to its shoulders. Like the Island Turtle, it too had been warped by the cloying ambient chakra and became something more bestial.

Hikari killed the tiger with a single needle thrown with such precision and force that the beast's head imploded with a shower of bloody mist and shards of bone. Bolt flashed her an appreciate smile. The two of them leaped skyward and stuck to the forest canopy. The Cloud ninja guarding the island had no chance of catching them. Bolt was born and raised in the Land of Fire—tree jumping was in his blood.

Hikari kept watch while he scoured the island with his Byakugan. It was teeming with all manner of life. All of it warped and twisted, like the island they called home. Something great, something terrible, must have happened on the island, Bolt thought, to create such monsters. There was ancient buildings made of mud, sticks, and leaves built around the island. Each sported a mural of crude drawings that told of some long forgotten history. The greatest of which, Bolt could see, was hidden behind a towering waterfall. That itself was fascinating—the Turtle Island had its own water cycle.

Once or twice, a pair of guards on patrol nearly caught sight of them. Hikari stood by, still as the grave, holding a fistful of needles in either hand. Luckily for them, they hadn't decided to investigate further. It had, without a doubt, saved their lives.

It took some time to find what he was looking for but nothing could hide from his eyes. A small grave, crude in its construction, hidden from sight several hundred feet from the waterfall Bolt had seen earlier. The body, or what remained of it, had been mangled and torn apart. A stone sat atop the burial mound, engraved with a single sentence. "I will remember your name," Bolt mumbled to himself.

But there, buried deep beneath the dirt and the moss, was a severed ring finger with a band of silvery metal wrapped around itself. Bolt dug a small hole and extracted the finger. He pocketed the ring, admiring the gleaming yellow topaz with the character for 'South' etched into its face, before returning the skeletal finger.

Bolt stood, dusting his hands on his pants, and offered a silent prayer to Kisame. Perhaps he had fallen victim to the warped beasts of the island after a fight against a worthy opponent? Bolt didn't know. The spy had reported only that his boss had let slip that Kisame had perished on the Island Turtle after a night of drinking and telling war stories. Nothing about how the man died, or who killed him. A shame, really.

Bolt sighed. "Alright. Let's get out of here before—"

"Yo!" Bolt flinched and whirled as a deep, baritone voice boomed behind him. Hikari reacted much more harshly. She turned and kicked the man—dark skin, sandy blond hair, sunglasses, white uniform; Cloud ninja—and sent him hurtling into a nearby tree with such force that the trunk imploded.

Bolt berated himself for not seeing the man sneak up on them. "Shit," he swore. "We need to leave. Now. The guards will have heard that and—"

The man leaped from the tree and landed softly on the balls of his feet. He took a breath, pulled out a small notebook, and began speaking. "Yo, girl, you pack a punch! But if you come at the Eight-Tales you best pack a lunch! Yeah!"

Bolt felt cold. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling coursed through him. The Eight-Tails. So that meant this man was—

"Who is this clown?" Hikari snarled.

Before Bolt could bark orders, the Eight-Tails was speaking again. He was loud, booming in a way that reminded him of Eiji. "I've got sunglasses and a tan like it's hot, but I'm pretty cool and people like that a lot! It's the amazin', blazin' Killer Bee! Yeah!"

"Jinchūriki," Bolt hissed under his breath, taking a step backward. "We need to—"

He stopped before he could say "leave." Did they actually need to flee? The guards were fodder unless they swarmed with their full number. He had that much confidence in his own strength, to say nothing of Hikari. And they would need to fight the Eight-Tails eventually. Bolt would have preferred to fight the Tailed Beasts sequentially, from One to Two, Two to Three, ensuring that he and the new Akatsuki were strong enough to defeat them all.

But here, standing in front of them, was a most fortuitous opportunity: the chance to fight the Eight-Tails without revealing themselves as members of the Akatsuki. The perfect chance to test their strength against the second most powerful Tailed Beast.

"Bolt!" Hikari hissed.

He smiled. "No," Bolt said. "We fight."

"What!" Hikari snapped, looking at him as if he had lost his mind.

"A test," Bolt murmured quietly as Bee tilted his head and looked between the two of them.

Hikari clenched her fists so tightly Bolt could hear her knuckles pop. "If this kills us, I'm going to murder you," she growled. Bolt grinned and took a step forward and to the side, effectively shielding Hikari from Bee. He could hear her take a step to the side so she could hurl needles over his shoulder harmlessly.

Bee grinned a wide smile with pearly white teeth bared. Bolt felt his skin crawl and his hair stand on end. A stray arc of electricity raced up his leg, across his chest, and down his arm. He surged forward, fast as he could without his Lightning Armor.

Bee was _fast._ By the time Bolt had cleared the distance between them, Bee had drawn four of his seven swords. He practiced the same strange swordsmanship that Yurui did—or, perhaps, it was the opposite. Either way, the difference between Bee and Yurui was like night and day. Bee was larger than Bolt, stronger than him, and as fast as he was. Bolt slapped away a shuffling sweep of a sword held behind Bee's knee. And, in the same motion, Bee drew his other three swords.

The air hissed as Hikari hurled a barrage of needles at the Eight-Tails. Bee deflected a handful of them at Bolt. The needles stung as they pierced his skin but Bolt had long since been immunized against all of the poisons Hikari used. He had nothing to fear. Bee, apparently, realized this too when neither him nor her reacted.

It was the angles, Bolt decided as one of the swords was dragged across his collarbone, that were the most dangerous part of the style. Unpredictable and difficult to block. Bolt slapped away one sword, then another, and another. The next to slashes cut him across the forearm and the shoulder. Bolt winced, rolled to the side, and allowed a lance of water to strike Bee in the chest and put some much appreciated distance between him and those seven swords.

His Lightning Armor screamed to life. The world slowed to that familiar crawl as electricity coursed through his nervous system. Bee slashed at Hikari. The flat of her palm, wreathed in chakra from the Chakra Scalpel, met steel in a shower of sparks. Bolt surged forward and stepped between the two of them. Unlike their earlier clash, Bolt could follow the swords now—all seven of them. He slapped away the next six slashes and blocked three of Bee's chakra points.

But the Eight-Tails didn't slow down. No, he became even faster. Slowly, ever so surely, Bee sped up until he was keeping pace with the first level of the Lightning Armor. It was a terrifying prospect. Sheer physical speed capable of keeping up the a technique designed to augment human reflexes and agility with lightning.

"I'm the master, so you better prepare yourself unless you wanna die faster!" Bee sang through gritted teeth that held a sword.

Then his swords began to arc with electricity. Bolt slapped one away, then another, before a third tore through his armor and licked at his body beneath. A shallow slash stretched from his elbow to his wrist. Bolt relaxed his control on his armor and allowed it to cauterize the wound with a sizzling hiss of charred flesh.

"Bolt!" Hikari yelled. She hurled a barrage of needles at Bee, who deflected them easily, before kicking the ground and appearing behind him. She threw a fist forward, heedless of the danger, and Bee cut a deep gash along her forearm to the bone.

But, for her trouble, her fist connected. Bee was bodily thrown across the clearing, into a tree, through that tree, and across the island for some distance.

"Are you okay?" Hikari hissed, even as she healed her own wound.

"I'm fine," Bolt muttered.

"We shouldn't be here. He's too strong. We need to leave and—"

"—No time," Bolt said as Bee returned to the clearing. His white uniform was tarnished and stained green and brown in a few places.

Bee withdrew his small notebook from the pocket of his jacket and flipped through a few pages. He scribbled something down with a small, crude pencil. Bolt felt a hint of anger at the casual dismissal of their threat. Bee pocketed the book and looked up at him. "Not bad! Your strength is for sure not a fad! You remind me a lot of your dad!" Bee sang.

Bolt sucked in a breath. "How—"

Bee hurled the pencil at him. It glowed with chakra and electricity. Bolt narrowly evaded the projectile. Behind him it pierced through a tree and then kept going. Words forgotten, Bolt charged forward. Between one step and the next, lightning sang through his veins. His armor arced wildly as he ascended to the next level of activation. The world was slower, and he was faster, and Bee was not prepared to handle him.

Bolt didn't pull his punches. He slapped a sword away with such force that it flew from the Eight-Tails' hand. In an instant he closed fourteen chakra points in Bee's right arm. It hung limp and useless as the jinchūriki put distance between them.

Hikari spat a languid wave of water that rolled forward and carried with it the electrical charge he passively generated. But Bee was not so easily beaten. He leaped to the trees as a pool of water formed, arcing with electricity.

Bee looked down upon them from up high with a wide smile. When he spoke, gone was the lilting tone and lyrical manner of speech. "Impressive," he said. "My brother would have killed for a disciple of your skill with the Lightning Armor. But it's nothing I haven't seen before."

Then—then Bolt saw something that wasn't supposed to be physically possible for anyone but a Hyūga. The chakra points he closed snapped open and flooded with a familiar dark chakra. So foul that he could practically taste it, boiling and bubbling and angry. Chakra so warped and twisted it became a muddy red-brown color instead of the pure blue-white Bolt was used to seeing.

The chakra of a Tailed Beast.

Bolt had almost forgotten what it was like to stare into the face of overwhelming power. But the One-Tail could not even be spoken of in the same breath as the Eight-Tails. It wasn't just the quantity, but the density, and the sheer foulness of the chakra that was magnified many times over. But the Eight-Tails, like his father—the Nine-Tails—also spoke of a complexity not seen in the One-Tail. An undercurrent of anger and hate and resentment that had long since burned itself to ash. All that remained was the turmoil and acceptance of life.

Bolt found himself shaking in his boots. With great force of will, he commanded his body to still.

"Bolt," Hikari whispered. She was breathy and her tone was colored with fear.

"Trust me," Bolt said. He caught her hesitant nod out of the corner of his eye. He wouldn't let her come to harm or be captured. He was prepared to give his life if need be.

Above them, Bee discarded his swords as the bubbling, foul chakra consumed him. Behind him, eight tails swished back and forth with an audible hiss as the very air was scorched. In the space between one beat of his heart and the next, Bee was gone from the trees and back on the ground in their midst.

Bolt focussed on increasing the defenses of his armor. He vividly remembered the lingering agony the Tailed Beasts' chakra inflicted upon the body of mere mortals. They were not meant to mix; not meant to touch. In contrast to his swordsmanship, Bee's fighting style was direct and telegraphed. All overwhelming speed and devastating strength.

Bolt grit his teeth and dug his heels in as he caught a single punch that Bee sent at Hikari. He felt the bones in his arms and shoulders protest the unholy force behind the strike. Arm secured and held fast, Hikari appeared behind Bee in a blur and slammed her fist into the side of his skull with all her might.

There was a thunderous crack as the Eight-Tails was sent careening across the island. He uprooted swathes of forest and crushed boulders as large as Bolt was tall. There was a brief moment of clarity as the entire island grew silent when Bee did not reappear.

It was too easy. His stomach churned uneasily. "Get ready," Bolt hissed as he held both arms before him, left above right, vaguely cupping his hands around a sphere in the air. Tiny orbs of whirring chakra winked to life, like stars.

Bee surged back into the clearing with a vengeance. Bolt caught a flash of peeling, charred skin coming loose from the man's face and arms. Hikari stepped forward to guard him as he put the finishing touches on his technique. Their two fists collided, each backed by the unnatural strength they brought to bear. The ground shattered beneath their feet and a wave of air slammed into him with enough force to nearly tear him from his feet. The trees swayed and moaned and cracked.

Bolt felt his heart flutter in his chest as Hikari began to lose the test of strength. She was already going to be sporting a nasty chakra burn on her hand from touching the Eight-Tails' chakra. He didn't want her to be physically injured too. "Move!" Bolt commanded.

Hikari did. Bolt spun on the ball of his foot and threw his arm out. Bee was already moving forward but faltered. That was his mistake, Bolt thought, as twelve of his whirring Rasengan soared through the air between them and slammed into Bee's chest. There was an explosion of light and pressure as the multitude of Rasengan tore into the Eight-Tails' body and propelled him back from whence he came.

The island was as quiet and still as the grave. In the distance, Bolt could see Cloud ninja scurrying like frightened mice as they both attempted to capture whoever had invaded their island fortress, and avoid coming into conflict with whatever had attacked their jinchūriki.

Bolt tensed as Bee returned once more. He rolled his neck, creating an audible pop, his expression morphing into a small frown. "You're pretty tough," Bee sang, thought there was something more serious, more sinister, in the lyrical tone with which he spoke. "So you'll have to forgive me if I'm a little rough."

The Eight-Tails began to bleed as more and more skinned peeled and burned away. The scent of charred flesh and gore tainted the air. Bolt had not thought it was possible for the Tailed Beast's chakra to grow any fouler, any more corrupt, but it did. Bee became wreathed in red-black chakra that made his Byakugan burn and itch just to gaze upon. It took the form of a humanoid ox; two vicious, curved horns sprouted from the man's skull, and his hands and feet took on the appearance of claws. His jaw became large and distended, sported a maw of fangs. From his mouth and eyes came a pure, blinding white glow that was anything but pure.

"Bolt," Hikari whispered, a little fearful, a little awed.

But Bolt couldn't help but grin. Here, he stared Death in its face. This was what his predecessors, the original Akatsuki, faced. Here was what Nagato, what Pain, faced. Nine they tried to capture; seven they succeeded in. They had failed to defeat Bee and his father. The question was: could he succeed where they had failed?

"Not yet," Bolt said, ramping up his armor until he felt discomfort sear through his senses. He was pushing the limits of the human body. He was once more convinced that he was correct. The next level of the Lightning Armor lay in transcending the human body and becoming a literal force of nature. Bolt tensed, leaning forward, and prepared to attack.

Bee was faster. In an instant, the Eight-Tails crossed the space between them and gripped him by the face with a single clawed hand. Bolt grunted as he was uprooted and bodily thrown backwards.

"Bolt!" Hikari screamed. Her voice rang distant in his ears.

Bee slammed a fist into his gut. Bolt felt his breath leave his lungs. He hit something hard and unforgiving, stone perhaps, bounced, and then kept going. He felt something cool lick at his back, water, and scrambled to pick himself up. Chakra surged from his feet and hands to keep him afloat.

Bee loomed over him a few feet away. His heart hammered in his chest. Bolt took a step back and fell into a defensive Gentle Fist stance. "I'll help you see through the lies of youth," Bee rumbled. "So have a seat before the Falls of Truth."

Bolt cast a quick, cautionary glance at the churning pool of water they stood upon and the waterfall that fed it. "What are you—"

Bee was gone. Bolt snapped to attention, his head jerking to the left and the right, but not even his Byakugan could spy the Eight-Tails. He was simply gone. Nowhere on the entire island. In fact...

No one was. He was alone. No Bee. No Hikari. No Cloud ninja. Not even the warped animals remained. He was alone. He was—

Not alone. From the waterfall stepped a man—him. His twin in every way. But Bolt was certain his twin was not a clone, for the only one he had at the moment wore the guise of the Celestial Maiden many hundreds of miles away.

"An illusion," Bolt swore under his breath. He berated himself for falling for such an elementary parlor trick. He had become too reliant on his Hyūga blood. Just because he could feel when someone attempted to place him under a genjutsu didn't mean he would always be able to counter it. Sarada had proved that once already.

Bolt contorted his hands into the familiar Snake sign, closed his eyes, and forcibly stilled his chakra. The illusion broken, he opened his eyes once more.

His twin still stood before him wearing a small smile, the slightest upturn of the lips. "You can't get rid of me that easily," his twin remarked.

"Who the fuck are you?" Bolt snapped, taking a step back and slipping back into a defensive stance.

"I'm you," his twin answered softly.

Bolt growled under his breath as his eyes scoured the island for Hikari. Something wasn't right. They needed to leave. The time for testing their strength against the Eight-Tails had passed. "No, you're not," Bolt murmured idly.

"Didn't you hear what Bee said? This place is the Falls of Truth. We're two sides of the same coin, you and I. Light and dark, fire and water. I'm the you inside your heart," his twin explained.

Bolt scoffed, now scanning the water he stood on. Perhaps the illusion was woven into the liquid? "You're supposed to be my darkness?" Bolt said. His twin looked about was evil as his little sister. Too bright, too innocent.

"I never said that," his twin said. "I'm your Light," he added with a smile.

Bolt actually laughed at that. Because if his twin was his light, then that meant he was his darkness—and that wasn't true. Bolt fought the good of the common man. For justice. For peace.

"Look," his Light said, gesturing to the water.

Bolt did. He peered down at the rippling surface of the pool they stood atop. Light shimmered between ripples and his reflection stared up at him. The same face, the same noble features he inherited from his mother, the same blond hair and scarred cheeks he inherited from his father.

But not the same blue eyes. Blue had been replaced with red, and the whites of his eye had become black. He snapped his head up. "Enough!" Bolt screamed. Lightning danced across his body as he surged forward. He thrust his hand forward, wreathed in the screaming electricity of the Chidori, and moved to sink it into his twin's chest.

Only he didn't. His Light appeared before him, garbed in the same Lightning Armor he wore, holding his wrist to the side where his Chidori sparked harmlessly. Bolt pulled away, pivoting, and brought up his leg for a high kick. His twin performed the same movement effortlessly. Their shins met and collided with a clap of thunder that sent arcs of electricity lashing out.

The two of them fell back to the water's surface. Bolt bobbed up and down as the water churned from their clash. "That's impossible," Bolt swore as he held his right hand aloft. Chakra began to whir and coalesce.

Across from him, his Light did the same. "I know everything you do," his twin explained.

Bolt clutched his Rasengan. His fingers dug into the explosive chakra contained within. He refused to believe that. He sprinted forward, as fast as his feet would carry him, and thrust his Rasengan forward. His Rasengan collided with its opposite held in the palm of his twin. The world exploded with light and pressure that hurled him across the surface of the pool.

Bolt blinked. His Light was beginning to stand, but he couldn't bring himself to mirror his twin. He lay atop the water, staring, not believing. This couldn't be real. It had to be an illusion. The most elaborate illusion he had ever heard of, true, but an illusion all the same. Perhaps the Falls of Truth were merely an ancient construct built by Cloud that housed a powerful fūinjutsu that manifested as an illusion? Yes, that sounded plausible, Bolt decided.

But, Bolt thought, perhaps the opposite was true. Perhaps his twin, his Light, was telling the truth. Perhaps they were two sides of the same coin. And if they were...

Why were they fighting?

* * *

"Bolt!" Hikari screamed. The Eight-Tails stood over him as he slumped forward and fell face first into the water. The jinchūriki hadn't even touched him. He just... dropped. Hikari drew upon the vast ocean of chakra stored within her Strength of a Hundred seal. She didn't know if even one hundred of her would be enough to defeat the Eight-Tails and save Bolt, but she was determined to die trying.

Her forehead burned with power as she felt the seal snake around her eyes and down her face. The burning sensation coursed through her, a tide of power and energy following it, as it continued down her neck, across her shoulders, and down her arms.

Hikari weaved hand signs and felt the essence of Water sing in her veins. She spat a wave of water forth, larger and faster than any she had in her life, churning with the power of the ocean behind it. It slammed into the Eight-Tails who was swept up and away even as a smaller, more controlled portion of the technique swallowed Bolt whole and brought him to her. Hikari scooped Bolt into her arms and began to flee. Entire swathes of forest were uprooted as the colossal wave of water swept over the back of the Island Turtle. There were squawks and cries of alarm as every bird and beast in the forest came to life with a fright.

The Eight-Tails had recovered and gave chase with a frightening physicality that Hikari refused to believe. She had seen some of the fastest ninja in the world. Eiji, Bolt, and the Raikage. Yet their speed, augmented by the Lightning Armor, paled in comparison to the brutality that the jinchūriki brought to bear.

Hikari ran faster. The Eight-Tails rapidly gained ground on her. She realized she couldn't run from this foe. She had to stand her ground. She had to fight. The ocean of chakra within her responded to her need. Like the tide, it surged forward. Hikari channeled the chakra through her body and strengthened it beyond what any mere mortal should have been able to achieve. Bones that wouldn't bend or break even under the weight of an entire mountain. Skin so tough and durable that it could not be cut by even the sharpest sword under the sky. Muscles, dense and powerful, enough to be as strong as a thousand, even ten thousand, men.

Hikari paused atop a branch, coming to a sudden stop, and deposited Bolt. In one smooth, precise motion, she turned and met the charging Eight-Tails. She threw a fist forward and the jinchūriki matched her. Hikari was dazed as their fists met with a clap of thunder so loud that it reverberated through her skull. Her footing was poor and the branch she stood upon shattered into countless splinters.

But the Eight-Tails' was even poorer. Caught midair as he was, the Tailed Beast was once more slapped away. She and Bolt fell. Hikari left Bolt to the fall—he would be fine; bruised, but fine—and leaped at the recovering Eight-Tails. She twisted as she fell, bringing her leg down in a vicious, powerful axe kick. The heel of her boot struck the beast in the back and crushed him against the ground.

Then kept going. There was a fleshy, audible crack that did not emanate from the jinchūriki. A low, bellowing cry of pain echoed across the ocean as the entire island began to quake and sink. Hikari realized what had happened. She had cracked the shell of the Turtle Island. She could feel the way the ground beneath her feet began to fall away. The Turtle Island was diving.

Then the Eight-Tails actually got up. Hikari swore under her breath as she made a mad dash for Bolt who was still unconscious from whatever had been done to him. With an afterthought, she hurled a fistful of poisoned needles at the jinchūriki. They sank into the strange red-black flesh he was wreathed in, but Hikari knew that they wouldn't even slow the man down. He was beyond the reach of her poisons.

Hikari only made it a few steps before the Eight-Tails appeared before her. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breaths came fast and shallow. "You made me eat dirt, that really hurt," the Eight-Tails sang. His voice came out deep and warped by the foul chakra. "But I can't let you flee, or my name wouldn't be Killer Bee! Yeah!"

Hikari swallowed. Despite the strength of her punch, she hadn't even truly hurt the Eight-Tails. She set Bolt down and turned to face the jinchūriki. Her arms raised in a loose stance that focussed more on offense than defense.

The Eight-Tails took a step forward. He stopped as laughter bubbled up from behind her. Hikari sagged in relief as Bolt recovered from whatever jutsu ailed him. He wore that wide, infuriating smirk that he got whenever he knew something she didn't. But, more than that, it meant he was confident. And Hikari really needed some confidence, so she let it slide. Bolt stepped forward to take his place at the head of their usual formation. Hikari took her place to his right.

But Bolt raised an arm and waved her off. "Don't," he said, short and curt. Hikari could hear the smug grin in his tone. He tensed and faced the Eight-Tails who was watching them intently. "You said my Lightning Armor wasn't anything you haven't seen before? Well, let me show you something your brother, the Raikage, could only dream about."

His Lightning Armor screamed to life with a startling intensity that only grew as he moved from the first level to the second. He kept going until he reached the apex of the armor. Then he went even further. Hikari shuddered as she broke into goosebumps and her hair stood on end. She was acutely aware of the rising water level.

"There's a limit to how much you can achieve with the human body. How strong your muscles are. How fast your legs can carry you," Bolt told the Eight-Tails. "The Lightning Armor is a powerful technique. It gave the Raikage the power to fight you, Eight-Tails. But even it has its limits. This... is beyond even that."

"Wait! Bolt, no!" Hikari tried. That technique wasn't perfected yet. He would kill himself he tried it now, on the field of battle, against a real opponent.

The Eight-Tails didn't wait any longer. He lunged forward with a howling battle cry. Bolt didn't move. He didn't even flinch. The lightning around him screamed to life with a new unseen intensity. Cloth glowed with an inner light and disintegrated along with the flesh and bone beneath. For a long instant, the world stopped. A sort of awed horror overcame Hikari. In the space between a breath, one beat of her heart, one thought, and the next, it was over. Faster than comprehension.

The Eight-Tails was left lying face down in a pool of boiling blood that spilled from a wound that bisected his chest between the neck and the shoulder for nearly a full foot. Even as she watched, the flesh was slowly knitting itself back together. Hikari turned to find Bolt stumbling towards her with a dazed expression clouding his features. "Bee'll live," he slurred. "Leave. Now."

Bolt grabbed her, pulling her close, and there was a violent sense of vertigo that overwhelmed and confused her mind. When it stopped, Hikari wasn't sure which way was up and which way was down. They weren't on the Turtle Island anymore. The landscape was unfamiliar. Some expanse of rocky wasteland in the Land of Lightning. Bolt had taken her from the island, across the bay, up the crags, and into the wasteland in... she didn't know how long.

But she knew one thing. Bolt was faster than he had ever been. Hikari blinked, lazily, and found her friend lying next to her. Her eyes found his arms and legs and she gasped. It appeared as if he had been flayed. Swathes of skin and muscle beneath were simply gone. He was missing his right little and ring finger, as well as the left half of his left palm. Hikari could see the white of bone exposed from the calf of his right leg.

"You stupid, arrogant little shit," Hikari swore, quickly ambling over to him. Her hands glowed with the soft green glow of the Mystic Palm. She focussed on stemming the bleeding and fighting off the infection. Her knees grew wet with warm, sticky blood that had begun pooling beneath the two of them.

Night was falling. She needed to move Bolt somewhere safe while she healed him. Until he was well enough to use the mask to fully heal himself. Hikari put a few finishing touches on the more serious wounds, scooped him up, and began running through the countryside.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Sorry for the long wait! I've been busy. However, this chapter is quite long to make up for it. Next chapter should be quicker—it's an interlude chapter featuring the men and women of the Revolution with a short bit on the cast of Akatsuki we haven't seen in recent chapters.

I'll explain more on what Bolt has achieved with the Lightning Armor in a future chapter. This was kind of a teaser for what is to come, much like how Bolt used the Adamantine Sealing Chains in his fight against Sarada, Himawari, and Mitsuki before the Land of Wind arc.

As a refresher, Yasuo Iburi is the original character of reader SimplyLokajad. He is the son of Yukimi Iburi, who herself was the last scion of the Iburi clan following Orochimaru's systematic genocide of the clan.

Dialogue for Bee is... difficult. I hope I did a passable job.

Lava Release is my favorite elemental bloodline due to how many forms it takes. Vulcanized rubber, corrosive quicklime, and molten rock. Quite the combination.

Guest — What? Naruto _cannot_ move at the speed of light. No one can. That doesn't even make sense. And no, both Naruto and Sasuke have plateaued in their power. There is nothing higher for them to achieve other than honing their skills. It would frankly be silly if either of them became more powerful than they already were.


	68. Chapter 68 -- Akatsuki Interlude

The seven of them stood around a table piled high with maps, charts, and reports. Bolt hobbled back and forth pointing here and mumbling there. Hikari watched him go with a small smile. Served him right for using a dangerous, untested technique in the middle of a battle with the Eight-Tails, of all people.

"We've received word the Killer Bee has recovered," Bolt said, motioning towards a handful of scrolls from their spies in the Land of Lightning. "Scarred, yes, but alive and well."

"That's good, right?" Hibiki asked. "If he died, the Eight-Tails would die with him. Then we'd have to wait—however long it would take."

Bolt nodded. "Right," he said. "The fight was a good test of his and our strength. The Eight-Tails wasn't taking us seriously and it took Hikari and I using everything we had to wound him enough to escape. The Eight-Tails is one of the most powerful enemies we have. We need to be strong enough to defeat him and others like him reliably. Therefore, I'm implementing a training regimen for the seven of us."

The Akiyama sisters grumbled under their breath. Hikari sneered beneath her mask. The pair of women were spoiled princesses who had never seen true struggle. They thirsted for a good battle. Nothing more and nothing less.

Bolt cleared his throat for silence. Kagami and Kagari continued their whining. Then Bolt sent them a glare so powerful it was a miracle their brains weren't blown out of the back of their skulls. They quieted after that.

"We're going to be organizing the Akatsuki into two divisions," Bolt continued. "The combat division, composed of myself, Hikari, Tetsu, Kagami, and Kagari. The support division will be composed of Tsuchigumo and Hibiki, with Yasuo joining them once he escapes Orochimaru. The—"

"What?" Kagami demanded. "The pretty boy and the cripple aren't going to be fighting? They're basically dead weight. I'm not—"

A small arc of electricity jumping from Bolt's blond hair to his shoulder was all the warning they received. Lightning coursed through Kagami. She screamed. Oh, did she ever scream. Hikari felt a little sympathy for her, because she knew precisely how powerful Bolt was when he used Lightning Release, but she also felt no small amount of sadistic pleasure.

Kagami sagged, breathing hard and heavy, as the electricity faded. Kagari helped her sister to her feet and allowed the older woman to lean on her shoulder to keep standing. "Tsuchigumo and his puppets are a major component of our spy network. We have eyes and ears in every nation's ninja village and capital. His work in research and development of new technology and techniques is invaluable," Bolt said, his tone icily cold and level. "Furthermore, Hibiki is far more suited to negotiation, infiltration, and intelligence rather than fighting. He controls and oversees the sensing barrier and all traps guarding our base—and, when it's finished, he'll be responsible for managing our human summoning contract and communications."

Kagami and Kagari were wisely silent. "Make no mistake," Bolt said. "Everyone here is the best of the best. You're here to fight monsters. That's fine. Tsuchigumo and Hibiki are here to make sure you get the chance to fight those monsters and come out alive."

Both sisters nodded. "Now," he began. "Training will began the following week and is mandatory. I'm giving us a year to prepare for our first public appearance. I want us to, at the very least, double our chakra capacity and create and master several new techniques. We'll also be developing countermeasures to the Union's most powerful members."

"What public appearance?" Hikari asked. Bolt hadn't told her about that. The others, too, appeared interested at that. The Akiyama sisters most of all.

"The shadow war between the Revolution and the Union is coming to a standstill. The Union can't win because we refuse to meet them on the field of battle, and the Revolution can't win because the Union is shoring up their defenses and recovering from the damage we've done. The Akatsuki is going to spur the war into new territory. Once we're in the public eye, the Union will have to split its resources between us and the Revolution. The two organizations will create opportunities for the other to take advantage of," Bolt explained.

Bolt took the time to meet the eyes of all six of them. "Our first public appearance will, naturally, be attacking a ninja village," he concluded. A fire blossomed in her heart. Her vengeance against Cloud was at hand.

"Not Cloud," Bolt said, more to her than the others. Hikari faltered and frowned beneath her mask. She had hoped Cloud would be first, but... Bolt had promised. She would simply be patient. "There are other targets. Ones far easier to attack and with more resources the Akatsuki needs."

"You're not going to tell us?" Kagari asked. Kagami was still twitching from her electrocution.

"No," Bolt said. "Neither of you have proven yourselves—yet. When you do, you'll know." He seemed to understand that the Akiyama sisters weren't likely to accept that answer. "Know that the people we'll be fighting are the best of the best. Veterans of the Fourth War, their children, and some of the most powerful figures in the ninja world. They are a prime target that will send the greatest message. Additionally, they have several resources that the Akatsuki requires. Part of our year of training will be dedicated to ensure that we are able to secure those resources."

"And the Kage, my Lord?" Tetsu asked. It was rare that he spoke at these briefings. He usually accepted whatever command Bolt gave as law.

Bolt smiled. "Rest assured, when we attack the Kage will not be a factor in the battle," answered.

Everyone nodded. Bolt obviously had a plan. Hikari had learned to trust in his judgement. If he said he could handle the Kage, he could.

Bolt looked to each of them. "Anymore questions?" They all answered in the negative. "Good. Dismissed."

Hikari found herself wandering back to her quarters in the upper levels of the mountain. She mentally compiled a list of tasks for her training. She needed a careful balance of training combined with rest so that her Strength of a Hundred seal could continue to amass chakra. She wanted to work on advancing her poisons, especially the ones made from her jellyfish, and weaponizing their gaseous forms. That would be a particularly useful tool against their human enemies. Her knowledge of anatomy and healing could use a refresher too. Perhaps, even, she could use her newfound control to finally achieve the first level of the Lightning Armor for herself.

And, of course, she would have to continue making strides to keep up with the ever powerful Uzumaki clansmen in the Akatsuki. Bolt and Tetsu frequently sparred with one another and were all the more powerful because of it. They were, without a doubt, the single two most powerful members of the organization. She would have to join in on their training. It irritated her that she was only third best, but Hikari took solace in that she felt she could defeat the Akiyama sisters if push came to shove.

Hikari slipped through the door of her room and pressed a palm to the seal on the wall. A crystal embedded in the ceiling hummed with chakra and emitted a pleasant illuminating glow. Hikari jumped as a puppet, a guard, twitched to life. It's head rotated to stare at her and its jaw clicked up and down. "Hikari," the puppet said in greeting.

"Tsuchigumo," Hikari said with a nod. "Did something come up?"

The puppet twitched back and forth in a mockery of a headshake. "No," it clicked. "A gift. Old research my family inherited. I thought it would help you."

A puppet shambled through the door, tall with many arms, carrying two wooden crates stacked atop each other. Hikari cracked open the first crate and found scroll upon scroll of medical texts and recipes of various poisons, antidotes, and medicines unique to the Land of Wind. "Thank you, Tsuchigumo," Hikari said. She was a little touched by the gesture since she knew Tsuchigumo had little to nothing of his family left after his village was razed by the One-Tail.

"You're welcome," the puppet clicked and then fell still and silent.

It felt strange to always be under watch by the puppeteer. But, then again, Hikari supposed, if it wasn't Tsuchigumo, then Bolt would have found a way to spy on them all with fūinjutsu or had Hibiki keep tabs on them—he would, too, the smitten fool—with his sensor abilities. It was for their safety, she knew, but it still unsettled her.

Hikari began to withdraw and organize scrolls. There were many detailing the creation and composition of exotic poisons, more than a few on the study of herbs and plants, and a handful of manuals for human puppetry that detailed dissection and vivisection practices of the Hidden Sand. But, more interesting, were the scrolls on medical jutsu. Sand practiced a unique branch of healing that stemmed from their cultural heritage of puppetry. It was a fascinating topic of study, despite her lack of understanding.

But, above them all, one scroll stuck out to Hikari the most.

"One's Own Life Reincarnation," Hikari mused aloud, tracing the writing with her finger lazily.

* * *

Hibiki sighed and idly tracing a mindless pattern into the leather of one of the expensive couches the Akiyama sisters had purchased. A large globe of water flew above him, maintained by his chakra, and mirrored the sensing barrier that Bolt had erected around their mountain. He kept tabs on the various traps—fūinjutsu and otherwise—that made assaulting their base a lesson in futility and pain. Puppets shambled about, here and there, setting up traps, drawing seals, and connecting a seal here to a different one there. Bolt and Tsuchigumo, putting their heads together, their combined knowledge greater than the sum of their parts.

Hibiki liked his role in the Akatsuki. Boring, sure, and he would have liked the excitement of combat every now and then, but it gave him purpose. He managed the base. Kept everyone safe. Had time to learn new songs on his mother's ocarina. Perfected his auditory illusion techniques. Practiced cracking into the minds of people the Revolution captured. Even learned a few new Water Release techniques from Bolt and Hikari. The sensing barrier was a new element of his powers. Before, he could sense chakra... almost as if it was touching him. Reactive, in a way. Now, with the barrier, it was like he could touch the chakra he sensed. Hibiki likened it to the way a blind man could read by tracing the words with their fingers.

And it was intoxicating. Their base was teeming with the most powerful and exotic chakra signatures in the world. Bolt, an electrifying power that fluctuated between searing hot and icy cold. Tetsu was cold too, but different in a way. Hard like steel and ice. Hikari was a sea in the storm; churning, violent, and angry. Doubly so after Cloud. Tsuchigumo was the least interesting of the group. Too wispy and thin. Airy, in a way. The Akiyama sisters were a dichotomy in fire; Kagami, all force and destructive power, and Kagari, all unbearable, scouring heat.

Hibiki sighed and engaged in his favorite activity. Watching Bolt. He was doing some sort of chakra exercise where he rapidly transmuted a finger from flesh to electricity and then back again. When he wasn't working, he was working. Always thinking, always planning, always plotting, always training. Trying to stay ahead of the opposition. In a way, Hibiki admired that. It kept his chakra toned and perfect. His chakra would have been attractive without the constant training, yes, but it was made all the more beautiful for it.

"Hibiki," a woman said somewhat impatiently.

Hibiki let his head lull as he lazily swept his gaze across the room. Ah, yes. Kagami. The reason he was here. "Get the fuck off my couch," she hissed, kneeing him in the ribs with more force than he felt necessary.

"But it's so comfortable," Hibiki drawled.

He earned another knee for his lip. "It's my fucking couch! Move, pretty boy!" Kagami growled.

"You missed your morning training session," Hibiki hummed.

Kagami made a low chuckling sound. "I'm not going to learn some useless parlor tricks like illusions," she stated.

Hibiki sighed. Honestly, so few had any respect for the art. "You were supposed to learn how to identify and break illusions," he corrected her. "Remember? You fought an Uchiha? Who could have put you under a powerful illusion with a single glance? You were exceedingly fortunate she didn't."

Bolt had been quite furious when he learned of their deficiencies in countering genjutsu. Hibiki found the entire situational comical. Bolt hardly ever had to try to break an illusion. His Hyūga blood was cheating, almost, in the way that it gave him preternatural sensitivity to the manipulation, especially foreign manipulation, of his chakra pathways. He really was the most beautiful, perfect storm of power Hibiki had ever witnessed.

"Fuck that," Kagami said, grabbing him by the collar of his robes and dragging him to the floor.

"Do I need to tell our leader that you've refused my training?" Hibiki sang with a small, barely concealed smile.

Above him, Hibiki could see Kagami grit her teeth and furrow her brows. No doubt remembering the electrocution Bolt had given her for the last time her hubris got the better of her. "Fine," she snapped.

Hibiki smiled. "Excellent," he said. "Let's begin."

Then he sang.

* * *

Penmanship, Tetsu found, was remarkably similar to swordsmanship. It was the same principle, simply at a smaller scale. It was the finer motions in the wrist and the fingers rather than the shoulders and the elbows. He dragged the brush across the parchment with precise, neat lines that formed elegant whirling characters. The script of his homeland.

"My Lord?" Tetsu spoke.

His Lord rose from his stupor, mulling over foot after foot of a scroll vastly more complex than the one he wrote upon, and blinked tiredly at him. "Ah," his Lord said, moving to inspect his work. His eyes, a pale violet, moved with surprising speed as he read what Tetsu had wrote. "Good," Bolt said. "Except here," he pointed to a series of characters. "You forgot to cross your transitional matrix."

Tetsu nodded and corrected the mistake. He filed it away so that he would not make it again. It was remarkable, Tetsu thought, how far he had come. From a street rat who ate from the garbage, lived more often than not in abandoned, derelict houses, and could not read let alone write.

Now, thanks to his Lord, he was mastering the ancient art of fūinjutsu practiced by his clan since time immemorial. Tetsu moved down the scroll and began to inscribe more commands. The grasp of the language came easy to him, he found. With some practice Tetsu felt he could have easily spoken or written in the Uzumaki sealing script as he could in the common tongue. No doubt his Lord _could_ speak and write better in the language of seals than in the words of men.

The scroll upon which he wrote was a mere novice's tool. But that was fine—it was all Tetsu needed it for. A simple sealing scroll designed to carry his armory of swords, daggers, and armor. His Lord had spurred him to pursue his own lofty goals, not just a life of servitude. Truly, his liege was a just and merciful man. So, with some reluctance, Tetsu began to plot. To create a plan to achieve his childhood dream. A mere street rat gazing upon the swordsman of the Land of Iron with awe as they flowed through their forms.

Tetsu dreamed of being one of them. He dreamed of being the best of them. The greatest swordsman in all the land. And, so, he would. He would do what had not been done in nearly a hundred years. He would collect and unite the Seven Swords of the Seven Ninja Swordsman of the Mist—under one master. Tools of such power and craftsmanship that they had no equal, though Tetsu favored the sword the master smith from the Whirlpool had gifted him.

To do so, he would need a method in which to carry countless blades into battle. No doubt many would break upon the Seven Sword's superior craftsmanship. And, in the end, he would need a method in which to carry the Seven themselves. For the true strength of the Seven lay not individually, but collectively.

Tetsu frowned when he realized he had reached the end of the parchment and completed the scroll.

His Lord loomed over him, humming in thought and inspecting his work. Tetsu stilled and awaited judgement. Bolt smiled. "Excellent," he spoke. "Your penmanship is flawless. You're ready for the tattoo."

Tetsu frowned, confused. "Tattoo, my Lord?"

His Lord smiled. "You're an Uzumaki. You didn't think I had you learning just any common enclosing seal, did you?"

Tetsu gazed upon his work with a closer eye. No, he thought, his lessons had not been so simple nor easy.

Tetsu smiled, ever so slightly.

* * *

Bolt sat across from her, wearing a stranger's face, sipping at his tea. The teahouse Sarada had brought the three of them to was a place Chōchō had told her about. They had some of the best green tea and sweet dumplings in the country—and they were only an hour's walk from the Leaf.

As always, Himawari is pinning Bolt to his seat with her eyes as if a strong breeze would blow him away. Which, to be fair, was somewhat truthful with how much travelling her brother did. Honestly, it made her more than a little envious of their close relationship. It made Sarada wish for a brother or sister. Preferably a younger sibling. Sarada thought she would be a better responsible older sister than a cute younger sister, like Himawari was.

This meeting—their dates, as Sarada had come to think of them—was different though.

It was hard to put her finger on exactly what was different but it was. Bolt seemed more... timid. He sat on the booth against the wall in the corner of the room giving him a sweeping view of the tea house's door and windows. That wasn't too unusual considering he was, technically, dead. And, if he wasn't, he was a wanted rogue ninja.

"—and Gamabunta and Gamakichi got into a drinking contest," Himawari told her brother with a small smile and gleaming eyes. She was happiest with her brother, Sarada thought. "And, of course, Gamatatsu wants to join in because his older brother is competing—he's the dopey little guy I told you about—and so after an hour I have to watch over three toads drunk off their asses after they've drank a literal lake of rice wine."

Bolt smiled. He was simply happy to listen to his sister talk. Sarada found herself smiling as Himawari told her story.

"Neither will admit defeat, because they're all stubborn men, so they continue drinking well into the night. Then the toads get hiccups, which I didn't even know was possible," Himawari babbled. "And, of course, Gamakichi has a Fire chakra nature. His hiccups and the alcohol make him spit fire. A toad that spits fire! Can you believe that? So that's how my dress ended up being burned."

Sarada laughed along with Bolt as Himawari concluded her story. "I'm sure you got him back for that," Bolt said with a smile—a real smile.

Himawari grinned evilly. "Oh, I did. Elder Fukasaku assigned him to be my training partner for the Toad Sage Fist. He eventually made me a new dress. Granted, it was made of leaves and flowers, and I couldn't really wear it in public because it was too revealing, but it was the thought that counted," she said.

Sarada laughed at that. Yes, she could imagine an angry Himawari exacting her vengeance on a toad many tens of times larger than herself. She had quite the temper. Sarada shared one of her dumplings with Himawari. Bolt stole the other one. Sarada pouted and threw one of the long toothpicks they came impaled upon at him. He just smiled and devoured her favorite treat.

They talked about nothing of any great importance really. That was the unspoken rule—pleasure, not business. Sarada avoided talking about her black ops work, and Bolt didn't mention all the less than lawful jobs he took to help various people around the world. Himawari was their main source of entertainment. Her training was fascinating, and the toads of Mount Myōboku were a lively bunch. Sarada liked to hear Himawari talk of the beauty of the mountain. It was so alien, so foreign, but strangely attractive to her.

Instead, Sarada told Bolt what his family was doing. How busy the Hokage was and how he had gained his second wind after learning Bolt was alive from her own father. How his mother had started training some of the younger Hyūga clansmen in the way of the Gentle Fist. His grandfather had "officially" retired, though all three of them thought that was unlikely. The heads of the Hyūga clan tended to manage things until they had one foot in the grave and the rest of the clan was pushing the other foot in.

Bolt told her and Himawari about a small village of people in the Land of Grass he had helped by giving them food and tools for farming, building a small lake and filling it with a quick Water jutsu, and showing them where the best game for hunting lived with his Byakugan. Sarada liked hearing about foreign lands the most. Her work kept her mostly in the Land of Fire, and on the rare occasion she ventured farther, she didn't have the time or mindset to appreciate the natural beauty of places like the Land of Steam.

Sarada admired that about him. She respected the Hokage, dreamed of being as powerful a defender of the Leaf as he was, dreamed of one day wearing the Hat. The Hokage was her hero. But she liked that Bolt was a hero in his own way. Not conventional, sure, but he helped people.

As always, their time came to an end. It was getting dark and the Hyūga clan would be worried if Sarada didn't bring their princess back safe and sound before the sun set. Bolt stood and paid for their tea and food—how he always had so much money was a mystery to her, but she appreciated it—and deftly navigated the tea house before slipping out the door. Sarada followed Himawari as she trailed behind her brother.

Outside and away from prying eyes and open ears, Bolt let the transformation slip as he donned his real face and body. He stared up at the sky forlornly. Sarada mirrored him, appreciating the stars as they twinkled through wispy clouds in the twilight. Bolt sighed deeply and turned to face the two of them. He smiled and pulled her and Himawari into a hug with one arm around each of their shoulders. Sarada felt her blood boil with a little jealousy as Bolt kissed his sister on the forehead.

"I don't know when I can see you again," Bolt says to the both of them quietly.

"Why?" Himawari asked with a pout. There's a little anger there. Some genuine.

Bolt smiles wryly. "I've found a lead on the Revolution," he said. Sarada sucked in a breath. "I don't know when I'll be done investigating it."

Himawari nods but Sarada can tell she isn't happy about not being able to see her brother.

Bolt gave them a small wave and turned to walk down the dirt path into the depths of the forest. "Be safe," Sarada called after him. He turned, gave her a slight nod, and disappeared into the night.

Ah, Sarada thought, she realized what was different. Bolt was saying goodbye.

Something twisted in her stomach.

* * *

"Note to self," Tsuchigumo mumbled. Behind him, he knew one of his faithful assistants—a puppet constructed for lab work—jotted down his words. He should now, after all, since he controlled each puppet. "Samples one through fifty-seven biologically unreactive. Cellular division failed. Next line: samples fifty-eight through ninety-two. Chromosome nineteen looks especially promising."

With a thought, his spinal augmentation tugged one of the millions of microscopic chakra threads that flowed from his back. The incubators for samples one through fifty-seven were incinerated and sterilized. Tsuchigumo frowned at the lack of success he and Katasuke had achieved with their given task. The cells of Danzō Shimura's right arm were remarkably difficult to clone—let alone shape into a prison for the Tailed Beasts.

Katasuke was hard at work creating the fourth generation of the gauntlet that weaponized ninjutsu. Like Tsuchigumo, he was taking a break from their recent failure. He left the lab and walked through the dark halls of his—although it was more accurate to say _their_ —mountain. He slipped inside his personal lab and the assistants within sprang to life. The puppets quickly fetched their quarry from the storage area.

The progress with converting the corpse of Danzō into a human puppet was nearly complete. A few more days at the most. Tsuchigumo put more effort into this particular puppet than his other creations. Bolt had told him that Danzō would be his face in the Akatsuki. He would be safe, shielded, against the world.

It was nice, Tsuchigumo thought, to have people that cared. He imagined friendship felt something very similar.

He began to put the finishing touches on the interior sealing matrix that would provide the bodily control and chakra regulation functions. A quick twitch of his chakra threads proved that everything was functionally normally and optimally. One of his puppets brought him a large container of preservatives used to transmute flesh into something that looked no different than ordinary skin and muscle but vastly more durable.

"Note to self," Tsuchigumo mumbled. "Two more treatments of preservatives."

The puppet hastily scrawled the note. Tsuchigumo nodded to himself and moved to the head. The right eye was missing. It provided an opportunity to implant a superior mechanical eye that would function better than an organic one. He didn't even have to mask its oddity, since Danzō often wore bandages on that side of his face. Tsuchigumo had done extensive research in order to more accurately impersonate the former interim Sixth Hokage.

He held his hand out and a puppet obediently placed a large drill onto the palm of his hand. Tsuchigumo positioned it above the empty eye socket and drilled into the brain cavity behind it. A spray of pulpy flesh, misty blood, and shards of bone coated him from head to paused, wiping at his face. "Note to self," he mumbled. "Unique cellular activity has preserved blood flow."

A vacuum slurped up the remnants of gray matter preserved within the skull. Tsuchigumo shined a light through. There was a lot of unused room. "Note to self," Tsuchigumo said. "Possible storage for fuel or needle launcher in cranial cavity."

Next... bones would have to be replaced with something denser, sturdier. An amalgam of steel hardened by chakra. Yes, that would do. Organs needed to be disposed of to make room for tools and weapons. A flamethrower, yes, that sounded good. Danzō possessed a Wind nature. Very powerful in combination. Perhaps some poison from Hikari to lace the weapons... blades from the forearms, claws from the knuckles and fingernails, needle launcher from the left palm, explosive tag launcher from the right... borrow a generation three gauntlet from Katasuke; naval implant... sealed Rasengan techniques from Bolt for ammunition, yes...

"Tsuchigumo?" Hibiki asked.

The puppeteer turned. He knew Hibiki had approached him. He knew where everyone was—all the time. "Yes?" Tsuchigumo answered.

"Katasuke asked me to check on you," Hibiki explained easily. "It's been... thirty-four hours since you disappeared for your 'break'."

"Ah," Tsuchigumo said with a nod. He returned to his work. Needed to reinforce the spine and ribcage to better defend the seal matrices...

"That means," Hibiki said slowly. "That you need to actually sleep. You're not a puppet—not yet, anyway."

Tsuchigumo frowned and wiped at his eyes. Yes, he supposed, some sleep would be efficient. "Alright," he agreed.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hikari asked, quiet enough so that only she and Bolt could hear.

Bolt just nodded. He was a little shaky, Hikari noticed. "There's no going back. You know this, right?" she asked.

Another shaky nod. "Yeah," he answered, a little breathy. "I have to do this if we're going to move forward. I can't—If I die, the movement dies with me. This is for the best."

Hikari wanted to say that if he died, nothing they were doing mattered to her. But she didn't. "Be careful," she said instead.

Bolt gave her a nervous smile. "Don't worry," he told her.

But she would. Bolt moved to the middle of the room. It was a dark cavern on the lower levels. Perfectly smooth and level on all four walls, the floor, and the ceiling. The only light was cast by a handful of torches carried by eerily still puppets near the corners. Four of his six clones stood guard around a steel tub that had been set into the floor. The Divine Summoner and the Universal Healer were too unreliable he told her. Tsuchigumo was examining a sweeping sealing matrix that covered the length and breadth of the floor. It was carved into the stone, not painted, with some grand pattern and meaning that Hikari could not decide. At the cardinal directions stood four cylinders of glass filled with a scroll as thick around as she was tall. Hikari knew that every inch of parchment had been stained black with inky waves.

But worst was that each of the scrolls were submerged in blood—Bolt's own. It was part of the ritual, she assumed, but she hadn't liked having to take blood from him every night for several months to get the quantity needed.

Hikari looked to Tetsu. He stood by the entrance, hand on the hilt of his sword, but said nothing. So she steeled herself. If Tetsu could follow orders, allow him to do this, then so could she. And at the end? Hikari would be there to put him back together. She always would.

Bolt approached the tub set in the center of the floor and climbed in. It must have been cold because he shivered violently upon contact with the metal. The clones took their places at four circles devoid of any sealing script around the tub. One of them, wearing a grisly mask that depicted a horned skull, stepped forward. The High Priest, Bolt called him.

"Are you prepared, my son?" the High Priest asked. Hikari shivered. It was always unnatural to hear another person's voice speak through one of Bolt's clones. But the High Priest had a tone all his own. Lifeless, cold, and yet somehow possessing an undertone of holiness and righteousness.

Bolt licked his lips but settled for a nod. The four clones shared a nod. From their lower backs came a single chain of golden chakra—or, in the case of the Celestial Maiden, a golden, wispy fabric—that surged forward and bound Bolt by the arms and legs.

Then they began to hum. It was a deep sound, rumbling, almost, and cold. The seals on the floor began to glow blue-white with chakra as they snaked out towards the glass cylinders of blood. Hikari watched as the blood turned black and began to drain away. It left the parchment bleached white. The liquid, like darkness given form, slithered across the seals and began to pool in the tub. Hikari could see Bolt clenching and unclenching his fists as his body arched upwards against his will. His heart was beating so hard she could see his chest move beneath his shirt.

The liquid began to rise as more of it flowed into the tub. It came up to his ears and then his temples. Bolt had to arch up to keep his nose above the blood—the ink. Then the four clones clapped their hands as one and held them before them as if praying. And, Hikari thought, perhaps they were. They were wreathed in licking flames of chakra. A wispy, incorporeal form was breathed to life above Bolt. Tall and horribly thin, wearing a robe as white as snow and cut low enough to see the bones of his ribs, the... man—Hikari hesitated to call the thing a man—was horribly ugly. Two vicious horns erupted from his forehead and speared through a mane of white hair. His eyes were black except for the pupils, which were a strange white-gold. His skin, too, was odd. A strange color of purple. Like skin of a body after going too long without air, or being too cold.

The blood rose until it covered Bolt entirely. Hikari heard him suck in a breath. "Be still, my son, and embrace the cold touch of our Father," the High Priest intoned.

The thing moved to peer down at Bolt. It raised a wispy hand with horribly long fingers and even longer nails. In one quick, preternatural motion, it thrust its arm down and grasped Bolt by the face.

He screamed.

Hikari took a step forward, fists clenched, before she understood what she was doing. A strong hand gripped her by the shoulder and held her back. A quick glance revealed Tetsu, of course.

God, did he scream. Blood curdling, speaking of an agony beyond imagining. Then it changed. From a sound that Hikari never wanted to hear to an inhuman wailing screech that she knew Bolt couldn't have made. The sound made her heart clench painfully. Hikari held herself back. She doubted she would have had Tetsu not stopped her.

It lasted only a few moments. But it was enough that Hikari knew she would never forget that sound. Bolt wasn't meant to be in that kind of pain. The wispy thing—creature, man—faded to nothing. The four clones seemed to slump and sag from exertion. Still Hikari waited. Only when the High Priest unclasped his hands did she move forward. And she was not alone. Tetsu followed behind her.

Bolt lay in the tub. The inky blood was gone. It left no trace that it had ever been there. He was trembling uncontrollably as if cold but Hikari could feel a pleasant heat in the room from being so far underground.

"It is done," the High Priest told her.

Hikari had figured that out on her own. She kneeled and leaned forward to see if Bolt was conscious or not. She couldn't see his eyes beneath the mask he wore. It was white as bone, a twisted parody of his own face, with two small horns that were wide and thin growing from his temples. The eyes were open wide and stitched so that they were unable to close. Around them were exaggerated, rippling veins. She peered through the slits and saw only a flash of skin. He was unconscious Hikari hoped.

A ragged sigh echoed through the chamber followed by four soft gusts of air. When Hikari looked, the clones had dispersed. Hikari reached down, took Bolt into her arms, and returned him to his quarters. She didn't leave him until he woke the next day.

And then it was back to business as usual with nary a word.

* * *

Sarada lazed on the couch in front of her television. It was nice, she thought, to have a place of her own. Though she did miss her mother from time to time. At least now she could leave her bloodstained clothes lying around without having her mother fret over her. That was the best part.

There was a knock at the door. Sarada sighed, and with great effort, managed to stand and shamble over to the door. A quick peek through the peephole revealed Octopus—Natsuki Nara when she wasn't on duty—and Squirrel—Moriko Hayashi. "Hey, guys," Sarada greeted them with a wave of her arm that beckoned them in.

It was also nice that she could have friends and colleagues over without having to impose on her mother and risk their collective identities. "Hey," Natsuki replied, tucking a strand of the Nara's signature inky black hair behind her ear. "I brought your favorite. And some ramen from Ichiraku's."

Sarada took one of the plastic bags and carried it to the table. She was just about to take a bite of one of her dumplings when the station abruptly changed. One of the prim and proper ladies from the news took over. She looked tired and was holding several sheets of paper in front of her.

" _Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,"_ she said. _"Tonight, I interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you grave news. The Revolution has struck again—"_ Sarada sucked in a breath. _"And to the Land of Fire, they have taken a son thought dead for several years. The following footage is graphic in nature."_

Sarada growled under her breath as the Celestial Maiden appeared prominently in the footage. The camera was focussed on her. _"Hello there,"_ she said demurely, casually. As if she wasn't about to brag about the newest unspeakable horror her organization had committed. _"I know many of you around the world have been calling for the Revolution to once again take the war of the oppressed to the oppressors. And we have heard your call! For today, the Revolution has captured and will bring to justice one of the most notorious oppressors in the world!"_

The Celestial Maiden stepped away. The camera focussed on who was held up by chains behind her. All Sarada saw was a mop of blond hair and bloodied, torn skin. Her eyes burned. _"Bolt Uzumaki!"_ the Celestial Maiden crowed. _"Son of the most infamous oppressors! The Seventh Hokage!"_

The world was quiet for a long instant before it was brought back to life with an eruption of chakra that Sarada could feel all the way from the Hokage Tower. She didn't wait to watch the rest of the video. Sarada stood and ran for her room. There, she quickly slapped her Crow mask to her face and stripped before donning her ANBU uniform. Behind her, Natsuki and Moriko were raiding her spares. It would be confusing having three Crows, but Sarada would have no one else watch her back but them.

The three of them made their way to the Hokage Tower were an impressive mass of ninja were gathering. And, above them, flew their Hokage. A large black platform of inky darkness was following behind him. Sarada and her team joined the ANBU already there as they leaped up to the platform.

With a thought, they shot off toward the horizon and, Sarada knew, the last known location of the Revolution.

* * *

The sun peeked over the mountaintops. Bolt took a breath. There was no going back now. Sink or swim. This would be the first page of history decorated with his name. Only time would tell if it would be as a hero, a savior, or a villain, a destroyer.

They were playing for keeps now. Bolt was already fearing the Union's retaliation. This would be his second appearance as Pain, leader of the Akatsuki. Truthfully, it could be considered his first—the inmates of Hōzuki Castle wouldn't tell a soul he had been the one to free them, and most now worked for him one way or the other.

The barrier of chakra chains grinded against each other as it came undone. "You all have your tasks," Bolt told his companions. They all nodded, tugging at their cloaks and donning masks. Behind him, five of his six clones—his own personal Paths of Pain, he liked to dub them; an homage to Nagato—stood at the ready.

Bolt pressed his own death mask to his face and activated his Byakugan. "Do not fail me," he said simply. Together, the twelve of them stepped forward and into the light of day.

Bolt stared up at the seven great stone faces of the Hokage hewn from the mountain.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.

I enjoyed writing this chapter. It's always nice when I can explore different character perspectives other than the main heroes/villains. This is the final timeskip of the story. More time will pass as we move forward, but there will be no skips. The final ages of our cast is as follows:

Bolt (20)

Sarada (19)

Himawari (18)

Mitsuki (biologically ?; mentally 19)

Hikari (22)

Tetsu (23)

Tsuchigumo (19)

Hibiki (22)

Kagami A. (21)

Kagari A. (21)

Yasuo I. (17)

One thing I wanted to hammer home was that despite being raised as child soldiers, Bolt and his generation did not experience a meteoric rise through the ranks like Naruto and his generation did. If you think about it, it's kind of insane how fast the Konoha 11 went from dorky Academy kids to the best-of-the-best that the Leaf had to offer. Right now, Bolt and his generation are in their physical prime and even still learning and mastering the full extent of their abilities.


	69. Chapter 69

The Revolution had no permanent base of operations. That would defeat the purpose of their shadow war. They moved constantly and were disguised as lawful men and women going about their lives. It made targeting them near impossible. But, every so often, they would get lucky; a captured member here or there, an informant willing to cross them, a friend in a high place. Years of fighting and tracking the Revolution led to an emerging pattern. Not predictable by any means, but a pattern nonetheless. Sarada couldn't see it when she looked at the maps and reports, but apparently the Hokage could—with the help of his advisor, Shikamaru.

So, instead, she prayed. Prayed that they were right against all odds. Bolt had said he was tracking down a lead on the Revolution. His lead had been right—his ability to defeat them or escape was not. The terrorists had stolen her Bolt and Sarada would not let that stand.

The wind licked at her exposed skin and left a numb, stinging sensation in its wake. The platform of inky darkness the Hokage created moved at great speed through the sky towards the west. The Revolution's leaders liked to hide in the Land of Rivers. Like rats, they swam through the underground rivers and hid in a maze of subterranean caverns that even the locals hadn't fully explored and mapped.

Sarada didn't think they would be able to hide today. It only took them an hour or two to reach the Land of Rivers. The night sky was ablaze with the golden chakra of the Hokage. The air filled with countless hundreds, thousands, of clones. They leapt from their transport and were liberally spread across the country as they moved from the south to the north. When they reached the north end of the Land of Rivers, they stopped. Stopped and waited.

They didn't have to wait long. An hour at most. No longer. The Hokage snapped to attention and they were once more thundering through the sky. The sun was just cresting to the east as the new dawn's first light graced the land. They came to a sudden halt. "Prepare for combat!" the Hokage ordered.

The ANBU tensed and drew their swords. Sarada closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, a single bloody tear rolled down both her cheeks. A massive, whirling pool of darkness appeared beneath them under the command of the Hokage. A drill, Sarada thought. She was proven correct as it slammed into the forest and the rock beneath. There was an ungodly crack as the ground was rent asunder. A great eruption of groundwater was hurled skyward.

The Hokage was gone with a blur of golden chakra. Sarada dropped, right behind him, and called upon her Susano'o. Spectral legs of bone burned to life beneath her and cushioned her fall. The combined glow of her chakra and the Hokage's lit the underground cavern with a thousand hues of gold and crimson. Sarada grinned. The Revolution would know true fear after today. She was sure of that.

They had to be careful. The tunnels had been damaged by their entrance and no doubt every living thing in the entire country had become aware of their presence by now. The Hokage led them at a brisk pace. He was unusually quiet. And angry. Sarada had never seen her hero so angry before. They came to a dead end. Sarada frowned. There was nothing but darkness and cold stone. "Sir?—"

The words were stolen from her lips as the Hokage reached forward and tore the 'rock' asunder. It faded, wispy and incorporeal, half an illusion, half a barrier. Inside, they found their quarry. The vermin's den. Sarada caught a flash of blonde hair and, against her better judgement and her father's words, she let her hatred rule her. For just one day, she would let the dark power of her clan flow through her veins.

Bolt was chained to the ground, on his knees, in the center of the room. He was bloody and bruised. Like a butcher had taken a tenderizer to him. The Celestial Maiden, the cowardly cunt, stood behind him and used him as a shield with a long, curved dagger held to his neck. Around her, a handful of high-ranking lieutenants of the Revolution quaked in their boots.

"Let him go," the Hokage commanded. His tone was, for once, cold and harsh, and carried the full weight of his authority and power. "You have once chance. Let him go, and you live."

The Celestial Maiden, hidden behind her veiled, warped mask, chuckled and shook her head. "No, I don't think so—"

It happened in the blink of an eye. So fast that Sarada was forced to use her Mangekyō to see into the past to understand what had happened. In one instant, there was her, the Hokage, and a handful of ANBU in the cavern. In the next, great clawed arms of chakra lashed from the Hokage and ruthlessly, mercilessly, pinned and crushed every member of the Revolution.

They never even had a chance. No time to blink, no time to breathe, not even time to think. They were simply alive one moment and dead the next.

The Hokage exhaled, slow and shaky. Sarada dashed forward and cut Bolt from his chains with a Chidori. "Bolt," she murmured, slowly running a hand through his hair comfortingly. He stared up at her with her favorite blue eyes.

There was something different about him though. Sarada couldn't place it. "You're safe," she whispered. Bolt smiled. It was a rare thing. One of those smiles where his happiness didn't reach his eyes, because it wasn't a happy smile, but it was still a genuine one.

It was a victorious one.

He raised his arm and wiped away a bloody tear her Mangekyō cried. The hand contorted into a single sign as his arm fell. An earth-shattering explosion tore through the tunnels. Rock and fire became her entire world. Sarada called forth her Susano'o and shielded the few ANBU near her. The Hokage, she knew, would be fine. He was more powerful and experienced than them all.

The fire burned itself to nothing. Sarada blinked away tears of blood and allowed her Susano'o to burn itself to oblivion.

They were trapped. She could tell even without using her Mangekyō. Sarada looked down to where 'Bolt' lay, only it was not him. Some plain, mousy man with brown hair and eyes. He was so horribly charred and burned that Sarada could hardly recognize him.

"No," the Hokage whispered. In the silence of their tomb, it was deafeningly loud. He was moving from body to body—not the ANBU, the Revolution. "No, no, no," he said, coming to a stop before Bolt, and beyond him, the Celestial Maiden. Who was, if Sarada was not mistaken, now a burly man with swarthy skin from the Land of Lightning.

"Just like Itachi and Kisame," the Hokage mumbled. "No, no—that means... the Leaf! It was a trap!"

Sarada had thought they had trapped the mice in their den. It was, in fact, the opposite. They had foolishly wandered into the lion's den and became the beast's next meal instead.

* * *

It had been a slow, calm night, Shizune thought, until the news aired. She yawned, quickly flipping through ream after ream of reports compiled over the previous few years. The Union had compiled and shared every bit of information on the Revolution. The Leaf had been one of the largest contributors. She was looking for something, anything, to help Naruto. Like Tsunade before him, it was her duty to aid the Hokage. Now more than ever.

"I'm going to get another box," Shizune told Ino with a sigh. She quickly organized the reports, placed them in their box, and made her way to the bottom floor. Torture and Intelligence kept their records safely below ground in a large, well defended vault.

Shizune stumbled on the last step of the stairs. Damn thing. She frowned as a bit of dust fell from the ceiling. Odd. They were at least a hundred feet below ground. Vibrations shouldn't carry that far down. Shizune shrugged and made a mental note to ask one of the guards if something was wrong. She turned the doorknob and stepped into the hall that led to the first of many vaults.

She stopped, eyes wide, with a cold, roiling fear in her gut. It was so visceral it was as if she had been stabbed in the gut with a sword of ice. Two men stood at the end of the hall, near the locked door to enter the next section of vaults. One younger, shorter, and one older, taller. Both had black hair. Both wore featureless white masks of the Revolution.

But it was their black cloaks emblazoned with red clouds that struck fear into her heart. Shizune could feel that cold, dead hand gripping her skull by the roots of her hair. She remembered the agony as he spirit was torn from her body and cast into the afterlife like garbage. She remembered the yawning abyss of darkness dotted by countless fires.

And they were both looking at her. "I'll handle this, Sky," the younger one said in a lyrical tone.

The older one simply dipped his head in acknowledgement and continued to fiddle with the door. Shizune felt her eyes widen as she saw he was undoing the seal that kept the door locked.

"Hello there—" the young one had said. Shizune ran. She ran like she had never ran in her life before. Drop the box, turn, out the door, down the hall, to the stairs, one step, five, eleven, second floor, and—

Shizune threw herself to the side as barrage of arrows formed of water tore through the air. She pressed herself to the wall, cursing herself for not wearing her ninja tools. "Ino!" Shizune screamed.

"That's not very nice," the Akatsuki member said in that sing-song voice of his.

Then he began to hum. Shizune didn't know why and she didn't want to find out. Instead, she wove a quick few hand signs. Her hands started to glow blue-white with chakra. She darted forward, crossing the gap in an instant, and took a swing at the man's neck. He leaned backward, casually avoiding the attack, and continued to hum a lyrical tune that reverberated through her mind.

Shizune looked up to see a wall of dusty air part around the man and slam into her. She raised both arms across her face and chest, blocking the worst of the damage, but still felt blades of wind cut her legs, stomach, and arms.

The older man, Sky, his partner had called him, appeared at the end of the hall. "Do not be sloppy, Blue," Sky chided him.

Sky and Blue—that was their names. Now, their abilities. Blue possessed Water Release, probably at least two more if he was a member of Akatsuki, and appeared to have some unique form of auditory jutsu. Sky possessed Wind Release and some skill in fūinjutsu. Shizune took a deep breath to steady herself. She heard the door at the end of the hall behind her open and knew reinforcements had arrived.

Ino had fetched Sai and brought three guards with her. By the pallor of her skin, she was just as shocked as herself to discover two men wearing Akatsuki robes in the bowels of the Torture and Intelligence building. "Be careful," Shizune told her teammates, discreetly signing them their enemies' abilities.

All the while, Blue continued that eerie humming. Ino, it seemed, knew what he was doing. "Stop him! It's a genjutsu!"

Sai pulled a large blank scroll from his back and hastily scrawled an inky drawing that came to life. Before his creation could leap from the parchment, Sky threw a gnarled, weathered hand forward. Sai sloppily dragged his brush across the page. The beast that came out was warped and hobbled forward on unsteady legs. Then it burst into a shower of ink as a barrage of needles tore through it.

Shizune pressed her body to the wall, along with Ino, while Sai leaped up to the ceiling and clung to it with chakra. One of the guards managed to dart across the hall to the wall opposite her, but the other was not so fortunate. He was peppered with tens of needles. He lay on the floor, still twitching, even as the four of them took defensive positions.

From the darkness came a lumbering thing—a puppet—with limbs as thin as twigs. Its jaw worked up and down and filled the air with an eerie chattering. The panels along its chest closed and hid the machinery within that had launched the needles.

More chattering filled the air. "Shit," Ino swore just loud enough that Shizune could hear. An additional three puppets shambled into the hallway.

Shizune felt her eyes grow heavy. She blinked. What was—the fight. The Akatsuki. She wove signs and exhaled a cloud of noxious purple gas. "Shizune! Stop!" Sai was yelling.

Why did she need to stop? The enemy was right there and—and her allies weren't resistant to poison like she and Lady Tsunade were! Why had she forgotten that! Shizune felt her eyes grow itchy and her lids heavy. She was so tired. Just needed to—just needed to...

"Mind Transfer Jutsu!" Ino shouted beside her. Shizune just stared at her dumbly. Ino went limp and fell to the floor. But only for a moment. She awoke and screamed an unearthly, shrill wail.

"Ino!" Sai yelped, cutting down one of the puppets with his shortsword before coming to his wife's aid. Shizune tried to stand, tried to help, but found that her legs felt like lead. She fell forward and tried to crawl. What was that technique called? Something to do with her hands, yes... Arcane Fingers? No, that wasn't right. There was some... light—chakra, not light, chakra—involved. It was... purple? No, not purple. Blue? Blue! No, wait, that was normal chakra. This was supposed to be...

"He's not human!" Ino was shrieking, pointing wildly at the end of the hall.

"Green!" Shizune shouted victoriously. Green! The technique made her hands green! That would help!

Her vision tunneled and darkened. She felt lethargic. Like waking up after a good nap on a warm afternoon.

"Should we kill them?" Shizune heard a deep, baritone man ask. He was important! Shizune knew he was important! She just didn't know why—why was he interrupting her nap!

"No," a man with a soft, musical voice answered. "They're not on the list."

Shizune watched their backs as the two men walked back down to the lower levels of... of what? It didn't matter. Their robes were oddly, alarmingly, familiar to her. A field of black with clouds of red. She knew that symbol from somewhere. Shizune knew she did. Maybe an old painting Lady Tsunade had shown her?

Shizune smiled and curled in upon herself. Then she closed her eyes and returned to her nap.

* * *

Shikamaru had been filling out forms that Naruto should have completed eight days ago. Really, he wondered how Naruto had become Hokage sometimes. He was uniquely and frustratingly qualified in his strength and charisma, but woefully inadequate when it came to strategy and cunning and perseverance to finish paperwork and—

He was about to sneak out to the roof and watch the clouds. That was when the explosions began. His heart hammered in his chest as he leaped from the chair, over the desk, and away from the windows. An instant later, fire tore through the reinforced glass and incinerated most of the damn forms he had been filling out.

"Troublesome," Shikamaru swore under his breath. He was absolutely not going to be the one to redo those forms or explain to Naruto why his stash of hidden instant ramen was now little more than ash.

Shikamaru peaked over the charred remains of the ornate desk that had served the Leaf since its founding. A shame, truly, made of warm brown wood by the First. It would be missed. Beyond the desk was nothing but air. A nice, if large and windy, window into the Leaf. He could see the clouds, a little dark and heavy with rain, far above. Shikamaru preferred them white and fluffy. In the distance a wave of liquid fire consumed a restaurant Chōji liked.

 _A wave of liquid fire consumed a restaurant Chōji liked. Someone had just bombed the Hokage Tower._

Logic and reality caught up with him. Shikamaru found himself breathing heavily and clutching at his chest. His mind ordered itself. Just like when he played chess. Step one: identify the attackers. He glanced upward. Not at the clouds—at the thing flying far beneath them. A bird far larger than any he had ever seen with a plumage the color of blood. On its back stood a woman with a white mask and... an Akatsuki robe.

Step two: gather more information. Moegi and Udon stormed into the room with weapons drawn. Ah, good. "Udon! Find me Chōji and Ino! Moegi, organize scouts and whatever ANBU we still have in the village! I need to know what we're up against!"

Easy. They hurried to obey. Step three: why were the Akatsuki attacking them? Step three, part two: were they remnants of the original Akatsuki or an imitation? They had to be an imitation, Shikamaru decided. The old Akatsuki were all dead, except for—

"Troublesome," Shikamaru swore forcefully. Udon returned with a group in tow. Shikamaru sighed in relief.

"Dad!" Shikadai exclaimed as he ran over to check on him.

"I'm fine," Shikamaru assured his son. Chōji gave him a tense nod. Behind him, Chōchō was pacing and trembling in equal measure. Inojin was palming a brush and scroll of parchment with wary eyes that darted back and forth. Shikamaru felt sorry for him—for all of them. He had hoped, prayed, that their children would not see the kind of combat he and his friends had seen in their short lives. It seemed as if that wish would not be coming true.

Moegi came next with more familiar faces. "Kakashi," Shikamaru breathed. Someone in the Pure Lands was watching out for him. Asuma, most likely. Behind Kakashi was Mirai. Shikamaru didn't want to see her in harm's way, but he could only play with the pieces he had been given. With shaky hands, Shikamaru withdrew a cigarette and his teacher's lighter. A long drag calmed his nerves.

"Okay," Shikamaru began. "Kakashi, I need you to lead a scouting team and figure out who and what we're up against. I saw at least three sources of damaging techniques. One of them was riding atop a flying mount and wearing an Akatsuki robe—" Kakashi visibly flinched as if struck. "—if we're dealing with the Akatsuki, or an organization like them, assume we're facing the best of the best. Take no chances."

Kakashi nodded. "I'll take Mirai and a squads two and three with me and see what I can do," he said.

Shikamaru nodded. "Take Moegi and Udon too. Chōji, Chōchō, Inojin, and Shikadai—you're with me. We need to check on... someone. As soon as possible," he stressed. Chōji seemed to understand. "Have you seen Ino?"

Chōji shook his head. "No. She and Sai were helping Shizune with—"

"Troublesome," Shikamaru swore, practically eating his cigarette as he took another drag. "Send someone to check on them. Now. And get a squad stationed at T&I. They'll be a high priority target if—"

An explosion tore through the floor below them. Shikamaru yelped as the floor disappeared beneath his feet. Then he remembered that if he simply did nothing that he would fall into a roaring pit of fire and die. So he leaped away and out the window.

The Leaf had turned into a warzone. The Akatsuki member flying through the air had long tails of parchment trailing behind her that rained explosive tags down on the city. There were pools of lava in the streets and many buildings had been crushed beneath slabs of volcanic rock. Explosions routinely rocked the city. They targeted the taller buildings only it seemed. Shikamaru couldn't see any damage to any smaller buildings. Likely a line of sight attack. Perhaps based on Explosion Release—

Lava Release. Explosion Release. The Akiyama sisters. It had to be. Shikamaru swore under his breath. What were they doing here? Chōji landed beside him with a heavy thud. "Shikamaru! You alright?"

"Yeah. 'M fine," Shikamaru assured him. His son and Chōchō were staring at the destruction with wide, frightened eyes. Shikamaru snapped himself from his thoughts. "Everyone has their orders. We need to go, Chōji," he said. "I think they might be here for _him._ "

Chōji scowled. A dark look of understanding. Then they were off.

* * *

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch—fuckers! Clang. Clang. Crunch. Clang—you shits! Quiet. Dark. Quiet. Dark. Loud. Loud. Loud, loud, loud! Crunch. Clang. Bastards!

Dark. Dark. Dark. Light. Blinding. Light. Light, light, light! Light! Dark was bad! Dark was gone! Yes! Fuckers!

Air! Clean. Air! Good. Air! After so long. Take a breath. No. Can't. Why? Why! Why, why, why? Not fair. Not fair. Those bastards!

But, eyes. Eyes! Eyes work. Eyes good. Blink. Yes, blink works. Light! Light is back! No dark. Dark bad. No dark ever again. Please. Y—You little cunts!

Blood. Yes, blood. Can feel it. So close. Blood not his own. Woman. Woman! Not seen woman in... long time. Slitted eyes and no face. No face! Hah! Ugly bitch. Mouth. Mouth works. Lips work. Tongue works. Lips part. No sound. Tongue doesn't work. Dry. Too dry. Water? Water. Water was good. So, so good. Water? Where was water? Those thieving little shits! Kill! Kill them all!

Words. More words. Ears work. Brain works. Words again. What do they mean?

Him. He. Tall. Light! Blinding, blinding light. Eyes hurt. Same hair. Same eyes. Eyes of power. Eyes that pierced his soul and laid him bare. Just like him. Had to be. Had to be! At last! At long last! Jaw works. Up. Down. Swallow. Lips part. "Pain?"

Words. So hard. More words. Eyes of power. Eyes of power that judged and weighed and measured and—small. So very, very small. Eyes that found his own. Light! Light burned! Eyes that found him, and found him wanting. No. No! No, no, no! No, please! Not the dark! Never again! Not again! It—it was those damn kids! Those—those—those... those fucking heathens! Not him! The heathens! Fuck them!

He was a malevolent god. But a god all the same. His god had descended to the mortal plane and graced him with his presence. His god had come to punish them! Punish them all! Pain to them all! Suffer! Agony!

"Lord Jashin!" Hidan rasped.

* * *

Shikamaru ran a shaky hand through his hair. He frowned as he picked out a pebble or two. Rubble from destroyed buildings. The Nara clan's forests were as silent as the grave. No birds sang in the trees and no deer, his clansmen in all but blood, ran through the underbrush. Even the trees resisted the urge to groan and sway.

That was how he knew something was wrong. "Troublesome," Shikamaru swore. Step... he forgot which step he was on. That would depend on what Kakashi and his group found. Alright. Step... six—Shikamaru peeked around the tree he was hiding behind—have Chōji and Chōchō smash the two Akatsuki members digging up Hidan. He and his son would use their shadows to shut them down if they dodged. Inojin could create ink creatures for a follow up attack while their Akimichi teammates recovered.

Then, depending on if the attack succeeded or not, he could...

"Alright, here's the plan," Shikamaru explained.

* * *

Kakashi had seen the Leaf in ruin twice in his life. He had hoped to never see his home in such a state again. Alas, fate was a cruel mistress and had other plans. For him and his home. It was chaos. Pure and simple. Explosions and fire did that to people who, for some of them, had never seen a true battle before. For others, it was a reminder of the harder times. A reminder of the Fourth War. A reminder of Pain. Kakashi certainly would never, could never, forget.

An explosion rocked the city block they were travelling through. He peered up at the sky through the roofs of the two houses that loomed on either side of the alleyway he and his team slinked through. The Akatsuki member on the bird—a strange beast that matched no species Kakashi had ever seen—was going to prove a problem. None of them had the range to attack from the ground or the ability to fly. Luckily, she seemed content to rain explosive tags upon them from up high and not much else. Kakashi could deal with that.

The other source of explosions was a mile and several city blocks away in the merchant's' district. A no man's land of rubble and fire between him and two more of their enemies. That was a death trap if Kakashi had ever seen one. Luckily, Lee and his son were headed that way. Tenten owned and operated a shop there. Kakashi had enough faith in his rival's students to handle the two of them.

More worrying was the brief flashes of red and blue light that he and Mirai were moving towards. Kakashi had sent most of his team to the Torture and Intelligence bureau. Shikamaru was right. They would be a target if their enemies were smart. Besides, he was confident enough in his and Asuma's daughter's strength. Whoever they met would rue the day they attacked the Leaf.

"Hell... yeah!" Kakashi could recognize that voice anywhere. A sound like a crack of thunder reverberated through the air. He peered around the corner of the building. Sakura, bless her heart, was whaling on... a shimmering barrier of red chakra. His student brought her immense strength to bear again with the same destructive power it wrought. Sakura slammed her fist into the barrier, again, only for it to hold steady. Another clap of thunder echoed as a blast of air rippled outward from the impact.

Damn. Kakashi hadn't fought an enemy who used fūinjutsu since the Third War. He would have to brush up on those skills on the fly. "Let's move," he whispered to Mirai. She nodded, crimson eyes locked on their foes.

While they moved into a more advantageous position, Kakashi sized up their enemies. Two men, both tall and thin with blond hair, wearing identical white masks with exaggerated features and a strange bone structure. Their masks had long faces—like a horse, almost—with a necklace of prayer beads around their necks. They, of course, both wore Akatsuki robes. Both held staves of gnarled wood. One of the men held their staff aloft. The barrier master, Kakashi assumed.

Around them, the city burned. The other man turned and spat a blade of water forth. He snapped his head to the side and cut the supports of a building out from under it. It collapsed in mere moments. Kakashi steeled himself as he heard screams and cries of terror. He didn't have the time nor the ability to save them. They had chosen to live in the heart of the Leaf—the military district. That was a risk they had taken for themselves. They lived in an era of peace but that did not guarantee that the Leaf would not be attacked again.

Kakashi lead Mirai to a mound of rubble that had been set aflame. They were as close to the fight as they could get without being seen. He could hear the sound of Sakura slamming her fists angrily into the barrier. Kakashi signaled the standard code to Mirai; ambush, fire, me, wind, you. Mirai nodded in understanding. Together, as one, they wove hand signs and stepped around the mound of rubble. Kakashi took a breath and exhaled a roaring wave of fire. Opposite him, Mirai breathed a blast of pressurized air that stoked his fire to new heights in heat and power.

Both men snapped their heads around. The barrier master kept his staff raised as he took one glance at them and turned back to focus on Sakura—who had lunged forward upon seeing them and slammed an extra powerful fist into the barrier. The other man raised his staff. Kakashi saw the air shimmer as a barrier of brilliant blue chakra snapped into existence. Their combination jutsu broke upon the barrier like water upon a rock before withering and dying.

Kakashi swore under his breath as he dodged a lance of water from the man who created the blue barrier. It was like fighting a—hopefully—weaker version of Pain. A matched pair, a set, one of whom could create a barrier to block physical attacks, and another who could presumably block chakra-based attacks.

But Kakashi held hope for their victory. No technique was flawless. No technique was without risks or limitations. Like Pain's seemingly invulnerability to all attacks, so too did Kakashi believe that these men had a flaw, a limit, to their barrier jutsu.

A few quick signs and the ground beneath his feat weakened and opened up. "Cover me," Kakashi told his teammate. Mirai nodded as she withdrew two chakra blades. They glowed blue as she channeled her chakra into the steel. Kakashi dived into the stone and swam forward. If his estimate had been correct, the blue barrier master would have been standing...

Kakashi felt his fingers brush foreign chakra. Thick, like water, and shining a brilliant blue that lit up the underground tunnel. It pulsed as if alive. Almost as if it had a heartbeat of its own. It was—a feedback loop. Kakashi dove to the side as a barrage of watery arrows tore the ground asunder in their bid to eviscerate him. It was difficult to dodge underground effectively so he made a hasty retreat toward the surface. There, Kakashi withdrew and hurled a kunai at the closest target he could find. A barrier of red chakra shimmered into existence and stopped the attack. An instant later, the gas bomb attached to the hilt detonated. Kakashi smiled beneath his mask as the gas passed through the barrier with ease.

He added that information to the tally in his head. The barriers were air permeable and the red one, in particular, allowed poisonous gas to pass through unheeded.

The only problem... neither of the men from the Akatsuki seemed to care. They shrugged off the gas and made no move to avoid it, hold their breath, disperse the gas, or scramble for a rebreather. Kakashi frowned. The Leaf used their own poison gas whose makeup was classified. If these men were immune to it that meant they had somehow discovered the antidote to it. A possible spy? Kakashi didn't want to entertain the thought that one of his friends, his comrades, would betray the Leaf.

"Sakura!" Kakashi barked, signing his intent to her. An old code used solely by Team Seven. Sakura stomped the ground and upheaved a cloud of debris. Then she slammed her fist into a boulder the size of his skull. It flew through the air with an audible hiss towards the man who conjured the blue barrier.

His partner turned and created a barrier of red chakra between the boulder and the other man. Kakashi grinned as he lunged forward from his hiding spot. Lightning arced across his fist as he lunged forward and brought his Raikiri down upon the man's back just where his heart would be. There was no dodging at this range when the attack originated from a blind spot.

So when the man ducked forward and allowed his Raikiri to sail harmlessly overhead, Kakashi felt something cold stir in his belly. Time slowed. With great reluctance, Kakashi raised his eyes to gaze at the man's partner. He was staring at him intently. Kakashi grunted as a boot connected with his ribs. He crashed into a ruined house or store and the building crumbled around him. Kakashi wheezed as his instincts took over. He leaped up and away as a rolling wave of water slammed into the building. There was the sound of screaming electricity in the distance. Kakashi could still feel the spray of water on his face. He expected the harsh bite of lightning.

It never came. Mirai was dancing a circle around the red barrier master with her chakra blades. Sakura was doing her level best to crush the blue barrier master into a fine, meaty pulp. She was strong, but not that fast, and appeared to be making no great progress. Kakashi breathed a sigh of relief as he lived to fight another day. The weight of his years settled on his shoulders. He rejoined his team and redoubled his efforts.

"Sakura!" Kakashi called. "Their vision! It's linked!" He could hear her muttered curse from across the battlefield. It was drowned out by a ferocious battle cry as she sent a high kick towards the blue barrier master. He artfully dodged but the wind stirred in passing lifted him off the ground and hurled him backwards.

Kakashi wracked his brain for a strategy. If their vision was linked then they would have to separate them just like Pain. Then they needed to overcome their individual techniques. It was kind of frightening, really, how similar the two men were to being a Path. Kakashi thought back to how Sakura had been whaling on the red barrier. It was unlikely she held back—much—and therefore reasonable to assume that breaking the barrier was improbable. If the same strength was mirrored in the blue barrier, that meant no chakra-based attack would be able to shatter it. At least, not one Kakashi was capable of creating. So they needed to change things up. Sakura against the blue barrier master and him against the red barrier master.

Kakashi wove hand signs. An earthen barrier was erected between the two men. Kakashi chose to imagine that there was a look of frustration beneath their masks. He had seen how the two of them had been circling their opponents in order to stand closer to one another. Covering their weaknesses. They were stronger together than they were apart. The red barrier master turned to glare at him. Kakashi lunged and thrust his arm forward. Lightning leapt from his fingertips and screamed its fury.

His target leapt up and away—towards the top of the earthen wall. Kakashi was right behind him, just as fast, and already weaving hand signs. He breathed a roaring inferno down upon the red barrier master before the man could get his feet planted atop the wall. Kakashi had been hoping, praying for success, but he was not surprised when he was met with failure. The masked man tilted his head up and spat a churning, frothing wave of misty water forth. Fire and water met in an explosion of steam that fogged the battlefield.

Kakashi swore. It was times like these when he truly missed having a Sharingan. He was blind to the world. He could only hear the faint sound of heavy breathing, hissing air as it was rend by steel, and his student's furious battle cries.

A powerful gust of wind swept through the battlefield. Kakashi blinked as the world was once more bared to him. Sakura was—had been—fighting a pillar of concrete. Mirai was breathing heavily and held her hands contorted in a sign. And the two barrier masters were, once more, standing together. Sakura and Mirai joined him in standing opposite the two members of the Akatsuki.

"What do we do?" Sakura asked. She clenched her fists so tightly the leather of her gloves strained and her knuckles popped.

"It doesn't seem like we'll be able to separate them," Kakashi murmured. "They're too smart, too strong, for that. We'll go for their weakness instead. Red blocks physical attacks, blue blocks chakra attacks. Hit them with both at the same time."

Sakura and Mirai nodded. Kakashi took a breath.

* * *

Chōji and Chōchō were growing; taller, heavier, broader. Muscles rippled beneath fat. Shikamaru nodded. Father and daughter leaped skyward with surprising grace and stealth. Inojin was hastily penning the last of his creations into existence while he and his son both held their hands contorted with the Rat sign. Shikamaru could feel the shadows wax and wane as his Yin chakra flowed through him. The darkness, the shadow world that mirrored the physical one, answered his call—as it had with every member of the Nara clan since time immemorial.

Shikamaru saw the man tense and heard him bark an order. An instant later, both Chōji and Chōchō slammed their fists—now larger across than Shikamaru was tall—down upon the two foreign ninja. The man was quick in an unnatural way; quick like a bird or some other small animal, short bursts of rapid movement that was difficult for the eye to follow. He cleared out before Chōchō could hit him.

The woman? Not nearly so. But she was a different kind of terrifying. The Akimichi, in their giant forms, were much stronger than regular men and women. Simple physics. The Akatsuki woman dug her heels in, turned, and slammed her fist skyward. Chōji met her fist with his own. Shikamaru expected him to easily trump the smaller, weaker ninja in strength.

He didn't. There was an echoing, dull crack of snapping bone followed by a strangled scream of pain as Chōji's knuckles buckled and warped in upon themselves under the force of the woman's blow. The ground beneath her feet was webbed with cracks. Shikamaru felt anger, hot and boiling, bubble in his stomach. His shadow lashed out, mirrored by his son's.

"White! Dodge!" the man barked another order.

The woman—White—abandoned her contest of strength in favor of leaping out of the path of his shadow. But Shikamaru wasn't about to give up his quarry that easily. Not after she had dared to hurt Chōji. His shadow slithered forward, fraying at the edges and unravelling into multiple tendrils of darkness with a life of their own. The tendrils lunged forward with a tangible density as Shikamaru tried to spear her to the trunk of a tree. That was the bad thing about being in the air—you couldn't dodge.

White lashed out with a vicious kick that was echoed by a clap of thunder. The force of the kick hurled her to safety well out of the reach of his shadows. Or, apparently, you could dodge midair. "Troublesome," Shikamaru grumbled.

"Dad!" Shikadai cried in alarm.

Shikamaru snapped his head around. "Shit," he swore. The other member of Akatsuki had cleared the distance between them and where Hidan had been buried alive in the space between one breath and the next. He artfully dodged each tendril of shadow his son sent out. Shikamaru sent his own shadow to held his son's while he kept an eye on White who was dodging trees and boulders that Chōji and Chōchō uprooted with great kicks of their boots. He swallowed as the woman punched a boulder that was as large around as a kitchen table only for it to be pulverized to dust and pebbles.

Finally, Inojin and his inky creations joined the fray. Two giants, standing twice his height with musculature that would make the Raikage envious, emerged from the woods and charged forward. Shikamaru flashed their enemy a sloppy grin as he faltered mid-stride amid two dancing shadows as the two giants crashed down upon him.

One of the giants slammed a fist down and hit nothing but air and dirt. The other lashed out with its clawed foot and uprooted a tree as the man ducked under the kick. Shikamaru brought his shadow to bear; circling, ensnaring. He darted away, faster than before, and skidded to a halt as a third inky giant lumbered forward. Shikamaru flinched to the side as the Akatsuki member hurled a barrage of shuriken at him with such speed it's difficult to register the movement. He earned a gash on the cheek and shoulder despite having evaded four of the six projectiles.

A plague of inky rats skittered forward from the underbrush. Shikamaru breathed a sigh of relief. With a thought, he sent another tendril of darkness slithering away from his shadow. Behind his back, it reached up and stole a chakra blade from a pouch on his belt before slipping into the shadow of a tree and snaking into the forest. It was child's play to sneak the shadow around behind the man's back. A blade of water cut through the tide of rats as he dodged another wide punch of the ink giant. With a thought, Shikamaru commanded his shadow to strike.

The chakra blade sailed down toward the man's shadow with the sealing tag trailing behind it. There was a long moment where Shikamaru was certain that would be the end of the fight. Even if you dodged the blade, it was difficult for most people to dodge in such a way that their shadow moved out of the path. The member of the Akatsuki moved with an alacrity not yet displayed; he dodged the knife, then contorted his body in such a manner that his shadow was cast in a different direction. The bastard had eyes in the back of his head Shikamaru swore.

He leaped to the safety of a tree branch. "Water Release—" Trouble-fucking-some. "—Great Colliding Wave!"

A towering, frothing wave of water was spat forward. It eclipsed the tallest of the old growth trees by several tens of feet. "Inojin!" Shikamaru barked as he grabbed his son by the collar, turned tail, and ran. Ino's son was running ahead of them and furiously scrawling on his scroll. Shikamaru chanced a backwards glance. "Now! Now!" he yelped as the wave gained on them.

From the parchment a large inky turtle swam into existence. Shikamaru pushed his son forward and the two of them leaped to its back. He helped pull Inojin aboard his creation just as the wave hit them. Shikamaru grit his teeth as the force behind the water threatened to throw him from the turtle's shell. A liberal application of chakra ensured his feet stayed firmly planted.

"How much chakra does this bastard have!" Shikadai snapped as he fell to all fours.

Shikamaru grimaced as the man continued to pump wave after wave of water forth without the aid of a natural source of water. Of course the new Akatsuki would be every bit as monstrous as the old, Shikamaru thought.

"Dad!" Chōchō cried out.

Shikamaru looked up as he felt a shadow cast over them. Chōji fell from the sky. He was limp, bloody, and bruised, but Shikamaru could see his chest moving up and down. His friend landed with an explosive clap of water striking flesh. Another tidal wave of water, created by his landing, surged forward and capsized the ink turtle. Shikamaru closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he came to, his clan's forest had been inundated by a small lake and turned into a swampy wasteland; no forest, no deer. Shikadai and Inojin lay together several yards away from him. They looked unharmed, and Shikamaru could see they were still breathing, but that didn't mean much. Chōji had shrunk back down to his normal size and a crying Chōchō lamented over her father. Shikamaru grit his teeth and weaved a hand sign.

The fall of two sets of boots made his ears twitch. His heart began to hammer in his chest. The two members of the Akatsuki strode forward, side-by-side, each standing atop the mud as if it was beneath their notice. White looked from him to Chōchō. "Should I kill them, Pain?" White asked.

His breath caught in his throat. No, not the children. Anything but that. "Wait—"

"No," the man—Pain—said. "They're harmless. But you," Pain looked to him. Shikamaru swallowed. "But you, Shikamaru Nara, are dangerous. For the—" Pain paused, his head tilted as if listening to some unheard voice. "—for the sake of peace you must die here or you'll become a problem later."

"Crazy troublesome bastard," Shikamaru snarled. He couldn't afford to die here. Not yet.

"Farewell," Pain said as he thrust a hand forward. A spear of lightning tore through his chest.

Then Shikamaru's world became shadow.

* * *

Kakashi sucked in a breath. Mirai mirrored him. Sakura brought her fist down upon the earth. As one, he and Mirai exhaled a gust of wind that kicked dirt, sand, and pebbles up. Kakashi hurled a handful of smoke bombs into the mix. It was an effective smokescreen. They each had their tasks and he would trust his team to not fail him.

He could feel the earth tremble underfoot as Sakura charged forward blindly with her tremendous strength. She was angled toward the blue barrier master. Kakashi would attack the red barrier master while Mirai shifted between the two of them. He brought up his hand, wreathed in screaming purple electricity. The influx of natural energy blended with his chakra in a delightful, heady mix of power and freedom. He was no Sage, and his technique paled in comparison to the black lightning of Cloud, but it was powerful enough.

At least, Kakashi hoped it was. Mirai darted forward, leading the charge, and their group left the safety of the debris cloud at breakneck speeds. Sakura lashed out with a punch that sounded more like a crack of a whip than whoosh of air. Mirai took a deep breath before exhaling a rolling ball of fire at the blue barrier master—who conjured his barrier to block the attack—and then snapped her head to the side and directed it at the red barrier master. Sakura failed to connect with her punch, for the barrier masters were far too agile, but her attacks forced the two men to close ranks.

Kakashi leapt to the side, raised his arm, and unleashed his lightning. Both men snapped to attention as their eyes found his own. The blue barrier master raised his staff and shifted his barrier to block the lightning. In that moment, Sakura lunged forward with enough strength to shatter the stone beneath her feet. The red barrier master recovered, turned, and defended his partner with his own barrier. Kakashi took a breath and continued his attack. He felt the drain of the technique on his reserves heavily.

Mirai leaped skyward and Kakashi smiled as she hurled her chakra blades—now wreathed in glowing, shimmering Wind chakra—at the two Akatsuki members. Because Kakashi had noticed one fatal flaw in the two mens' technique: they could not move when they channeled their barrier jutsu. And, no matter which barrier they used, Mirai would strike them down. The steel of the chakra blades or the Wind Release technique they were wreathed in.

It was over.

The air shimmered with power and chakra. Red and blue mingled and intertwined to form a dark, oppressive purple. The chakra blades soared forward, struck the purple barrier, and were batted aside. Kakashi cut the flow of chakra to his jutsu and took a few rapid leaps backward. The barrier masters stood inside a cube of softly glowing chakra—a combination jutsu. "Damn," Kakashi swore.

Sakura and Mirai joined him. "Now what?" Mirai asked.

That was the question, wasn't it? Kakashi took several deep breaths to calm himself. Their enemies did not move from their barrier. Strange, considering their earlier aggression. Their staves, too, hung at their sides instead of at the ready. "They can't attack," Kakashi deduced. His mind ran through all the barrier techniques he knew. He hurled another gas bomb at the purple barrier. This time, it did not phase through. "The barrier isn't gas permeable. It's a totally defensive technique that wasn't designed for stop-and-go offense like their individual barriers."

"If gas doesn't pass through, they'll have to take the barrier down sometime for air," Sakura stated.

"And when they do," Mirai said. "We'll be waiting for them."

Kakashi nodded. He stilled as, as one, the two barrier masters raised their right arms and formed a half-Ram sign. They said a handful of words but they didn't carry. Kakashi swore under his breath. He could have read their lips if he still had his Sharingan.

"What are they..." Sakura muttered.

Both men disappeared in a wisp of chakra. Their barrier dissipated shortly after. "Shit!" Kakashi swore. He cast a fearful glance around the battlefield. He couldn't see them, or their barriers, and—there they were. To the south, several city blocks away, where the explosions had been—where Lee and his son had gone to Tenten's aid. "Damn! They're going after Lee and Tenten!"

Sakura was already taking loping strides forward across burning rubble and pools of still cooling lava. Kakashi gave chase as Mirai brought up their rear.

* * *

Lee shifted into a stance that allowed a greater range of movement. There was no sense in trying to physically block molten rock or explosive fire. Better to simply dodge. Beside him, his son mirrored him. It brought a small, prideful smile to his lips. Tenten was standing behind them, before the flaming ruins of her shop, clutching an overly large scroll under each arm. Inside, Lee knew, were countless thousands upon thousands of ninja tools.

Their foes—dastardly and un-youthful—stood before them. Their masks had been lost in the fighting revealing beautiful faces matched only by their cruelty. They were the Akiyama sisters, Lee knew, the ones responsible for the destruction of the Great Naruto Bridge.

One of them—the one who could create explosions with a snap of her fingers—wiped a trail of blood away that streamed down her chin from a split lip Lee had gifted her. She raised one arm and he tensed. But, instead of an explosion, her hand formed the half-Ram sign. "Kagami here, boss," she said. Her voice was strangely warped and distorted. "Priority target one in sight. Requesting reinforcements," Kagami said with what Lee could tell was great distaste.

He would have taken pride in that ordinarily. Forcing opponents as great as those who thought they could masquerade as the new Akatsuki to call for help. But Lee didn't take any pride in that. Because Kagami wasn't looking at him when she said those words.

She was looking at Tenten.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Code Geass sequel was announced a couple of days ago. I am hyped beyond words.

Updates will be a bit sporadic from now until January. Holiday season and finals being the main culprits. I also want to take my time and make sure this arc is done well. This chapter was late due to Thanksgiving, which I hope you all enjoyed. I'm thinking there will be three (3) chapters that constitute this arc. I ask that you reserve judgements and complaints until the end when the whole picture is revealed.

The fights, so far: Tsuchigumo and Hibiki vs. Shizune, Ino, and Sai; Bolt and Hikari vs. Shikamaru, Chōji, Shikadai, Chōchō, and Inojin; the Sage of the North and South vs. Kakashi, Sakura, and Mirai; Tenten, Rock Lee, and Metal Lee vs. the Akiyama sisters.


	70. Chapter 70

Lee blinked as Kagami weaved seven short hand signs, bit her thumb, and slammed her palm to the ground. Two wisps of acrid smoke spat forth two more opponents—masked men wearing the Akatsuki robes. They wore strange masks of white and wielded gnarled wooden staves. And, worst of all, they had their eyes set on Tenten. "Good work, Kagami. Kagari," one of them said as he stepped forward.

"Thanks, boss!" Kagami said with false cheer. At least it seemed false to Lee. He could tell they respected, perhaps even feared, this "boss" of theirs.

The man who had spoken looked around. He scoured the battlefield for something. What that was Lee didn't know. Eventually, his eyes settled on them. "You were present at the final battle of the Fourth War," he told Tenten. "You found something that did not belong to you. Something more powerful than your meager comprehension. Where is it?"

"Not telling, asshole," Tenten snapped as she brandished her scrolls. "Who the fuck are you anyway?"

"Pain," he answered her—them. "And I can assure you that you will come to understand that name in great detail if you do not cooperate."

Lee tensed and clenched a fist. He would not—could not—forget the day he and his team returned to the Leaf to find it a smoking, ruined crater. Seeing the giant toads of Mount Myōboku lying broken and defeated on their way in had struck fear into his heart. He felt useless. Guilty that he had not been there for his friends and his home. And this man—this man took upon that name willingly. He brought about the rise, the second coming, of the Akatsuki. And he had threatened a lady! How uncouth. His toes dug into the spongy material of his boots as he darted forward. Lee threw a fist forward with a muttered battle cry. "Youth!"

His fist met a shimmering barrier of red chakra. He winced as his knuckles were forced to yield to the barrier. They were going to bruise tomorrow, Lee was sure. The second masked man—the second Pain—stepped forward and inhaled with an audible swell of his chest. A blade of compressed water tore from the small opening in the mask that let him speak and breathe. Lee kicked the ground and darted away fast as the wind.

Behind him, Tenten had unfurled both scrolls. From one came a rain—a literal rain—of all manner of projectiles; darts, throwing daggers, throwing axes, arrows, shuriken, kitchen knives, kunai, and weighted steel pellets. From the other, she produced an arsenal of handheld weapons that she sunk into the ground for ease of access; countless swords, clubs, shields, spears, several bows, axes, staves, a flail, a whip, three maces, and a collection of farming _and_ combat scythes.

The projectiles clashed against the red barrier to no effect. Tenten grabbed a spear in one hand and a shield in the other as she strode forward. Lee circled around Pain and tried to find a weak spot in the barrier. He had ample experience fighting against so-called "ultimate" defenses. His numerous fights with Gaara flashed through his mind. He just had to be fast enough, hit hard enough, last long enough, and Pain would fall. He hit the barrier with a powerful high kick that rattled his bones but did little else. Then Lee ducked backwards into a series of backflips as a wave of molten rock threatened to cook him alive.

There was a small, almost inaudible click of flesh slapping against flash. It rang loudly in his ears. Lee threw himself out of the way. He cleared the blast radius by mere feet as Kagami snapped her fingers in quick succession. The street they had been fighting on was quickly being reduced to rubble along with the surrounding buildings. Lee saw a lull in the barrage of attacks and lunged forward. He delivered a swift, relentless combination of punches and kicks that rang hollow upon the barrier of red chakra.

The rumble of explosions, back-to-back, threaten to deafen him. Lee leaped away as Tenten continued to rain down explosive tags upon the four members of the Akatsuki. The other Pain stepped forward, raised his staff, and created a barrier of shimmering blue chakra that keeps the fire at bay. Still, Tenten was relentless. She had countless tens of thousands of explosive tags stored within her arsenal. She could rain fire down on them—literally—all day.

"Second Gate, Gate of Healing... open," Lee breathed. All the little aches and pains he had accumulated in the battle faded into a dull discomfort in the back of his mind. A wave of energy coursed through him, his muscles rippling, as he gained his second wind.

Far faster than before, Lee darted forward. Behind the group, where the Pain who created the red barrier had his back turned. And—Pain was damn fast. Unnaturally so, in Lee's opinion. Reflexes like that required training. Not just any training, but extreme training. Training like Guy had put him through. Pain turned and summoned a barrier of red chakra that caught his fist and held it fast. Lee pivoted and threw his weight forward. The application of more strength, he thought, would overpower the barrier.

It didn't. The barrier held, strong and unyielding. There was no flicker or crack in its surface. No groan under the immense pressure. It was too strong. Lee was gone before a wave of molten rock could swallow him. His son was copying him, darting back and forth with rapid, precise strikes that rang hollow on the barrier. All the while, the both of them dodged explosions that Tenten continued to rain down upon Pain.

Well, Lee would just have to hit them even harder. "Third Gate, Gate of Life... open," he hissed under his breath. Lee felt his heart hammer in his chest as his skin turned a dark maroon color.

He picked up his pace. Still, Pain was managing to keep up with him. Quick enough to follow his movements and block his strikes with the red barrier. Still, the barrier did not fall. A gout of molten rock flew his way and Lee darted away before it could even come close to touching him. An explosion tore through the ground he had been standing upon not more than a breath ago. A spear of water followed it in an attempt to run him through the chest. Lee lashed out with a punch that dispersed the water into a fine mist.

"Last chance," Pain rumbled. "Where is the Amber Purifying Pot?"

Tenten answered him by hurling an explosive tag at him that was taller than Lee was. It exploded in a brilliant display of light and heat that broke upon the blue barrier. Lee took a breath. "Fourth Gate, Gate of Pain... open," he intoned. He felt muscles go taut and begin to tear. A faint sheen of green chakra licked at his maroon skin.

This time, he moved with a blinding speed. Lee appeared behind Pain and lunged forward with a powerful, telegraphed punch. Pain didn't even have time to turn. Lee was too fast, too strong, and in perfect form.

Pain dodged. Like he had eyes in the back of his skull, he dodged. A casual forward lean that allowed him to bring up his foot and ram it into Lee's ribs. Lee hardly felt it with the power of the Eight Gates coursing through his body. He shrugged the kick off and brought up his arm for another punch. Pain abandoned his staff, leaned forward, and grabbed him by the wrist. Then he leaned in and pressed a finger to Lee's temple.

Lee blinked as a wave of fatigue suddenly washed over him. His body relaxed as his muscles, formerly taut cords of steel, relaxed. He grunted as Pain kneed him in the sternum and sent him careening into a mound of rubble. Lee sat there for a moment, gasping and writhing in the afterglow of pain that always came with the use of the Eight Gates.

Then, the pain was washed away. He opened his eyes. "Lee," Sakura said, her hands glowing green.

"Sakura," Lee mumbled back and began to climb to his feet. More allies had joined the fight against Pain. Lee felt a weight on his shoulders lessen at the sight of Kakashi. "Kakashi!"

"How are you holding up, Lee?" Kakashi asked. Asuma's daughter breathed forth a gust of wind that broke a wave of water. His son and Tenten worked in tandem to pressure the Pain that created the blue barrier. One of the twins—safely shielded within the red barrier—saw him. Lee grabbed Sakura and pulled her to safety as an explosion tore through the mound of rubble they had been standing on.

Kakashi landed beside him. "Fine," Lee grumbled. "Pain is putting up more of a fight than I thought. His barriers are tough."

The former Hokage nodded. "The red barrier blocks all physical attacks, and the blue barrier blocks all chakra-based attacks. They're capable of creating a combined barrier with the properties of both, however they become unable to move or attack and the barrier doesn't allow for the passage of air. We were fighting them before they came to you," Kakashi explained. Lee nodded. Sakura finished healing him and left to join the fray.

"Have you been able to damage the barrier?" Kakashi asked.

"No," Lee answered.

Kakashi sighed. "I hoped you would be able to," he said. "How many Gates have you used?"

"Four," Lee said, tensing as a wave of molten rock solidified into a slab of gray-black stone and nearly crushed Sakura.

"Their vision is linked! Try to separate them!" Sakura barked as she batted away spear of water in much the same way he did.

"Sakura tried to break through with her strength. The upper limit of the barrier must be truly frightening if it's held up to both you and her. I don't think it's possible for us to break it," Kakashi said. "That being said..."

Kakashi disappeared in a blur of movement and reappeared on the battlefield. Lee was right behind him. "We were wrong, Sakura," Kakashi said, loud enough for all of them—their enemies included—to hear. "Pain just wants us to think that. A clever trick, really. Playing off old knowledge and fears."

"What do you mean?" Sakura grunted as both she and Kakashi dodged an explosion from one of the Akiyama sisters.

"Honestly I wouldn't have figured it out myself if I hadn't seen Lee fight," Kakashi said. Lee could hear the smug smile in his tone. "Pain's vision isn't linked—it's omnidirectional. Because... he's a Hyūga. Both of them are. The red barrier master closed one of Lee's chakra points to cancel his Eight Gates."

The silence was loud as both parties stopped fighting. An unspoken agreement. Kakashi chuckled. "I must admit," he said. "Your masks are quite good. I can barely see the white of your Byakugan."

"... Kakashi Hatake the Copy Ninja," Pain finally spoke. "You are truly a dangerous man. The Leaf seems to have an abundance of such men. You will be the second such man to die today."

Lee felt his breath catch in his throat. Second?

"What do you mean—second?" Kakashi asked. His tone was icy cold and razor sharp.

"Shikamaru Nara," Pain said. The words were like a clap of thunder in his ears. "Don't be so surprised. It's standard tactics. Cut off the head of the snake and the body can do naught but flail."

The Akiyama sisters actually _laughed._ "You should see your faces," they said in that eerily mirrored fashion.

Sakura slammed her fist in the barrier of red chakra with enough force to shatter the stone they all stood upon. "I'll crush you, you heartless cunts!" Sakura screamed. The second punch pulped rock to dust.

"There's no need for more death," Pain explained calmly from behind his shield. "Simply give us what we want and we will leave. No more of you need die."

Lee saw Tenten twitch. Her fingers curled towards the seal he knew she had tattooed on her right wrist. He willed her not to give in. If Pain knew... "Sixth Gate, Gate of Joy... open," Lee bellowed. He was inclined to agree with Sakura. Crush their enemy underfoot. It was a plan he could get behind.

Sakura brought her fist down again with all the strength she could muster. The barrier held. Lee darted in, right behind her, and followed her attack up with one of his own. He made sure to keep an eye on Pain now that he knew he was a Hyūga. And didn't that sting? Memories of Neji flashed through his mind—

The barrier trembled. Sakura saw it too. "Again!" she snapped. Sakura darted around a gout of lava and slammed her fist into the barrier. Lee was right behind her, again, and did the same. The shimmering barrier rippled like a pool of water. Kakashi appeared opposite them, his hand wreathed in electricity. A bestial, four-legged construct leapt from his fingertips, a wolf or a dog, perhaps, and thundered towards Pain.

Pain—the one who created the blue barrier—shifted his attention from Tenten to Kakashi. As the Raikiri broke upon the barrier, Lee heard his teammate cry out in victory. "Got you!"

"Boss!" the Akiyama sisters yelped.

The Pain who created the physical barrier turned, extended an arm, and gestured with his hand. Tenten rained explosive tags down upon him. Pain seemed to grunt in effort. Then—

Then nothing happened. The tags floated to the ground, inert. "—What?" Tenten choked.

"Lightning Release," Pain intoned, weaving hand signs.

"Dodge, Tenten!" Kakashi barked.

Lee didn't hear the name of Pain's technique as a massive wall of screaming electricity tore itself from his fingertips. It cascaded forward, like a wave of water, right towards his teammate. Tenten stood there, gasping like a fish, not moving.

"Damn it!" Kakashi swore. An explosion obscured him as one of the Akiyama sisters attacked with a snap of her fingers.

Lee knew she wasn't quick enough to dodge. He disengaged from Pain and lunged for her. Lee scooped her into his arms and leapt skyward, out of range of the jutsu. A stray arc of electricity caught him in the leg and burned muscle and skin. Lee knew he would be feeling that for weeks after his Eight Gates transformation wore off.

"Lee! You alright?" Sakura yelled over the din of combat.

"Fine!" Lee answered her even as he felt his thigh twitch out of his control. That was going to hamstring his control.

"Where is the Amber Purifying Pot?" Pain asked, again.

"That," Kakashi chided. "Is a pointless question. No ninja of the Leaf would sell out their comrade."

Lee smiled. His expression fell as Pain—both of them—snapped their gaze in his direction in an eerily mirrored fashion. He looked down. Tenten was clutching at the metal bands wrapped around her right wrist. She seemed to realize her mistake in the same moment Lee did. Everything about Pain shifted to offense. Lee knew the deception was up.

Pain held up a single hand sign, a half-Ram. "Priority target one has changed," he said. "The girl is no longer important. Bring me her right arm."

"Hell no, you sick bastard!" Sakura screamed, appearing behind Pain with her arm drawn back for a devastating punch.

"Sakura, no!" Kakashi barked.

Pain ducked the punch, spun on the balls of his feet, and flashed through a series of stances with blinding speed. Sakura staggered away on unsteady legs. "He's a Hyūga!" Kakashi snapped. "Don't fight him in close range!"

But Lee heard the unspoken _"Unless you're fast enough."_ He had studied the Gentle Fist, studied Neji enough, to be confident in avoiding the worst Pain could throw his way. He lunged forward, crossing the distance in a single breath, and threw a fist forward.

An ungodly crash of cracking stone rang in his ears. His fist met something hard and unyielding that fell from the sky. It was massive. Easily towering over him by several tens of feet. A sheer face of interlocking shells of inky darkness framed by wisps of acrid smoke. Standing atop it in a lazy crouch was a masked woman. She was tall and thin with long blonde hair that fell in a flowing ponytail.

The two Pains joined her atop the... shell. "Damn it..." Kakashi swore. "That can't be. Two Hyūga, maybe, but three? Each with different abilities..."

The smoke cleared and Lee could finally see what had blocked his punch. A massive, titanic tortoise painted in a monochrome of blacks and grays. Flying above the—now three—Pains was a large bird of an unknown species with a crimson plumage.

"She's a summoner!" Kakashi shouted. "Don't let—"

He was silenced as a towering explosion of chakra tore through the sky.

* * *

Bolt walked through the forests surrounding his home leisurely. His chakra thrummed in his veins. He felt oddly... numb. That was the word. A calm numbness that muted what he rationally, logically knew should be a painful experience. He was betraying his home, his friends, his family, in the most devastating way possible.

Hikari walked at his side with rigid military discipline and alertness. Always keeping a wary eye on the woods. He knew she disagreed with leaving their opponents alive, but Bolt couldn't bring himself to murder them in cold blood. They were, are, harmless in the grand scheme of things. The only people he allowed the Akatsuki to kill were those who were too dangerous to be left alive.

Like the man—if you could call him that—he approached now. "Keep moving," Bolt told the simpering child that led them to the orphanage. He prodded the boy with his boot. The boy nodded and wiped furiously at his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't have been older than seven or eight with skin and hair as white as bone. One of the many children of the Shin clan.

The orphanage sat on the outskirts of the Leaf. Far from any military or civilian districts—no one to save them, no one to come to their aid. But, then again, with the creature who guarded them, did they really need the protection of mere men? It was an old building. Wooden, built in the style of a house from an older age. The roof was shingled with slabs of brilliant blue tiles.

Bolt ascended the steps and boldly stepped through the sliding doors. Hikari, behind him, pulled the sobbing boy with her. His foe stood before him—Kabuto Yakushi. A creature whose very existence lived to offend the eyes. He was tall, thin, and gaunt, with leathery pale skin marred with cracks and scales. His eyes, bestial yellow and slitted, stared at him murderously through the lenses of his glasses.

"You're a dead man," Kabuto hissed through fanged teeth. Bolt caught sight of the serpentine tongue caged within. It was a disturbing parody of Orochimaru. Primordial and crude and all the more terrifying for it.

"I think not," Bolt stated, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Let him go!" Kabuto demanded.

Bolt gave Kabuto a smile beneath his mask. "I will, of course," he said. "I have no intention of harming any of your children so long as you cooperate."

Kabuto bristled and hissed through clenched teeth. In a way, Bolt pitied him. "What do you want?" Kabuto asked.

"You're a changed man compared to what the history books wrote of you," Bolt said. "But you're dangerous. A wild animal whose owners have forgotten that it was—is—an untamed beast. One provocation and you'll fall back on old instincts."

Kabuto sneered at him but remained silent. "But even a beast has its uses," Bolt admitted. "You're powerful and knowledgeable. I propose a trade: you teach me one jutsu, and in return, I let your children live and go free. I swear it on my honor."

"No," Kabuto answered without hesitation. "Whatever jutsu a madman like you wants would certainly doom more lives than it would save."

Bolt took a breath. He had hoped it would not come to this, but he knew it would. Kabuto was an enemy they could not ignore. Not if true peace was to reign. He needed to die. And, reluctantly, Bolt admitted that unless he was willing to use the full might of his power, he would not be able to defeat Kabuto—and, perhaps, not even then. He _was_ powerful and knowledgeable of many things. Bolt could respect that. That was why he had to stoop so low to defeat Kabuto.

He kneeled, slowly, and rested both hands on either of the Shin boy's shoulders. Slowly, he drew up the boy's shirt enough to expose his belly. There, in swirling, inky blackness was a seal. Kabuto took a step forward, hissing, and Bolt quirked his head in response. "Check the others," he suggested.

Kabuto turned, keeping one eye on him and Hikari, and the other on the children cowering behind him. Frightened from the explosions, Bolt thought. The Divine Summoner and the Akiyama sisters were wreaking havoc and destruction. So much so that he could feel the tremors from the forest. Kabuto checked a boy and a girl and found an identical seal on their stomachs. "What have you done!" he demanded.

"A simple seal that spreads upon touch, like a sickness, if you will. If you cooperate, neither you nor they will have to find out what it does," Bolt answered the enraged snake. Kabuto took another step towards them. "Ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you," he commented. "Dead man's switch. If I die, they activate. If you attack, I activate them."

Kabuto was breathing heavily and seething with anger. Bolt felt his heart hammer in his throat. This was a gamble. One that he couldn't afford to lose. If Kabuto discarded the children, as he logically should, then Bolt would be forced to recall his Paths to deal with him. And without his Paths, his friends would be hard pressed to survive against the combined might of the Leaf.

"What do you want?" Kabuto snapped.

Bolt smiled even as a stream of sweat dripped down his back. "... Impure World Reincarnation," he said. Kabuto visibly recoiled. "You know of it, yes?"

"No. Absolutely not," the snake said. "I refuse."

"A shame," Bolt said. He stood and formed a half-Ram sign with one hand and quirked an eyebrow beneath his mask.

Kabuto couldn't see it, but the gesture wasn't lost on him. "... Not even if you threaten them," he said. "The technique dies with me and Lord Orochimaru."

Bolt could tell by the steel in his voice and eyes that Kabuto would not budge. A pity. "Fine," he shrugged. "Then die. Kill yourself and the children live." That was the problem with ninja who had powerful regenerative abilities like Orochimaru and, by extension, Kabuto. They tended to shrug off everything short of total cellular annihilation.

"You're lying," Kabuto said. "If I die, there's no one to protect them."

"I have no reason to hurt the children, Kabuto," Bolt said. "The only reason I'm here is you."

"Why?" Kabuto hissed.

"You're standing in the way of true peace," Bolt answered.

"Peace? What peace? You've shattered the peace that everyone fought for in the Fourth War! The Union won't stand for the resurrection of the Akatsuki. You'll be hunted down like animals. Ruthlessly. By every country. They'll scour every rock and crevice until the day they die if they have to," Kabuto said.

"In order to create, you must first destroy. The old world and its dangers must make way for the new one and its security. People like you will stand in the way of that," Bolt countered.

Silence reigned for a long, yawning moment. Kabuto looked to his children, and they to him. Bolt was content to give him the time he needed to make his decision. Mentally, he sent the command to his Paths to be ready for recall if a fight broke out.

Kabuto raised his head and sent him a searing glare that would have struck him dead, Bolt was sure, if the snake was capable of it. "Fine," he said. He sounded weary. Defeated. "If this is my atonement for the sins I committed in the war, then I will bear it. Swear that you will not harm the children once I am gone."

Bolt nodded his head. The children were of no use to him beyond their emotional value to Kabuto. Bolt tensed as the pale, leathery skin began to crawl. Bony protrusions sprouted from the snake's skull and a purple pigment tinged his eyes. A tail, or a limb remarkably like it, sprouted from his lower back and tore through the robes he wore.

Bolt was halfway through a frightened message to his Paths when Kabuto turned from pale to a stony gray. The cracks and scales of the man's skin became even more pronounced as his skin began to change—to harden. Bolt could hear the audible crack and crunch as flesh became stone. It started slow, at first, and became faster. Spreading through the limbs first and then crawling up and across the chest. The face was the last to go. Those slitted eyes stared at him with a visible hatred that was forever frozen in time as Kabuto was petrified.

He almost couldn't believe it. It was a long minute before Bolt convinced himself that he had won. Bursting into action, he raised his arm, cupped his hand, and hurled an invisible Rasengan at the statue. It shattered to dust and left no trace of the once war criminal. Bolt sighed beneath his mask and released the orphan boy. "You're safe," he said. "I mean you no harm. Seal: release."

With the command, the seals he had painstakingly crafted—troublesome, getting them to spread by touch when the children themselves knew no fūinjutsu—faded to nothing. The Shin boy, Bolt didn't know his name, stumbled forward with a soundless sob. He and the rest of the children rushed to the center of the building where the dust of their father was even still settling. Satisfied, Bolt turned and left. Hikari moved to flank him.

"You monster!" the boy growled.

Bolt shook his head, turned, and stared into a pair of eyes as red as blood. He had only an instant—one terrifying, long instant—to recognize them as a Mangekyō Sharingan. Then the pain came. With an audible crack, a blade of spectral steel appeared within his body. Bolt slammed his palms, wreathed in lightning, down upon the blade before it could sink further into his chest.

He let out a gurgling gasp as blood welled up in his throat. An instant later, the blade burned to nothing as Hikari lunged forward and shoved her fist through the boy's chest. He splattered in that unique way bodies do. Popped, like a balloon.

Hikari pounced on him, her hands glowing with green chakra. "He got your esophagus," she murmured, her fingers running up and down his chest. "And nicked one of your lungs. You were lucky."

Bolt sighed as the pain receded and he could breathe a little easier. He would need to use the Universal Healer to completely mend the wounds but, for now, Hikari would do. Bolt glanced to the side. The rest of the children had fled through the back and into the woods. That was for the best. If there were anymore of the Shin clan among them, he would prefer not to have to fight freshly awakened Mangekyō users. Hikari grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him to his feet. "Thank you," Bolt murmured.

Hikari nodded. He moved to examine the remains of the Shin clansmen. The sheer strength of her punch had pulped the boy's torso. There was little left save for a pair of legs and a disembodied head with half a spine for a tail. His Mangekyō stared up at him blankly, unseeing. Bolt knelt and sealed the head inside an ornate cadaver scroll and wrapped a black ribbon around it.

"A waste," he said, simply, as Hikari watched him. An explosion of chakra pierced the heavens in the distance. "Come. The others will be waiting for us."

* * *

Hinata was not going to bear witness to seeing her home destroyed twice in one lifetime. She was a ninja of the Leaf and she would die to protect the home she had met her husband and borne her children in.

Standard protocol, in the event of an attack, directed her to meet with her team. That was what she would do. The Aburame and Inuzuka districts weren't too far from the Hokage's residence. The Hyūga district, too, was close. She could pick up allies there and—

"This one humbly beseeches thee to stay indoors," a man rumbled at her as she stepped out of her home.

He was huge in a way that humans were not meant to be. He towered over her easily. Seven feet, at the least, but probably closer to eight. He wore a featureless white mask that hid a wild mane of crimson hair. The robe he wore, a black field with clouds of red, brought back painful memories. Memories of Naruto being nailed to the ground by an evil man. Memories of having a rod of steel ran through her belly. She still bore the scar.

Hinata blinked as her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird in a cage. She lashed out with her Gentle Fist and aimed a debilitating strike at the man's chest. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he had drawn a sword and caught her fist on the flat of its blade. He leapt away before she could attack again.

"Please, remain calm and return to your home. You will not be harmed," the man repeated.

"Who are you!" Hinata demanded, slipping into a defensive Gentle Fist stance. She didn't even remember to shut the front door.

"This one has been dubbed Vermillion, my Lady," the man—Vermillion—answered her.

"You're a member of... the Akatsuki," Hinata stuttered out, cursing her speech impediment. Years without so much as a slip of the tongue and she's back to being sixteen after seeing that robe again.

Vermillion didn't answer her. He was an imposing, stoic giant. And yet, he made no move to attack her, either. He simply stood there, arms hanging at his sides—and his sword sheathed once more. Hinata blinked and realized she hadn't seen him sheathe the weapon.

In the distance, she could hear explosions booming and cries of terror echoing through the city. Hinata swallowed. Was a terrorist organization masquerading as the Akatsuki attacking the Leaf? She clenched and unclenched her fists at the thought. Regardless, she was stuck facing an unknown opponent without reinforcements. Hinata resolved herself to waiting, to delaying, until her team came to find her. Standard protocol in the event one member of a team fails to appear at the designated rally point.

Hinata didn't have to wait long. But it wasn't her team that found her. It was her father. He sprinted down the street flanked by several Hyūga guardsmen. He was wide-eyed with fear as he saw her standing before Vermillion. They immediately attacked. One of the guardsmen was the first to enter the fray. And, once more, the towering man had drawn his sword and batted away the Gentle Fist strike with preternatural speed and ease.

"Hinata! Are you okay?" her father demanded, putting himself between her and Vermillion.

She nodded. "I'm fine, father," she said. "He didn't harm me. He... insisted I stay indoors."

Hinata could see calm, collected crimson eyes beneath the slits of the man's mask. Vermillion was like a mountain in his swordsmanship. He did not move, he simply met each challenger and was unyielding as stone before them.

"Go," her father ordered her. "Get to the shelters. I've already instructed most of the clan to help with search and rescue. From what we know, they're only attacking the military district but that could change at any moment. Go!"

Hinata shook her head. "I'm not leaving you here to fight alone! I am the wife of the Hokage! How could I face Naruto if I ran from this?"

One of her clansmen was swatted away, like a fly, with Vermillion's free arm. It was like being hit with the trunk of a tree. "Willful girl!" her father swore. Then he darted forward to help their clansmen and Hinata was right behind him.

It was disturbing, Hinata thought, how easily Vermillion kept them at bay. He blocked every probing finger and every smiting palm before it could come anywhere near his chakra points. Almost as if he knew what they were going to do before they attacked. Hinata peered through the slits of his mask just a little more closely to check if those crimson eyes weren't actually Sharingan.

They weren't. Vermillion was simply that skilled. One of the guards—Harunobu, if she remembered—caught the flat of the blade on his cheek and went sprawling. Her father batted away the sword and kicked him back before Vermillion could capitalize on it. Hinata followed him up with a barrage of palm strikes that should have—would have—left any other opponent a boneless, helpless mess on the floor.

Vermillion weathered it all the same.

"Damn it!" her father snapped. "He knows the way of the Gentle Fist! We need to retreat and—"

He was silenced by a low, dull buzzing. It started soft, at first, and then grew louder. A cloud of darkness grew over the street. Hinata smiled as she saw two people running to her aid. Kiba and Shino, accompanied by their clans' faithful companions. The battle lulled as Shino continued to amass his swarm. Kiba and Akamaru were frothing at the bit for a good fight, she could tell.

Then, in one moment straight out of the Fire Temple's scripture, the entire plague of insects crashed down upon Vermillion.

"Yeah! Nice one, Shino!" Kiba crowed.

Shino wore that shy, proud smirk he only showed around their team. His jōnin jacket didn't hide his face like the coats he wore when they were children. Then the smile faltered and faded entirely. Shino paled. Hinata returned her gaze to the writhing mass of arthropods. Vermillion stood, unyielding, his sword at his side. And through the skittering insects, she could see his eyes boring holes into her team. He raised his arm and his blade glowed with chakra. "Flash," he intoned.

Her vision went white as a colossal, cascading wave of chakra tore through the neighborhood—through streets, through homes, through the swarm, and while it spared her, it did not spare her team. It yawned skyward, an all consuming destruction.

"Ho—ly—shit!" Kiba swore, a whirlwind of claws and fangs as he leaped to a nearby house several tens of feet away.

Hinata blinked away the image of the world that had been seared into her Byakugan from the sheer quantity and intensity of the chakra released. Above her, even the clouds had been cleaved in twain. "Shino!" Hinata cried.

She felt relief course through her as Akamaru yipped at her, crawling out from under a destroyed house and dragging Shino by the collar of his jōnin jacket. They were both looking a little rough around the edges, but they were alive.

"Good boy, Akamaru," Kiba said, tossing his dog a small pill. Akamaru released Shino, whom she helped to his feet, as Akamaru ate his combat pill.

Shino ran a shaky hand through his hair and adjusted his visor. "He's a monster," he breathed.

"What do you mean?" Hinata heard her father ask with a hint of worry. Around them, the Hyūga guardsmen took up a defensive stance. They, too, were pale and trembling in the wake of such an awesome display of power.

"He—he was regenerating chakra as fast as my insects could devour it," Shino rattled.

Her father made a choking sound. "That's—that's impossible! He would have to be—have to be a Tailed Beast! Nothing living has that much chakra!"

"This one humbly beseeches thee to return to your home," Vermillion rumbled and brandished his sword.

This time, Hinata took it as the threat it was. However, she noticed something odd. Vermillion wasn't attacking _her._ He would defend himself, but never attack. He had only ever attacked her father, her clansmen, or her team. And, even then, only when provoked. Perhaps...?

Hinata took a step forward. Nothing. Another two. Still nothing. Four, nine, thirteen. She was well within range of his sword now. He still didn't attack. Hinata made to step by him, her heart hammering in her chest. Vermillion took a step back, then sideways, and put himself between her and the city.

"Hinata! What are you doing!" Kiba yelped in alarm.

She smiled. "Let me go," Hinata demanded.

Vermillion was silent in the face of her demand—but he didn't attack her. Hinata tried to dart around him. For a man of his size, Vermillion was exceedingly quick on his feet. Almost frighteningly so. The street, what was left of it, quaked with every fall of his boots. He tried to herd her back towards her home by putting himself between her and her path forward.

But Hinata would not be deterred. So long as she did not attack him, she was confident Vermillion would not respond with force to stop her. She skidded to a stop, ducked into a roll, and managed to slip between the giant's legs. Hinata broke into a sprint and headed toward the explosions and the screams.

"Hinata! Wait!" Kiba called out. She could see him transform into a perfect mirror of Akamaru as he and his dog gave chase. Her father and clansmen were running after her, with Shino ambling in the rear with a noticeable limp. Her heart fluttered in worry.

Vermillion seemed to grunt in annoyance. He raised an arm, formed a single sign, and spoke. "This one is Vermillion, my Lord," he said. "Priority target four has escaped and is headed to your location."

A few moments passed. The resounding growl of frustration, that, Hinata recognized. She smiled and raced toward the city.

* * *

Kakashi held a hand to his chest as he heaved for breath. He was getting too damn old for war. The heart of the Leaf had turned into a war-torn battlefield as he and his team fought Pain—now numbering three—and the Akiyama sisters.

And Kakashi would eat his book collection if the new Akatsuki wasn't giving them as much trouble as the old. He sprinted away from the stone wall he had been hiding behind just as a massive, slithering gilded serpent crashed through it.

It had been bad enough fighting two opponents, let alone four, and now they faced five men and women plus three summons; a black tortoise, a golden snake, and a crimson bird. The tortoise was relegated to defending them, while the snake attacked and the bird provided support. All the while, they were harried by the Akiyama sisters while all three Pains tried to cleave Tenten's arm from her shoulder.

The battle was not going well. Kakashi could tell. They were going to lose. And if the destruction erupting throughout the Leaf was any indication... there were still more members of the Akatsuki lurking in waiting.

A clap of thunder took down another building—one on the opposite side of the battlefield, but close enough that Kakashi nearly had a heart attack. And, from the ruins, came two more figures. A woman, tall and thin, with short, messy blonde hair and wearing a mask of a hooded woman whose face was featureless. The other was her mirror, a man with the same features, but whose mask was something from a nightmare; like a flayed skull with wicked, curved horns.

And both their eyes, Kakashi could see, were white. More Byakugan. That, he thought, he _knew_ , was impossible. Another two Pains—five in total. Kakashi knew the Hyūga clan would never let five of their own go rogue.

The newest Pain, the man, brandished a worn farmer's scythe and charged them. He was fast. Unnaturally so. Mirai intercepted him and the two clashed in a flurry of blades that glowed with chakra.

They were in trouble. If they didn't get reinforcements soon, they would be overwhelmed. Kakashi knew what would happen if they all fell. Kakashi moved to intercept the woman. She lashed out with her hands—

"Don't let her touch you!" Konohamaru shouted, his voice strangled, pulling himself over a mound of rubble and limping onto the battlefield.

Kakashi obeyed on instinct. Her hands, he could see, were pale and stained with red. Blood, he thought. A few stray drops flew from her palm and fell to the ground. From there they rose up in a gurgling, bubbling mass of flesh and bone and hair. Kakashi felt his stomach churn. What he thought might have been an arm lashed out at him. He dodged it with haste and hurled a kunai at both the bubbling flesh and the new Pain.

"Alright, you bastards! You want it? Come and get it!" Tenten screamed with incoherent fury.

"Tenten! No!" Lee cried.

Kakashi risked a glance and saw Tenten withdraw a large one-handed warfan of alternating white and red feathers. "If you like Water Release so much, have some!"

With a powerful wave of the fan, an immense amount of water burst into existence. Like a small lake had been created in the blink of an eye. Kakashi swore under his breath and channeled chakra into his feet so he could stand atop the waves as they rocked the city.

The only good thing was that it put distance between himself and the unknown Pain. Kakashi wanted to lecture her—you don't give a ninjutsu user _more_ of their element to work with—but he had the feeling he wasn't going to get the chance.

The lake began to churn and swirl before emptying itself. A pillar of water rose skyward. Kakashi could see two of the Pains standing at the base with their hands clasped in the Snake sign. The pillar of water coiled upon itself and Kakashi took a breath as he prepared for it to crash down upon them.

Only it didn't. It turned away and harmlessly—compared to killing them all—dissipated through the streets and sewers. "Kakashi!" he heard a woman call. Kakashi sighed as he found Hinata, his student's wife, their military leader's wife, knee deep in the center of the fighting. And right behind her was a robed member of the Akatsuki—

Kakashi told his aging heart and aching bones to put up or shut up as he sprinted to her rescue. All around him was chaos and blood and fire and screams. Kakashi shuddered as he recalled memories of the Third War. This was hitting a little too close to home. His fist, wreathed in screaming electricity, was thrust forward. The newest member of the Akatsuki to join the battle blocked the attack with the flat of his blade and kicked him in the ribs with enough force to catapult him away.

Kakashi dragged himself to his feet, wishing he could just lay down and die, and limped back to the battlefield. Their two sides had drawn lines. The five Paths of Pain, the Akiyama sisters, and the swordsmen on one side, against Sakura, Mirai, Lee and his son, Tenten, Hinata and her father, Kiba, Shino, Konohamaru, a handful of Hyūga clansmen, and himself.

The numbers were in their favor—but not the odds. The lull in battle was alarmingly long and quiet as their side caught their breath and recovered a paltry amount of chakra.

"The woman," Konohamaru gasped. "She—you can't let her touch you. She... she got Udon. Did something to him. He, he—he bloated up. Swelled like a balloon. Then he started growing a bunch of—bubbles of flesh."

He was crying by the end. Kakashi grit his teeth. "Don't worry, Konohamaru," he said. "We have the best healers in the world. Sakura and Tsunade will help him." As long as he wasn't dead, Kakashi silently added.

The others wore grim expressions as they learned the new Pain's ability. "And the man? With the scythe?" Kakashi pressed.

Konohamaru wiped at his face. "He—I don't know. If you get cut by the scythe, you lose chakra. A lot of it. It can absorb, I guess, any chakra it cuts. Ninjutsu doesn't work too well on him," he explained.

Kakashi nodded. The others mirrored him. A stray pebble of stone fell from atop a mountain of rubble to their left. Kakashi—and a handful of others—snapped to that direction. "Sage of Six Paths, if you're up there, we could really use a break," Mirai prayed under her breath.

Two more members of the Akatsuki crested the hill. A man—another Path of Pain, if his features were any indication—and a woman wearing a mask common to the Land of Water.

And Kakashi could feel the way their enemy shifted at their appearance. An air of ease, of respect, in contrast to the one of struggle and battle. "He's the real one," Kakashi whispered.

"How can you tell?" Sakura demanded angrily.

"Look at the way they look to him in respect—for leadership," Kakashi answered. And it was true, if subtle. The Akiyama sisters, in particular, settled down and looked to the new Pain with a newfound calm determination.

Everyone held their breath.

"You have one chance," the new Pain said. His voice _carried._ It had to be a Wind Release jutsu. "Give me the Amber Purifying Pot and we will leave in peace."

"You can pry it from my cold, dead—" Tenten snapped.

"—Very well," Pain intoned.

"—Tenten, no! Don't!" Kakashi tried.

It happened so fast Kakashi felt a chill of fear crawl up his spine. Pain crossed the distance between the two opposing sides faster than Kakashi had seen a man move in years—decades, perhaps.

Tenten screamed. A horrible, high-pitched, gurgling scream of agony.

Kakashi turned, kunai drawn, and only saw Tenten clutching a bloody shoulder. Her entire right arm was gone. Her shirt was ripped and did little to preserve her modesty—that was handled by the flood of blood cascading down her torso. Something angry boiled in his gut. As Sakura rushed to provide treatment, Kakashi turned his gaze to Pain.

The original had the bloody, still twitching arm in his grasp. It disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Kakashi clenched and unclenched his fist. Pain rolled his shoulders and took a step forward. Everyone collectively tensed. Then he hesitated, paused, and turned to address the assembled Akatsuki. "Retreat. We're done here," he said.

Kakashi couldn't believe it. Why beat a hasty retreat when you were winning? He didn't understand.

"I'll hold them off while you extract," Pain said in a tone that conveyed it was an order, not a suggestion.

The Akiyama sisters flashed them a predatory grin before leaping away. The other five Paths followed them, who were followed by the swordsmen and then the masked woman. The latter two hesitated and Kakashi knew there was some unsaid message in their body language. He just didn't know what.

Kakashi found himself staring into Pain's cold white eyes beneath his featureless white mask. The words he had spoken through another of the Paths rang in his ears. The threat of death for figuring out Pain's deception. Kakashi knew he had come to collect. The others, it seemed, rallied to his defense.

"You must be quite youthful if you think you can take us all by yourself," Lee declared, holding up a hand and beckoning in challenge.

"Damn it, Lee! Don't piss him off!" Kiba hissed.

"—What!" Hiashi choked. Kakashi knew he had just been informed Pain was a Hyūga. The clan leader stepped forward, red in the face, and bellowed in anger. "Who are you! How did you come to be in possession of the Byakugan!"

Pain grunted an answer and disappeared in a blur of black, red, and blond. Kakashi whirled to face him as he appeared in their midst. Pain—all of them—were simply too fast. Luckily, Lee and his son were just as quick on their feet. Both of them darted forward to attack. Pain slapped away their fists and then... spun.

Kakashi wheezed as a wall of chakra slammed into him and his allies. The air was driven from his lungs under the force of what he knew was the Revolving Heaven. Kakashi blinked and found himself staring up, dazed, at a pair of cold white eyes.

"Die," Pain intoned, his hand wreathed in screaming electricity.

His fingertips stopped no more than two or three inches from his chest. Kakashi felt his heart hammer against his ribs.

A shadowy figured coalesced from Pain's shadow behind him. "Not so fast," Shikamaru quipped, hands contorted in the Rat sign.

Kakashi smiled beneath his mask.

* * *

 **A/N:**

A little darker, this time. This will be a recurring theme as we move forward. Bolt has very much become the villain and war brings out the worst in both sides.

Hidan — Hidan is still alive. We'll get to him later on in the story. I've chosen to discard what Kishimoto said about him dying without food or water. If you can survive being decapitated, you can survive without sustenance. In-universe explanation will come when we deal with him and Jashinism again—and hey, that earlier arc where Bolt and Hikari fought Jashinists in the Land of Steam? Hello, foreshadowing, my old friend.

Kabuto — Kabuto was a tough decision. On one hand, he's one of the most powerful people alive. In terms of non-demigods, he is second only to Orochimaru. On the other hand, he's been defanged by Izanami. Thanks, Itachi. In the end, I decided that Kabuto would be true to his heart, his nature, and sacrifice himself for the orphans. A fitting end to his character, in my opinion.


	71. Chapter 71

Kakashi smiled beneath his mask and breathed a sigh of relief. "Shikamaru," he greeted him. "Good to see you. Impeccable timing as always."

Shikamaru grunted something. Kakashi saw the way he strained to keep Pain restrained. Sweat beaded on his brow. His legs, oddly, were indistinct pools of inky darkness connected to Pain's shadow. "Need some help," Shikamaru gasped.

"What do you need?" Kakashi asked, all business.

"Nara clan. Here soon," Shikamaru said in a clipped tone. "Hyūga clan. Deal with Byakugan."

Kakashi nodded. "On it," he said, sprinting across the battlefield to Hinata and her father. "We need a way to restrain a Hyūga—and deactivate their Byakugan. Any solutions?"

Hiashi nodded. "We have a seal for times such as these," he said. "Guards! Defend my daughter!" He was off in a bustle of dirt-stained robes as the guards moved to defend Hinata.

Kakashi made his way back to Shikamaru. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sakura wiping at her brow with the back of her hand. Her arms, from her fingertips to her elbows, were stained red with blood. He took some relief in that Tenten still drew breath and Lee had yet to act on the anger he no doubt now felt. It wouldn't do for him to murder Pain before Torture and Intelligence had their way with him. Kakashi was going to get Ibiki to come out of retirement and really put Pain through the wringer.

Kakashi gave Shikamaru a single nod indicating that help was on the way. He didn't want to say anything for fear of giving Pain information. "How'd you make it?" Kakashi asked, instead. If anything, hearing how he had failed would throw Pain off his game. Make it easier for Shikamaru to hold him.

Shikamaru sighed. "Troublesome, crazy bastard. A gambit. Hid in his shadow. Never suspected a thing. Made a shadow clone," he said.

Kakashi understood the difference between a shadow clone and a _shadow_ clone. The Nara clan had always been very... inventive with their shadows. Kakashi smiled when Pain clenched a fist so tightly his knuckles popped.

A few moments later, a handful of Nara clansmen poured into the battlefield led by Shikadai and Inojin. They came to a halt, as one, and chanted. "Shadow Grasping Jutsu!" They shifted to take a knee with their hands contorted in the Rat sign. All at once, tendrils of inky darkness lashed out and pawed at Pain. Like snakes, they constricted and bound him.

Shikamaru breathed a sigh of audible relief. "Well," he said. "Let's find out who you are under that mask, shall we?"

Kakashi moved to flank Shikamaru as the two of them moved to stand before Pain. Shikamaru reached up, grasping at the edges of the mask, and pulled. Nothing happened. "Huh," Shikamaru shrugged. "Probably a seal, judging by how you dealt with Kabuto."

Kakashi stilled. "Dealt with Kabuto? What do you mean?" he asked.

Shikamaru was stony-faced. "He kidnapped one of Kabuto's children. One of the Shin clan boys. Put a seal on him so that any children he came into contact with would also be marked. Then he threatened Kabuto. Said he would kill them if Kabuto didn't teach him a jutsu."

"What jutsu?" Kakashi asked.

Shikamaru looked to him. "Impure World Resurrection," he breathed. "Kabuto refused, thankfully. I would've had to show myself then if he had agreed. I don't think I would have survived. Pain's partner, the masked woman... her strength is monstrous. She popped the Shin boy like a balloon with a single punch."

"And Kabuto?" Kakashi pressed.

Shikamaru shook his head and began to scrutinize the featureless white mask Pain wore. Kakashi could see hateful white eyes staring back at them beneath its slits. "Pain forced him to commit suicide. He petrified himself. Then Pain shattered the... statue," he explained.

Kakashi bore no great love or sympathy for Kabuto, but he was a valued asset to the Leaf. A weapon they could hold in reserve for generations to come. A last line of defense for the Leaf. And, in some small way, he was trying to repent for past sins by raising the children, the next generation, who were unfortunate enough to have no parents of their own.

He hadn't deserved to die a dog's death.

"Ah," Shikamaru crowed. "Got it! Now, let's see who's underneath the—"

An arcing, screaming bolt of electricity nearly cleaved Shikamaru's finger from his hand. Kakashi grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back and away. "Shit!" Shikamaru swore, staggering to a knee and joining his clansmen in their combination jutsu.

Kakashi broke into a cold sweat as Pain inched forward ever so slightly. "My—" Pain rasped. "My power has returned."

Then he took a single, long step forward.

"Inojin!" Shikamaru barked.

Inojin stepped forward, scrawling on a large scroll with an oversized brush. From the parchment leapt the torso of an inky giant with large, hulking arms. They lashed out and gripped Pain between the palms of their hands and held him fast.

The ink began to bubble and burst. Kakashi saw a few stray arcs of electricity course through the construct. He tensed, coiled and ready to strike. Shikamaru and the rest of the Nara clan were struggling to keep Pain contained.

Kakashi knew they were in trouble. Years of experience whispered in his ear and told him they weren't going to make it in time. He turned and began barking orders. "Hinata! Evacuate, now! Sakura! Transfer Tenten to a field hospital! Lee! Pull yourself together and prepare for combat!"

The battlefield erupted into organized chaos as everyone hastened to obey him. More ninja were collapsing on their location as fighting in other areas came to a blissful halt. A few more Nara clansmen joined their brethren in attempting to restrain Pain. Two more groups of Hyūga arrived to guard Hinata. Even a few Yamanaka appeared, hiding in wait among the rubble.

Pain took another two steps forward. "Damn! We're losing him!" Shikamaru snarled. "Everyone! Prepare for—"

Pain broke free. He crossed the distance between them faster than the eye could follow. This time, he made no attempt to hide that he was a Hyūga. Pain attacked with the Gentle Fist. Only decades of experience spared Kakashi from having his skull popped like a melon as he narrowly dodged a palm strike.

Lee came to his rescue. For as fast as Pain was, Lee using his Sixth Gate was just as fast—if not even faster. Kakashi hurled a knife at Pain as he tried to step into Lee's guard and close his chakra points to cancel the Eight Gates. That, Kakashi could not allow to happen. Lee was, perhaps, the strongest person in the village at that very moment. If he fell, they all fell.

Pain delivered a powerful palm strike to Lee's chest that sent him tumbling. Kakashi unleashed a wide wave of electricity from his fingertips that washed over Pain harmlessly. Lee stood, assumed a pose, and smiled. Then, Kakashi knew, he stopped pulling his punches. Lee disappeared as he moved faster than the eye could follow. He appeared before Pain, swept the man's legs out from under him, and then slammed a fist into his jaw.

The grunt of pain was music to Kakashi's ears. He made a fist and began to channel chakra into his hand. Lee leapt into the air, grabbed Pain, crushed him in a powerful bear hug, and then slammed him into the ground with enough force to crack stone. Pain lashed out with a kick that missed but forced Lee back. He followed it up with a Vacuum Palm that Lee blocked with his forearms but had him tumbling backwards.

Lightning erupted from his fist and Kakashi charged forward. Pain mirrored him and thrust a hand forward. A spear of lightning erupted from his fingertips and attempted to run him through. Decades of experience worked in place of his missing Sharingan; Kakashi ducked under the spear and darted forward. When Pain brought the spear down, like a guillotine, Kakashi rolled to the side. He flashed Pain a grim smile beneath his mask as he thrust his Raikiri forward.

Pain caught his fist. His Raikiri hissed and screamed its fury but did little else.

Before Pain could attack, Lee slammed his shin into Pain's skull. Kakashi tore his hand free hastily put a few paces between him and Pain. The leader of the Akatsuki tumbled across the street and struggled to rise.

Something uncomfortable churned in his stomach. Why would Pain stay behind to buy the Akatsuki time to retreat if he was only this strong? The other Paths were much stronger and more difficult to deal with. Unless...

"Lee, be careful," Kakashi warned. "I think he's hiding his true strength."

Lee nodded, the veins on his neck and temple bulging as he did so. "Shikamaru!" Kakashi called, running over as Shikamaru began to organize the Nara clansmen into battle formations. "What's the plan?"

"Same thing," Shikamaru grunted. "We try to capture him while we wait for Hiashi. Then we take him down."

Kakashi nodded and acted as the vanguard as the Nara clansmen approached Pain. He and Lee were exchanging strikes and kicks with increasingly daunting strength and speed—but Pain was losing. Lee was adapting to the Gentle Fist. Old lessons from childhood coming back.

As one, the Nara lashed out with their shadows once more. Pain began to focus more on dodging than fighting. He was frighteningly quick on his feet. So fast that the Nara couldn't catch him with their shadows. Lee helped them out with a powerful kick that Pain caught in the ribs. The leader of the Akatsuki crashed into the ground where Shikamaru and his clan were all too happy to bind him.

Pain rose, mirroring Shikamaru. Inky tendrils of darkness wrapped around his limbs and torso and prevented him from moving. Hopefully longer than the previous time. Shikamaru walked forward and forced Pain to do the same. Kakashi followed closely behind. His hand itched as he began to build the charge for his last Raikiri. Shikamaru came to a stop with a smug grin. "Now, where were we?" he said. Shikamaru raised his arm and mimed taking a mask off his face.

Pain began to do the same, but with much greater resistance. "Annoying," Pain grunted. Then he tapped his foot. Kakashi looked down and saw something unfold out of the tip of the man's boot. He was expecting a knife, but what he found instead was much worse.

A fūinjutsu tag.

Kakashi grabbed Shikamaru and dove to the ground. He put himself between Shikamaru and Pain, even if experience told him that an explosive tag at such close range would almost surely incinerate them regardless.

Instead of an explosion of fire, there was an explosion of light. Terribly blinding in its radiance, Kakashi hissed as his eyes were seared. There was no difference between having his eyes open or closed. Distantly, he knew there would be no shadow in the presence of such a powerful light.

He heard screams. Screams he hadn't heard since the Third War. Screams of the dead and dying. When his vision returned, Kakashi found himself lying in a pool of blood. Panic coursed through him as he patted Shikamaru down. He found him safe and sound, and he wasn't in pain himself, so his eyes followed the blood.

The Nara clansmen had been slaughtered. More than half had been bisected at the waist. Kakashi could see where their innards had been horribly charred and burned—the telltale sign of a powerful Lightning Release technique.

The sound of flesh striking flesh tore him from his dark thoughts. Lee and Pain were fighting once more. Lee was all that stood between Pain and the two of them. It was an alarming realization, Kakashi found, that he was literally five paces from having joined the Nara clansmen in their fate.

"Shit," Shikamaru swore. "This is bad. Where the fuck is Hiashi!"

"We'll find a way to hold him off," Kakashi reassured him. He stood and tensed as he watched Lee lunge forward with a punch that nicked Pain in the shoulder. Not for the first time, Kakashi lamented his age and missing Sharingan.

Kakashi frowned. Pain was doing something... different. His fighting style had changed. Not the Gentle Fist—not solely. There was something else mixed with it. More footwork; focussed on evasion rather than deflection. Kakashi saw the man's hands—or hand—work through a long series of slow signs as the two of them fought.

His eyes widened. "Lee! Watch out!" Kakashi cried.

Lee hesitated for one single instant. Pain thrust a grasping hand forward that caught him by the wrist. Burning, swirling lines of inky darkness spread from Pain's hand up Lee's arm, across his chest, and up his neck to his face.

Lee stopped moving and did not do so again. "Damn. Troublesome. Damn," Shikamaru swore at his side.

Pain turned to face them and approached at a leisurely, sedate pace. Kakashi took a breath and knew it might be his last. But if he died in service to the Leaf, that wasn't so bad, was it? He slipped into a defensive stance. Behind him, Shikamaru contorted his hands into the Rat sign. The others—they were still down. Mirai had struck a boulder and hadn't stirred since. Konohamaru had been injured with his own team's battle with Pain. Kiba was a few dozen yards away, looking worse for wear, but Akamaru had been hurt and wasn't fit for combat. An Inuzuka without his dog was half the ninja he normally was. Kakashi regretted sending Sakura away now. Shikamaru, Kakashi saw, was glancing worriedly between Pain and Shikadai, whose legs was bent at an awkward angle. But where was—

"Dad!" Metal cried. Pain snapped to attention as Metal charged forward in his father's defense. He was using the Third or Fourth Gate, but if his father couldn't do it with Six, Metal stood no chance.

"Metal! Don't!" Kakashi barked.

Pain slapped away the offending punch and thundered through a series of palm strikes. Metal collapsed, boneless, and Kakashi could see the aftereffects of the Eight Gates assault the poor boy. Pain had forcibly closed the chakra points that the Eight Gates used.

Kakashi swallowed and steeled himself. He and Shikamaru were the last ones standing—and the only two people Pain wanted dead.

"Well, it's been an honor, Shikamaru," Kakashi muttered.

"We're not dead yet," Shikamaru said.

"I'll see you on the other side," Kakashi nodded, gripping the wrist of his right hand with his left. He put all of his chakra into one final Raikiri and offered a short prayer to Rin and Obito.

Kakashi rushed forward, arm lowered, with a tendril of shadow snaking around him defensively. Pain danced around the shadow, but Shikamaru could only hold him off—only distract him—for so long. Kakashi lunged and thrust his fist forward. His Raikiri screamed its fury. Pain, no more than a pace or two away, thrust his palm forward. A concussive blast of wind knocked his Raikiri aside and the attack went wide. Something struck him in the back of the knees and Kakashi went down hard. He blinked away the pain and the exhaustion to stare into a fist wreathed in lightning.

Kakashi felt nothing but calm acceptance—he didn't close his eyes, didn't feel fear, didn't see his life flash before his eyes. It was just... over.

Something— _someone_ —slammed into Pain. He went flying with an audible crack. A woman, garbed in cheerful yellow robes, with a wild mane of black-purple hair. Himawari. Dread coursed through Kakashi with a tangible, physical force. He would not, could not, allow Naruto's little girl to fight Pain. He wouldn't' let her be hurt. He would—

"What are you doing, brother!" Himawari screamed.

Something horrible and unspeakably cold coiled in Kakashi's belly as his stomach dropped into his boots. Pain began to rise, the featureless white mask he wore was horribly cracked from his nose to his right temple. Slowly, ever so slowly, it crumbled away. All the little ideas his mind whispered to him the back of his mind that he ignored slowly began to align. All the truths he chose to ignore. The hair color. The Byakugan. The speed. Bolt was supposed to be dead. Then he was suddenly captured by the Revolution. There was no way he could be here. No way he could have fallen so low. No way he could have ever come to hate his home so much.

The mask crumbled away as Pain held a hand to his face. Then Kakashi couldn't lie to himself any longer. Hinata and her guards had returned, with Himawari in tow. The skin around her eyes was colored orange with the power of Sage Mode. She was the best, and worst, reinforcements Kakashi could have asked for.

"Sister," Bolt hissed.

"What have you done?" Himawari screamed, demanded. "You've destroyed everything! You tried to kill Uncle Kakashi!"

Bolt stood and discarded the ruined remnants of his mask. "I'm doing what must be done, Himawari. What should have been done a long time ago," he answered her.

"What? Are you insane! You told me you wanted to help people! You were helping people!" Himawari snapped.

"I _am_ helping the people," Bolt replied.

"How! How is this helping anyone!" Himawari demanded. Tears ran down her cheeks. Kakashi felt lost and helpless. Hinata stood to the side, looking distraught and conflicted. As unsure now as she was when she was a little girl.

"You can't see the forest for the trees, sister," Bolt told her. "The ninja villages stand in the way of progress—of true peace. In order to truly help the world, they must be destroyed. In order to create, you must first destroy."

"You—that—Bolt! You've become the worst war criminal in decades! Do you even understand what you're doing?" Himawari cried.

Bolt took a few steps forward. "I'm doing what must be done, Himawari. What no one else dared to do, what no one else could do. Who, if not me? The world, this village... it's rotten. You've seen it, just as I have. This... system, this way of life, it's dying. A slow death, but a death all the same. Our father has prolonged the inevitable, but for how long? He will die, eventually. When he's gone, who will stop the world from turning to war once more?"

He was much closer to her now. Only a few feet. Himawari was sobbing. He spoke quieter, calmer, but Kakashi could still hear him. "I know you know this, sister," Bolt said. "You haven't seen what I've seen, experienced what I've experienced, but you know it all the same."

Himawari wiped at her tears furiously and took a few hasty steps away from her brother. "Don't you know how horrible those people that wore those robes were! They tried to kill our father!"

"The Akatsuki is a symbol; a tool. Nothing more and nothing less. The world knows and fears them. By taking up their mantle, all that fear—that respect—becomes mine. When I speak, the world will listen. When I move, the world will watch. And when I act... the world will tremble," Bolt said. "Whatever the Akatsuki did in the past—it is just that. The past."

"But it won't be easy," Bolt continued. He placed one hand on her shoulder gently. "The world needs strong people, people like us, to lead them into the new era. There is a place for you in the new Akatsuki, Himawari. We wouldn't have to be apart anymore. You're strong, sister. Together, we would be unstoppable. Together, we could bring this world true peace. Join me, Himawari... please."

They were standing face-to-face. Kakashi felt his heart beating against his ribs painfully. Hinata made a low, pained sound. Himawari looked like she had been stabbed. Her face was contorted with pain and stained with tears. Behind him, Kakashi heard Shikamaru furiously grinding his teeth as he wracked his brain for a new strategy.

Kakashi knew he had to do something. It was his duty as the Sixth Hokage. "You must know," he said, trying to sound casual and more confident than he actually felt. "Whatever plans you have—they're going to fail."

Bolt turned and glared at him with piercing, glacial violet eyes. Kakashi forged forward. "You're one man, one organization, with... what? A dozen members? If that? You can't stand against the Union and win, Bolt. You know that. The world will turn against you when they see you wearing those robes. The Akatsuki was hated. The world united to fight against them the first time. They'll do it again," he said.

"I've learned from my predecessor's mistakes," Bolt said with a sneer. "I won't be beaten so easily."

Kakashi nearly—almost—turned to stare dumbly at Hiashi as he crept over a pile of rubble and snuck onto the battlefield. Decades of experience kept his eyes from wavering. The leader of the Hyūga clan wore a strange set of white robes decorated with swirling patterns of black. In his hand, he held a large sealing tag.

And Bolt didn't, couldn't, see him. Hiashi was invisible to the Byakugan.

Kakashi swallowed. "You think you could beat Naruto? Beat Sasuke? Because I can tell you now, Bolt, they're on an entirely different plane of power than anything you or I could imagine. You won't beat them. It's impossible," he said. Pausing, Kakashi decided to push for information. "And the Tailed Beasts? The original Akatsuki lost many of its members trying to capture them."

"I have no interest in the Tailed Beasts," Bolt said. Then he smirked. "And while I might not always win, Kakashi, one thing you'll come to understand: I never _lose._ "

Hiashi inched ever closer and closer. Kakashi had to keep him talking. The others had seen him now and, wisely, kept silent. Bolt was focussed entirely on him—they gave nothing away. "Really? No interest in the Tailed Beasts? What was that whole thing with the One-Tail, then?" Kakashi asked.

"The One-Tail was a mindless beast who killed thousands and left many more starving and destitute. It needed to be put down," Bolt said. "The Sand wasn't up to the task. Neither was the Union. So I did what was—"

Hiashi was only a handful of feet from his grandson when he sprang forward, silent as the dead. His arm was outstretched and thrust forward with the sealing tag.

"Got him," Shikamaru uttered under his breath.

Bolt leaned to the side, casually, as the tag passed over his shoulder harmlessly. "—necessary," Bolt said, as he dodged, eyes calm and lidded as he glared at them. Then his eyes sprang open wide, panicked, as his mind realized what its body was doing.

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. That was entirely... unnatural. Bolt couldn't have seen Hiashi. He was sure of it. And his reaction—how he acted without thought, without realization. Kakashi had seen instinct before, but nothing that could have ever come close to what he had just seen. If it had been instinct, Bolt wouldn't have been surprised. No, it was almost like... his body dodged without his permission.

Bolt grabbed his grandfather by the wrist and slammed him to the ground. With a few precision palm strikes, the old man went limp and boneless. Bolt thrust a hand forward and had a spear of electricity incinerate the sealing tag where it lay. He was casting nervous glances about the battlefield. Kakashi could tell he had been spooked.

Bolt glared at him, then returned to gazing fondly at his sister. "What do you say, Himawari?" he asked.

Himawari lowered her head, eyes boring into the ground, and clenched a fist. Her shoulders rose and fell in a silent sob. She looked to him, to her grandfather, and then to her brother. Then she slammed a fist into his chest. Bolt caught it with both forearms and sailed backward with an audible grunt of pain.

In his heart, Kakashi knew he was going to see two siblings be torn apart for the second time in his life.

* * *

Bolt picked himself up, wincing as the bones in his arm protested their treatment. Between Lee's inhuman strength and his sister's Sage Mode punches, he'd had quite enough of ninja using their enhanced strength to whale on him.

His sister stood a few dozen yards away from him. She was a nervous ball of energy and emotion—mainly pain and sadness. Tears stained her cheeks even as her face contorted with anger.

"My brother died a long time ago," Himawari sobbed as she slipped into a defensive stance.

Her words cut him deeper than any knife and plucked painfully at the strings of his heart. He loved her more than anyone. She had been there, a warm light to keep the cold loneliness at bay when he was a child. He loved her, and her words hurt more than anyone else's. The knife sunk deeper, cutting more, as a visceral pain blossomed in his chest that had nothing to do with the battle and everything to do with her.

"Himawari, please," Bolt begged. She couldn't do this. Not to him. They were brother and sister, the closest family either of them had. Bolt had never wanted anything more than for her to join him. So they could be together, finally, and not have to fight.

"I just didn't realize it," she babbled. "You ran away eight years ago... and never came home. My brother died out there. You're—you're just someone wearing his face and name."

The knife was in his heart now. Twisting and sinking deeper. The pain stole his breath from his lungs. Bolt tried to remove his emotions from the attack; to separate himself from Pain. It was easier to think of them as two different people. The reason why a sword was a better weapon than a hand was because the sword couldn't feel—and Pain was a weapon.

But his sister? She was the one person he couldn't ignore. The one person who would always have a place in his heart. This? This pain? He couldn't avoid it. His one weakness in all the world was the person he loved most; his sister. The one person he couldn't defend himself against as she stabbed him in the heart.

Himawari was furious, distraught, and determined all at once. Her lips turned downward in a noticeable frown as her chin trembled. Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down orange-tinted skin. "I'll—I'll put you down," she sobbed. "You won't ruin my brother's memory anymore."

Something deep, deep within him cracked and shattered. Something had been with him his entire life. Bolt had to wonder at what it was. Words tried and failed to describe the emotion he felt. Pain did that. Frayed the mind, consumed it, until you could think of nothing but the pain. Against his will, tears welled in his eyes as his throat burned and swelled.

What had Nagato written? It seemed like so long since he had read that scroll in the dark caverns beneath the Land of Rivers. _"I want you to feel pain,"_ he had written. _"To think about pain. To accept pain. To know pain."_

Bolt understood now. He thought he did, not at the time, but much later. But he didn't. This? This was true pain, he realized. Losing the one person he loved most. Bolt staggered under the weight of the knowledge and the emotion and clutched at his chest. This one moment would define him forever. There would forever be a separation between the person he was before and after he attacked the Leaf.

This... this was his trial by fire. He had taken the mantle of Pain—and now he was. In the back of his mind, he could hear Hibiki shouting worriedly. Bolt ignored him. This, right now, was more important than anything else in the world. He took a long, shuddering breath and raised his gaze to meet his sister's.

Something unspoken passed between them. Bolt couldn't name it, but he felt it. He felt it painfully in his chest. Against his will, a tear escaped his eye. Something hot and uncomfortable boiled in his belly; anger. Bolt clenched a fist. "You were always second best, most loved, sister," he said. "And I hated you for it."

He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. The way her features contorted in agony twisted the knife in his chest. He just—just wanted to make her hurt as much as she had hurt him. To make himself stop feeling what he did. It didn't help. If anything, it made the pain worse.

"I wish I had never had a sister," Bolt ranted. He was crying now, he knew. This time, it wasn't Himawari that plunged the knife into his chest. It was his own hands. "Mother and father would have loved me more if it wasn't for you. I wish—wish you had never been born!"

They were lies. Lies he told her and himself. Each one uttered killed a little fragile piece of him. Both of them knew what had to be done. Both of them knew what was coming. Himawari tensed, coiled and ready to lash out. Bolt erupted into a storm of chakra and electricity. He no longer had to hide his true strength and abilities now that his identity was known.

Wreathed in his Lightning Armor, the world slowed to a crawl. Bolt darted forward, crossing the distance between the two of them in an instant, and thrust an arm forward with a biting palm strike. Himawari was already bringing her arm up to block—not fast, but not slow, either. She seemed to know where he would hit before he actually did. His Gentle Fist connected with her guard and a cloud of nebulous chakra and electricity blossomed where the two met.

Himawari raised her free arm, fingers curled at their first phalanges in a palm strike that was thrust forward more like a punch than anything from the way of the Gentle Fist. Bolt repositioned himself, moving out of the way, and pivoted on his right foot to prepare for another attack. His sister's fist missed him by a handful of feet, but he felt the strike connect all the same. Like he had run face first into a wall of stone. The force of it rattled his bones even through the Lightning Armor. Bolt had time to plan his next move as his mind waited for his body to sail through the air.

The instant his feet touched the ground he was moving again. He was behind her between the space of one breath and the next. Yet, still, his sister had a sixth sense for where he was going to attack. She blocked or outright endured a number of hits as they both moved through the dance of the Gentle Fist. A palm strike to the stomach that barely made Himawari flinch. Five finger strikes against the central chakra pathway in her dominant arm. A fist of chakra to her temple that should have knocked her unconscious but was batted aside.

Himawari gave as good as she got. Bolt could always— _always_ —dodge, but he still was struck all the same. Her range was beyond the physical; even if he dodged her fist, the following swing of intangible chakra slammed into him like a hammer. Every punch and kick was a crushing blow so powerful that it easily cast aside the defense of his Lightning Armor like it wasn't even there.

Bolt kicked upward, his boot slipping between her guard, and caught his sister in the chin. Himawari grunted a pained cry as blood began to flow from a split lip. She grinned something feral at him as she pivoted and sent a high-kick at him. He leaned out of its range, tried to escape the invisible reach each of her attacks were imbued with, and failed all the same. His vision went dark and the world quiet as something slammed into the side of his skull.

The first thing Bolt saw upon waking was a whirring sphere of white-blue chakra as large as his head. "Rasengan!" Himawari screamed.

His Lightning Armor screamed to life once more and he was gone before the jutsu could land. The street exploded with light and pressure. Dust and smoke obscured the battlefield as debris rained down upon him. When it cleared, Bolt could see that Himawari had left a crater the size of a small house where her Rasengan had detonated.

His sister was strong—and she was playing for keeps. She glared at him with anger and hate in her eyes. Bolt hadn't faced such a powerful opponent since... the One-Tail, perhaps? It seemed like so long ago. Himawari was truly strong. The power of Sage Mode was unquestionable. Bolt had thought he had reached the pinnacle of power that someone of his generation could reach. And yet Himawari had reached even higher. Would he lose, Bolt wondered, if he had only the skills he had a year ago?

Himawari leapt at him with a feral growl as she brought down a leg in a savage axe-kick. It sundered the ground, split it open like a wound. Yes, Bolt thought, as he tried to run his arm through her belly, he _could_ have lost. He could still lose. Himawari turned and mauled him with an open-handed slap. It struck him in the cheek and he could feel something snap with an audible crunch that echoed in his skull. His vision swam as he felt his legs swept out from underneath him. Something heavy settled on his waist. Himawari had him pinned, one arm holding him down by the throat and the other raised in a fist.

Bolt didn't have time to think. His armor lashed outward and swallowed his sister whole. Lightning as powerful as any he could generate coursed through her body without his control. She screamed, half in pain, half in a battle cry as she brought down her fist and slammed it into his nose. Bolt blinked the darkness from the edge of his vision and bucked his hips as he raised one arm to defend himself and thrust the other into his sister's ribs. Himawari brought her fist down again and he caught it with his forearm. A searing pain lanced through his limb, but it didn't look broken.

Bolt withdrew his free arm and cupped his hand. Chakra coalesced into a Rasengan of his own. Himawari had only a brief instant to blink owlishly at him before he slammed it into her sternum. The force of the explosion made him wince even as his ears were drowned in the sound of her scream of pain. The weight atop him vanished.

Himawari was already back up and lunging at him when he stood. Her yellow robes were torn and burnt on one side, revealing a chainmail undershirt beneath, but doing little damage otherwise. Sage Mode was simply too powerful—it put his sister in a league of her own. That was the difference between an A-class ninja and an S-class ninja. You could plan around an A-class threat. Create models of attack and defence as you probed for weaknesses. You could wear them down. Make them bleed. Threaten them. Play on their emotions.

An S-class threat was a natural disaster made flesh. You couldn't challenge a hurricane to a fist fight. You couldn't outmaneuver an earthquake. You simply stood in awe in the face of a higher power and prayed it passed you over.

Bolt dug fingers wreathed in screaming electricity up and down Himawari's back and melting through the links of her armored undershirt. She retaliated by launching a wide, swinging chop of her hand at him. He dodged and the building behind him had its supports cut out from under it.

Himawari, his little sister, had suddenly become an S-class threat with her mastery of Sage Mode.

It seemed only fair, then, that he return the favor. Bolt had hoped he would not be given a reason to escalate. And, for a moment, he had believed he wouldn't. Kabuto had fallen to his manipulation. He was the only foe currently in the Leaf worthy of facing the Thunder God.

Until now.

Himawari expertly evaded a palm strike, slapped his hand away, and elbowed him in the gut with all her strength. Bolt allowed himself to sail through the air for far longer than he normally would to put distance between the two of them. He reached out with his mind and willed his two remaining clones—the Universal Healer, who had finished healing his friends, and the Celestial Maiden, who was safely hidden away with the Revolution—to seal away their masks and dispel themselves.

When he came to a skidding stop, Bolt stood and stared down his sister.

* * *

Shikamaru had a theory. Anything that could be troublesome, would be troublesome. Today that theory was proven true. He wanted to say that things simply couldn't get any worse—but he was afraid that if he did say that, they actually would get worse.

His mind was churning through plans a mile a second. Pain was Naruto's son—his unhinged, mentally unstable, troublesome son, but his son all the same. Lethal force wasn't an option. Naruto would be destroyed if he returned to the Leaf to find it burning and in ruin only to learn that it was his son behind the attack and that they had killed him for it.

Not that it wouldn't be within reason—it was—but it would destroy Naruto all the same. The Leaf needed its Hokage now more than ever. Reconstruction would take months and they would be vulnerable politically and economically for years to come. If they lost Naruto... Konohamaru would be Hokage. Shikamaru had no doubt that he would be a fine leader, someday, but that day was not today.

He grit his teeth and cast his gaze across the battlefield. He didn't have many pieces to work with. He had a Knight—Kakashi—but that wasn't enough. His Queen—Lee—was deep in enemy territory and surrounded on all sides. That was a good place to start. Step one: recover his Queen. What else? They had... Hinata. A Bishop, perhaps. One that had strong emotional ties to the enemy King. Step two: use his Bishop against the enemy King. Mirai stirred from where she had been defeated. Shikamaru loathed to place her in danger, but she was one of their only ninja who could use Wind Release. The enemy King was a powerful Lightning Release user, so... Step three: move Rook to place enemy King in check—

There was a lull in the battle. Things were quiet. Shikamaru forced himself to pay attention. Bolt and Himawari had separated and were breathing heavily. More from anger and adrenaline than weariness, he noted.

"You're strong, sister," Bolt said. His spoke quickly and his tone was much higher than normal. A side effect of the Lightning Armor, perhaps?

"Don't call me that!" Himawari spat in return.

"... I was saving this for someone else," he continued, only a small pause as a look of agony contorted his features and then was wiped away. "But I'll need my full power to beat you."

His Lightning Armor began to lash out wildly as it grew in intensity. The bioelectric aura increased in radiance as Bolt pumped more and more chakra into the technique.

"Shit," Shikamaru swore. How did he still have _more_ chakra. He looked to his son. He hoped his lessons with Temari had paid their dividends. Shikadai was the only other ninja on the board who could use Wind Release.

"I'm stronger than you, B..." Himawari spat. She didn't have a name for him. Not brother, and not Bolt. "... imposter."

"True," Bolt admitted. "Stronger, but not faster. And I _can_ go even faster."

"... No," Kakashi whispered beside him.

"What?" Shikamaru demanded.

"He can't—he's talking about a third level of the Lightning Armor," Kakashi said quickly. "I didn't think it was possible. _No one_ thought it was possible. The Raikage have accepted the second level as the fastest the human body could move."

"Troublesome," Shikamaru hissed forcefully. "We need to free Lee. With his Seventh Gate, he can keep up with them. He's the only Queen we've got, and—"

A crisp, pungent metallic scent was carried on the wind. Shikamaru could feel the rising level of chakra. The air was heavy with it. It made breathing difficult, like they were underwater. Himawari took a step forward, frowned, and bit her thumb. With five hand signs, she pressed it to her palm. Two small toads appeared in twin wisps of smoke. They sat atop her shoulders and spoke in hushed tones that Shikamaru couldn't quite catch over the scream of electricity.

Bolt stood rigorously still as his Lightning Armor began to—do something. Shikamaru wasn't sure what. It seemed as if it was painting him in shades of blue and white. Draining the life and color from his body. Still, his chakra rose. A moment later, Himawari's rose to match it. She and the toads stood perfectly, inhumanly still.

Their chakra rose, and rose, and rose, and _rose_. Near the end, Shikamaru couldn't help but tremble. The street—which had been reduced to rubble to expose the bedrock below—was now cracking and groaning in protest from the siblings' combined power. Shikamaru jumped as a power transformer overhead erupted into a storm of sparks. Power lines lashed out and tore themselves free from their poles. The bulbs in the few street lamps that stood increased in luminance painfully before they exploded. Across from him, an electronics store had miraculously remained standing. Inside, one-by-one, televisions began to display static and then explode shortly after.

Shikamaru returned to staring at Bolt and wracking his brain for an effective plan of action. Then, Bolt _flickered._ Like one of those televisions with the old signal instability before the newer models came out. Then he was stable again, for an instant, before flickering again. The monochrome of blue his armor had painted him sunk deeper and deeper until the line between electricity and flesh was blurred—and then crossed.

Above Hokage Rock, Shikamaru saw power to the city go out block-by-block. Shikamaru shivered as his skin broke into goosebumps and every hair on his body stood on end. Bolt resembled nothing human, now—an inhuman caricature that might have been flesh and blood once. He was incorporeal, like a spirit, and held only the simplest physical form only when his 'body' wasn't flickering erratically. He wasn't wreathed in lightning—he _was_ lightning.

Opposite him, Himawari had changed as well. Her nose was thicker, fatter, and her face was dotted by fleshy warts. Her hands and feet were larger, her fingers and toes built a little longer and thinner, and the orange tint around her eyes had spread down and across her cheeks.

Shikamaru and Kakashi flinched as a low rumble echoed across the battlefield. It was a deep, bass sound that made his heart seize up. Bolt quirked his head for a moment. The rumble repeated, again, a little lower. It was accentuated with rapid, screaming chirps of lightning. Then, again, it repeated. This time, Shikamaru could hear it—a voice.

"Ah," it rumbled, spoke. "You'll have forgive me, sister. Speaking with mortals is so troublesome in this form."

A sneer passed over Himawari before fading away as she stilled herself once more.

Bolt 'spoke' again. "Let's see how your Sage Mode matches up against my Lightning Armor: Thunder God Mode," he said.

Shikamaru knew two Wind Release users weren't going to be enough for this. Bolt's physical appearance flickered, like static, and then disappeared entirely. What was left was a vague man-shaped cloud of lightning. Time yawned and stretched thin. It was a horrible, disorientating feeling. With an ungodly clap of thunder, Bolt _moved._

Himawari screamed.

* * *

Bolt liked to imagine himself king of his own little kingdom when he used his Lightning Armor. With his senses augmented by it, there were few people alive who could think, who could speak, who could _live_ , on his level. Only a few people challenged him as king. The Raikage. Tetsu. His father. His Master, Sasuke, he safely presumed. Bee, the Eight-Tails, too. He didn't know how fast Rock Lee _truly_ was, but Bolt wasn't willing to take chances. He would assume, at the higher level of the Eight Gates, Lee could keep pace with him. Perhaps, even Metal, too, in the future.

But, now?

Now he was a God.

Now, simply speaking to people was painfully impossible. It felt like years—literal years—as he waited for his sister to reply to his declaration. In the end, he simply couldn't wait. He would go mad by the time he finished watching her face morph, muscle by muscle, as she spoke the first syllable of the first word of her scathing reply.

His mind felt freed and unchained. It was addicting, Bolt could tell. He didn't want to stop. His mind operated at a higher level of cognition; partitioned to exist in every charged particle of his Thunder God Mode. This had to have been how a God felt. So much power, unlimited power, all at his beck and call with but a thought.

Logic, however, told him that he had limited time to work with. So, he moved. Faster than thought, his electrical body created a path forward. There was that pause between the instant he chose to move and the instant he struck. The pause allowed him to bask in the glory, the excitement, of the technique. One instant in time, he stood before his sister. In the next, he had surged forward and _through_ her. Lightning brushed against flesh with a featherlight touch that seared and burned.

Even her scream was slow. Bolt came to a stop, paused for an infinitesimally small fraction of time, decided upon the next direction to move, and then attacked again. He started with the chakra points in her arms. First, the wrists. Pause, move. Then, the forearms. Pause, move. The elbows. Pause, move. The arm. Pause, move. The shoulders. Pause, move. Retreat. Himawari lashed out—slowly, ever so slowly—with an arm pocked with small scratches that leaked thin trails of blood. Even with his Thunder God Mode, she was still nigh invulnerable. His sister swung at a space that he must have occupied... at some point. Days ago? Weeks ago? It was hard to remember.

Pause, move. Her legs, next. The feet, first. Pause, move. Then, the ankles. Pause, move. The shins. Pause, move. The knees. Pause, move. The thighs. Pause, move. The hips. Pause, move. Retreat. Himawari was undoing the blocks in her arms. That wouldn't do. Pause, move. Bolt blocked the chakra points in her arms again. Pause, move. Retreat.

His sister staggered and fell to her knees. Her chakra was ablaze with activity as it fought to clear the foreign obstructions in its system. The two, small toads that sat atop her shoulders leapt into the air. They croaked—sang—something. Their words, like everyone else's, didn't reach him in his plane of existence.

The air hummed with chakra. It began to rise, like the tide, and like the tide, to him, it was agonizingly slow. Bolt recognized a Wind Release technique when he saw one. Pause, move. The shabby, crude capes the two toads wore were turned to ash as his electrical body consumed them. He expected the two creatures to simply be burnt to cinders or return to their realm, but they endured the lightning just like his sister. So they, too, were Sages.

Bolt would not be so arrogant to assume he could fight three of them at once. Pause, move. He was behind them, falling as they fell, and raised his 'arms.' It was child's play to will his electrical body to change shape. Arms became lances that arced forward with the wrath of god. The two elder toads crashed back to the ground with a clap of thunder and a crack of stone.

Pause, move. Back on the ground. The toads were behind him, he would keep a wary eye on them. Himawari was pulling herself to her feet, her pathways once again clear. The look in her eyes had changed. Pain, yes, sorrow too, but now there was something else: respect. A different kind than when they were children. She was awed by him, then. Now? Now she respected him as an enemy. Pause, move. Bolt brought his 'leg' up for a kick. He thundered forward forward.

Himawari dodged. How fascinating. Bolt watched her face as he sailed over her. Her teeth were grit and her brows narrowed in a rigor of focus. Her eyes were those of a desperate woman looking for an escape where there was none to be found. She wanted to beat him, Bolt knew, but she didn't know how.

Pause, move. He crashed down upon her with a clap of thunder. Again, her body held fast against him. Pause, move—Himawari swung a hand at him, a lateral chop. In the space between the instant he jumped, she bisected him at the waist without ever even touching his 'body.'

Bolt blinked. Haptic feedback was a strange thing. Flesh and blood was a strange thing. Now that he had experienced life without it, it was difficult to find the will to return to his mortal shell. 'Pain' was simply a perception of the body in response to chemical changes that it deemed harmful. Bolt had no body, thus, he felt no pain. Still, the knowledge that, if he were in his body, he would be dead or dying, was alarming.

Pause, move. Bolt stole electrical charge from the air and generated more of his own to reconstitute his lost 'legs.' Whole once more, he attacked. Pause, move. Himawari dodged the first 'punch,' but the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth all struck true. She seemed to realize the futility of defense and, instead, attacked.

Bolt paused to consider his path of action. On one hand, he wasn't at risk for bodily harm so long as he was in Thunder God Mode. On the other hand, the sensation of having parts of his body amputated was not a pleasant one. And, if his sister had a technique capable of truly hurting him, it was best to be in the habit of dodging rather than enduring.

Pause, move. Bolt dodged. Once, then twice. The third time, though, Himawari hit him square in the chest as he moved to flank her. He experienced the very discomforting feeling of being 'popped,' like a balloon. A piece of him here, a piece of him there. No true damage done, not that he could tell, but his 'heart' felt like it was being squeezed in a vice that was being thrown at a wall.

Bolt stole more charge from the air, used more chakra, and reconstituted himself. A low 'hiss' carried on the wind. Bolt paused, moved, turned. The two toads were back up again. How long had it been since they had been put in their place? A minute? An hour? They were... croaking at him, he thought. Mouths agape, cheeks full. The air, like before, hummed with chakra. His 'eyes' widened. Pause, move—

Agony.

Mind consuming, eternal agony.

* * *

Bolt fell to his 'knees'—if you could call them that—and bellowed in pain. His voice was inhumanly loud, deep, and hollow. It carried a rumble of thunder that made Kakashi wish he could cover his ears.

He hated geniuses. Even in his prime, he had no business being in this fight. Bolt rose and time seemed to yawn for that one horrifying, long instant before he moved. Kakashi wished he had his Sharingan. Not to fight—he doubted that would have made a difference—but just to see a little more of the battle. Professional interest, as a fellow ninja. Bolt raised an 'arm'—really just a vague tendril of electricity that was where an arm on a human would be—and unleashed it like an arrow upon the toads.

They both managed to dodge the attack and Kakashi muttered a prayer under his breath that they did. The lance of lightning speared through a mound of rubble, a burned-out home, and then continued on its merry way through the next three city blocks.

Bolt moved. The clap of thunder that followed every movement reverberated in his skull. Kakashi had to force his mind and eyes to focus. Bolt was there one instant, gone the next, and it was up to his imagination to fill in the details. Often, he was nothing but a nebulous cloud of screaming electricity that was chased by the drum of thunder. He... tackled Himawari. That was the best guess Kakashi had. The two of them slammed into a nearby building and destroyed it as they moved to another block of the city. The toads hopped after them.

"Let's move, Kakashi," Shikamaru said. He could hear the urgency in the younger man's voice.

The two of them rushed forward where, against all odds, Lee had remained standing and safe. He stood painfully still. "Can you remove this?" Shikamaru asked him.

Kakashi peered at the seal. It... vaguely resembled fūinjutsu. That much he knew. It looked like something from his days in ANBU. "Some kind of restraining seal," he explained. "Too advanced for me. I could try to remove it, but..."

"But?" Shikamaru pressed.

"But I could end up making it harder for a real expert to remove later. Might be permanent then. Unless you can convince our friendly local war criminal to let him go willingly, that is," Kakashi quipped.

In the distance, thunder boomed. A flash of lightning illuminated the village. Another handful of buildings fell. "Troublesome," Shikamaru hissed.

"Do we really need to free him?" Kakashi asked. "I would feel more comfortable if an Uzumaki could look at it first."

Shikamaru plucked a cigarette from his jacket's pocket and sucked on it. Kakashi could tell his mind was working furiously over how to salvage the situation. Another clap of thunder heralded a cascading shower of glass as a tower of metal came down. "... I don't think it would matter. Unless you want him to use the Eighth Gate," Kakashi said. Shikamaru glared at him, offended. "They're finding out the answer to the ultimate question: what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? I say... we let them find out."

"They're going to destroy the city!" Shikamaru retorted.

"There's nothing you or I can do to stop them, Shikamaru," Kakashi said softly. And he wished that there was.

Thunder boomed, and this time, Kakashi didn't wince. Something crashed into a nearby house, bringing it down. Himawari erupted from the wreckage. She was bloodied, her clothes torn, her armor sundered, and her skin marred with burns and gashes. But she was alive. That was more than Kakashi could have said if he was in her situation.

Bolt landed with nary a sound save for the clap of thunder that heralded his arrival. He looked worse for wear. The shoulder wound the toad elders had dealt him hadn't healed—if that was even the word—and he appeared to be less... together. "That technique must require intense focus and near inhuman levels of chakra," Shikamaru remarked. "He can't hold it for long. A few minutes, if that. We need to have a counterattack ready when he becomes... human again."

Kakashi frowned. No commander ever wanted to hear a battle plan that involved facing an enemy when they 'became human again.'

Brother and sister clashed again, and again, and again. There was something sad about their fight. Like candles that burned too bright—they melted the fastest. Bolt paused, nearly human, with a defined body, and then attacked one more time. Himawari met him in a charge. They each swung a fist forward. Raw electricity clashed against augmented flesh with a thunderous crack.

Both retreated, leaping backward, and heaving for breath. Both glared at the other. Both refused to admit defeat. "You—" Himawari croaked. "—You could have been someone great, brother! Why did you change? What happened?"

Bolt became physical once more. Immediately, blood began to flow from the wound on his left shoulder. He held his right hand to it in an attempt to stem the bleeding. "... You couldn't understand," he answered.

It was not an answer Himawari liked. "You—you changed, Bolt! All those pieces of yourself you gave away, lost, or removed... those were the parts of you I loved most!" she cried.

Himawari rose her arm above her head, her hand cupped. Chakra began to coalesce into a large sphere. Blue-white, at first, and then slowly becoming yellow-orange tinged with red.

Bolt mirrored her. His wound forgotten, he raised his good arm. Arcs of lightning danced up and down his body before settling in the palm of his hand where they formed a whirring sphere.

The air was thick with chakra. Cloying, strangling, trying to wring the life from his lungs. Kakashi choked. Then, he realized something.

They were going to kill each other.

Naruto's children were going to kill each other and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

A star blossomed to life in the palm of Himawari. Opposite her, Bolt cupped a disc of white energy. She was distraught. A look of pain unlike any other marred her features. Bolt was grinning madly, his eyes hungry for the fight.

Shikamaru lunged forward, weaving hand signs, his shadow stirring beneath his feet. Kakashi lashed out and struck him in the back of the skull. "Sorry, Shikamaru," he uttered, throwing the unconscious body over his shoulder. "It's too late and there's nothing we can do. The Leaf can't lose you too."

Kakashi beat a hasty retreat towards a large mound of rubble he hoped would shield him from the blast. He picked up Lee, being careful to carry him without touching his skin, and threw him over his other shoulder. He cast a wary, curious eye backwards. This would be their final clash.

"Rasen—" Bolt and Himawari screamed as one.

"—Shinsei!"

"—Hakkō!"

Kakashi leapt, carrying Shikamaru and Lee with him, as he dived behind the rubble. As he leapt, he saw Hinata do the same—in the opposite direction. Towards the explosion. "Hinata! No!" Kakashi barked.

He dropped Shikamaru and Lee and chased after her. If he could catch her, shield her with his body...

Their two techniques sailed towards each other with frightening speed. He wasn't going to make it. Bolt was raising his arm, pulling it towards his chest in a beckoning gesture. From his lower back came four chains of incorporeal, violet chakra that snaked around him.

"No! Don't!" Hinata sobbed. Kakashi caught her just as the two techniques met. The world erupted into an explosion of a thousand colors and sounds and sensations; a godly clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, an explosion of heat, the burn of fire, and the acrid scent of metal and smoke.

Bolt snapped his head to the side. He saw Hinata, saw him, and lashed out with his good arm. Three of the four chains coiled around him leapt forward and ensnared them. It was the last thing Kakashi saw before the light. The world was bathed in a warm glow. Everywhere it touched, life withered and died. Glass melted, steel and stone glowed cherry red, wood burst into flames, and what few trees, flowers, and grass that had survived the Akatsuki were turned to ash in the blink of the eye. The ruins of the Leaf were seared into his eyes with a painful certainty.

When clarity returned, what greeted Kakashi was not a battlefield—it was a wasteland. No buildings or structures stood. Fires raged and consumed everything in their path. Entire swathes of the street had melted together in one seamless, sheer surface. Whatever had survived the heat had simply been shattered and turned to dust.

Everything was destroyed. Everything—except for two feet in any direction from where he and Hinata lay. "No! No, no, no, no," Hinata murmured, panicked and fearful. Like a mantra. "Himawari! Bolt!"

Himawari was unconscious. She lay, watched over by the two toad elders, in a relatively sheltered area of the destruction. Lightning arced across her body every so often eliciting pained moans. And Bolt...

Bile rose in his throat. Hinata was turning her head to look for her son. Kakashi moved and blocked her gaze. The last thing he wanted her to see was the charred, blackened husk of her son's corpse. That only seemed to upset her more. "No! Let me see him!" Hinata begged, struggling furiously against his grip.

"Hinata, don't..." Kakashi tried to dissuade her.

A rasp of pain was the only reason she managed to slip out of his grasp. Kakashi didn't believe it. Bolt was alive. And standing up. He was badly, horribly burned. The right side of his body was charred black and marred with cracks that leaked pus and blood. He stood, half crouched, before falling to his knees. He didn't attempt to rise again. Instead, he palmed a shuriken and hurled it at him with surprising dexterity. Kakashi jerked to the side and dodged. It scratched his cheek as it passed, but little else. Bolt jerked his hand and Kakashi could see the glint of wire as the shuriken returned to him.

Bolt coughed, something wet caught in his throat, before speaking. "A—a parting... gift," he rasped. His brought his right arm up before him, the charred, cracked flesh breaking and falling away as he formed a sign. "Seal: release."

He was gone in a wisp of smoke before Hinata could get to him. The instant he was gone, a thunderous crack rang out behind him. Kakashi turned, eyes wide, and watched, helpless, as a series of explosions rocked the Hokage Rock. The face of every Hokage since the Leaf's founding was scoured from the mountain.

* * *

Bolt stared at his death mask. It was suspended in a barrier of chakra chains in his quarters and surrounded by the most powerful and thorough fūinjutsu barriers he could devise. Strange, to think that today he had come so close to dwelling there for eternity. The eyes, stitched open, had nowhere to gaze but back at him.

He should probably be sleeping. He felt no shortage of pain. He was tired, too. A bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to pull him into the warm embrace of oblivion. His skin was red and raw from where Hikari had healed most of the burns. Really, he should have spared another chain for defending himself. But his mother was safe. That was all that mattered.

But Bolt couldn't sleep. His mind wouldn't let him. It kept playing him the memory of his sister's words. The sound of her screams as they fought.

Now he was truly a monster.

The door clicked open. Only one person was keyed to the blood seal other than him. Hikari made a small noise of disapproval in the back of her throat as she crossed the threshold and saw him sitting there. She was carrying a tray of medical supplies; salve, gauze, three IV bags.

"You should be resting," Hikari chided, setting the tray on the table his death mask hovered above. Her fingers ghosted over his skin as she examined the wound.

"I will," Bolt promised her. "Just... later."

Hikari breathed a sigh, removed her mask, and grabbed a roll of gauze. She kneeled. Gently, she began to wrap his arm. "You shouldn't scar too badly," she said. "Once you recover your chakra, you can use the Universal Healer to speed your recovery—and I do mean only when you've recovered your chakra. If I find you've done it in the night you will wish you had died."

Bolt smiled weakly. "Yes, ma'am," he said.

They lapsed into a tired, but comfortable, silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hikari asked softly.

Did he? Bolt shrugged. Hikari made an irritated noise as he messed up the weave she had been working on. "I... didn't think she would turn me down," he admitted. "It hurts more than I thought. I love her... and now she hates me."

Hikari tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear before moving up his arm. The soothing salve banished the pain. "There was a boy once," Hikari said. "He was older than me by a few years. Tall, handsome, good with a blade. He joined the Crimson Tide... a year before you did. Maybe longer. He rose through the ranks quickly. We worked together a lot. I—liked him."

Bolt felt a little jealously bubble in his gut. He stayed quiet.

"I thought maybe he liked me too," Hikari continued, a little terse. "He didn't. Told me as much when he and his friends went whoring when we made land that night. I... didn't take it well. Eiji found me and had some words of wisdom that I found enlightening."

"What were they?" Bolt asked.

"He told me I had no reason to be sad," Hikari quoted. "I lost someone who didn't love me, but he lost someone who loved him."

Bolt cracked a small smile as he imagined that conversation. He winced as Hikari moved to his shoulder—which still hadn't healed properly, damn toads—and began to bandage it. "What happened to him? The boy?" Bolt asked. He thought he would have remembered someone like that.

Hikari sighed. "He and his friends liked to drink and whoremonger. They didn't always pay their debts. A rival mercenary crew attacked us one night and killed them for their bounties," she said.

"Ah," Bolt said with a small frown. Now he wished he hadn't asked.

Hikari finished bandaging him and grabbed a needle. Bolt winced as she found a vein in his left arm and inserted it. An IV bag followed soon after. He dutifully stood and hobbled over to his bed before she could order him to do so. Bolt sighed, watching as Hikari hung the bag on a pole she had brought in earlier.

She turned to leave, hesitated, and then came back. Her hands glowed green as she ran them over him, again. "'M fine," Bolt complained.

"You're fine when I say you're fine," Hikari snapped.

He shut up and let her examine him in silence. After a tense minute, the Mystic Palm faded. Hikari was staring at him with an odd intensity. She leaned down, prodding at his shoulder with her finger and an expert eye.

"What?" Bolt asked.

Hikari tilted her head and pressed her lips to his.

It was like being punched in the gut—in all the best ways. For a moment, he forgot that his sister hated him, that he had no home to return to, that his mother and father almost certainly hated him, that his friends hated him, and that he was the worst war criminal in several decades. Several years' worth of tension and questioning melted away.

"Why?" Bolt breathed when she withdrew.

"No one likes to see the people they love in pain, Bolt," Hikari admitted.

Bolt arched up to kiss her back, but Hikari stopped him with a hand pressed against his chest. "Sleep," she commanded with some fondness. "When you wake up, it won't hurt as much."

Bolt closed his eyes. He dreamt of a world where his father wasn't Hokage, where he and his family were together and happy, where Hikari, her parents, and her uncle Eiji lived in the Leaf, and where the world was peaceful.

A world where he was happy.

* * *

 **A/N:**

So... I wasn't very confident about this chapter. It was a big one. Lots of important things happen emotionally. I hope it was as powerful of a chapter as I envisioned it. Let me know how I did. I'm considering a re-write.

This is probably the last chapter before Christmas. Can we get to 1k reviews before then?

A number of people asked why the other Hyūga couldn't see through the Akatsuki's masks. Well, the answer is quite simple, but I don't hold it against any of you for not remembering. A minor worldbuilding detail I inserted many tens of chapters ago (during the Leaf tournament arc, I believe), was that the Hyūga have a seal that prevents the Byakugan from looking through solid objects. It is widely known and used among the clan chiefly for privacy reasons. It's difficult to sleep, or to shower, or to be intimate knowing that a hundred pairs of eyes could be watching you at any given moment, right? Bolt uses this seal to hide their collective faces from the Hyūga.

We finally get to see Himawari's hinted at Fire Release: Rasengan! Her technique is Rasenhakkō (螺旋発光 — "spiral" + "luminescence; radiation") in reference to the signature cleansing light that it produces.


	72. Chapter 72

It wasn't as bad as when Nagato had attacked. Naruto could see that. The damage was contained in the heart of the city—the military district. The surrounding civilian sectors were largely undamaged, save for major damage to every system that ran on electricity. They had been knocked back to the dark ages. That was perhaps the most damaging part of the attack.

A handful of homes and businesses remained standing. Anything larger than two stories had been destroyed in the fighting. The Hyūga compound was the least damaged. Conversely, they were going to have to write off a large portion of the Nara forest as a total loss. The lake had made the land into a swamp that wasn't fit for habitation.

The numbers echoed in his mind.

Five hundred seventy-eight ninja were dead—among them, seventeen graduates fresh from the Academy. They hadn't even been ninja for more than a month. One thousand four hundred sixty-two were injured. Of them, nearly five hundred would never be fit for duty again. Good men and women who had served the Leaf faithfully with honor. Among them were people he knew. Tenten. Udon.

The damages... the estimates were still coming in. Shikamaru had them pegged at, at least, one billion ryō. It was a death knell financially.

The worst part?

His son was responsible.

Naruto blamed himself. He hadn't been able to return to the village fast enough. The only thing keeping the cave from collapsing was Kurama and him. If he left... Sarada would have had to hold ton upon ton of stone and water by herself with her incomplete Susano'o. She would never have lasted. She—and all of his ANBU—would have died.

His daughter was hospitalized, in a coma, after their fight. Sakura and Tsunade assured him she would live but she had yet to wake.

Hinata was distraught. Emotionally unstable after watching their children try to murder each other. A son who had been twisted until there was nothing but a war criminal left. A daughter who felt more comfortable in the wilds than in the city. A husband who was married more to his position than her.

Naruto sat under the stars, an old bottle of rice wine rested between his legs, as he stared up at the few features of the Hokage survived the explosion. The lower half of Kakashi's mask. A few locks of his father's hair. The helmet of Tobirama. That was it. His likeness had been completely obliterated. Half the mountain was gone where his face had been carved. Bolt had made sure of that.

His dream was dying. Naruto could feel it. The fragile peace he had built was slowly slipping through his fingers like sand. Stone was growing distant and more militaristic. Cloud was forging ahead, playing catch up, making sure the whole world knew they were as strong as the Leaf. Mist was back to their old ways; spies, assassins, political intrigue. They hid it well, but Naruto knew. It seemed like only him and Gaara wanted to forget war was anything more than just a word—and, even then, Gaara was dying. Naruto didn't think he would last much longer.

He took another sip of wine.

" **Naruto,"** Kurama rumbled in his mind.

"What?" Naruto slurred.

" **Pay attention. Talk to Shikamaru,"** the fox told him.

Naruto blinked up at Shikamaru. His friend was looking down at him with worried eyes. "Naruto? Are you—" Shikamaru sighed. "I guess that's a silly question." He sat down and stared up at the stars with him.

Naruto passed Shikamaru the bottle of rice wine. He sighed a thank you and took a sip before breaking into a coughing fit. "Strong stuff," Shikamaru commented.

"Tsunade bought it for me on the day I took the Hat," Naruto said, recalling the memory fondly.

"That explains it," Shikamaru said.

Naruto mumbled an affirmative.

"Naruto... I hate to ask this, but are—are you going to be fit for duty?" Shikamaru asked quickly. He had this way of babbling words when he spoke with a drawl.

Naruto pondered the question. Was he? Fit for duty? Probably not. He was too close to the situation. Too many things in his personal life sapping his attention from the Hat. "No," he answered.

"I thought so," Shikamaru breathed. "Look, I... Fuck, man!" Shikamaru grabbed the bottle before he could take another drink. "I get it! I do, but I need you to get your shit together right now. You're going to have the busiest day of your damn life tomorrow and if you're drunk for it then the entire country is going to fall apart!"

Naruto swallowed and nodded.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Naruto," Shikamaru apologized. "I am. I know you're feeling like shit right now but I need the Hokage. The Leaf needs the Hokage. If you're not fit for duty, you need to become fit for duty. If we lose you now, the entire world is going to be at war within the year. I guarantee it."

He considered it. Naruto shook his head. "I can't, Shikamaru," he slurred. "I'm—I can't. It's my son. My _son_! You can't expect me to fight him. Not... not for real."

Shikamaru was gearing up for one of his lectures. Naruto could see the storm brewing. "I'm... I'm getting old. It's time to hand the Hat down to the next generation. Konohamaru is ready. He's—"

"He's a fucking wreck, that's what he is!" Shikamaru snapped. "His best friend is a fucking human balloon, Naruto. Sakura isn't even sure how Udon is even alive. Konohamaru's got half as much experience under his belt as you and nowhere near enough power. If you give him the Hat, the Leaf will fall. Do you understand me? If you're not there for us, we are doomed."

Naruto took a deep, shaky breath. "Shikamaru... you don't know what you're asking me. If I put on the Hat tomorrow, I'm going to have to be the one to fight my own son. You know how that will end. You're asking me to kill him. The world is going to ask me to kill him. I can't. You know that. If you ask me to choose between the Leaf and Bolt... I'll choose him. Just like I chose Sasuke."

Shikamaru ran a hand through his air. He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit up. "I'm not asking you to kill him. Fuck, I'm not asking you to even fight him. I wouldn't ask you to do that. You know me better than that, Naruto," he said. "I'm asking you to sober up, get some sleep, put on the Hat tomorrow morning, get in front of a camera, and tell the world the Leaf is still standing. I'm asking you to get your head in the game and make sure you're fit for combat if Cloud gets a stick up their ass and thinks they can take us in our moment of weakness. I'm asking you to keep the Union together so that I don't have to watch my wife's country go to war with Stone."

Naruto didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. He stared up at the moon, at the stars, at the smoke from his burning home masquerading as clouds. He had given up so much already to be Hokage. And now he was being asked for more. Could he give more? Was there even more to give? It seemed like he had lost so much already. Sacrificed so much.

And yet, he knew the answer.

"Alright," Naruto mumbled. "Alright. What do we do?"

He could never turn his back on the Leaf when it needed him. Not when Orochimaru attacked. Not when Sasuke was kidnapped. Not when Nagato attacked. Not when the Fourth War erupted.

Shikamaru breathed an audible sigh of relief. "So, the Union is going to want a meeting of the Kage—a real one, not the shit we've been doing with computers. A meeting of the minds in the flesh," he explained. "You're going to be the one to call it."

"What?" Naruto asked.

"We take the initiative away from them, we take the power," Shikamaru continued on. "We know they're going to want to meet. This is big news. This could be the start of the Fifth War for all they know. It's important we control the engagement here. Make sure we appear strong and that the damage wasn't as bad as it seemed."

"Shikamaru... we don't have electricity!" Naruto exclaimed. "It hasn't been this bad since the time of Tobirama!"

"Yeah, that's a problem," Shikamaru said. "I'm working on that. I'll have something up and running soon."

"I'm feeling a 'but' coming," Naruto mumbled.

"... But," Shikamaru said. "We need to have a gameplan going into this. We call the Summit, we set the tone, we control how we deal with the new Akatsuki. That's very, very important if you don't want to turn on the news one day and see Bolt's head literally mounted on a pike."

Naruto felt his stomach churn in anger and loss at the very thought.

"We're going to propose a new, independent department within the Union," Shikamaru said.

"We are?" Naruto asked.

"We are," Shikamaru confirmed. "The Anti-Akatsuki Task Force. We're going to tap the best and brightest from around the continent to make sure Akatsuki is put down and peace restored. This takes the control of the situation away from the Great Five, but there's no way they can deny it. They'll be seen as Akatsuki sympathizers, or worse, supporters."

"How does this help us?" Naruto asked.

"Because," Shikamaru stressed. "We, the Leaf, are going to be the ones heading the task force. We have the strongest claim because it was our home that was attacked. Just like how the Third Raikage had the strongest claim at the last Summit because it was his brother, the Eight-Tails, that the old Akatsuki kidnapped."

"And—and that means the task force will handle Bolt without killing him! Right?" Naruto asked. Finally, some hope. A light at the end of the tunnel.

Shikamaru pressed his lips together in a bloodless frown. "I won't lie to you, Naruto. Bolt could die in the fighting. Should die, even." Naruto shuddered. "But I promise you, if there's a way we can bring him in without killing him, we will. I won't make you fight him. I don't _want_ you to fight him. If our positions were reversed... I couldn't kill Shikadai."

Naruto released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "How do you know it'll work, Shikamaru? How..." he paused. "Just how?"

Shikamaru smirked that lazy, lopsided, prideful smirk he wore when he did something particularly clever to get out of doing work. "You know what your son said to me when we were fighting in the forest?" he asked.

Naruto shook his head. He hadn't been in the right mind to read the preliminary reports.

"He told me I was dangerous," Shikamaru said. "Told me I had to die because if I didn't, I'd mess up his plans." He let out a low chuckle. "And trust me, Naruto. I'm going to mess up a lot of his plans."

Naruto choked out a laugh. It was his first in... he didn't remember how long.

* * *

Something had changed.

Hibiki knew it. It was the way they stood just a little closer than normal. Sharing each other's personal space. The back of their hands, their knuckles, would brush sometimes. Neither pulled away from the contact. Little sly, shared glances when they thought nobody was watching.

It was the way their chakra changed, too. Hibiki... didn't dislike that, but it made him nervous. Bolt was lightning made flesh. Electric in all the best ways. Fluctuating between burning hot and icy cold. So beautiful, so tempting, yet one touch would sear the very essence of pain into his memory. Dangerous. It was that danger that was most attractive. And the sense of danger had only grown over the past year as they planned their attack on the Leaf. Now? Now, the lightning felt appeased. Tamed, a little.

Hibiki liked the danger.

Hikari had been a sea in storm. Especially after her mercenary "father" had been killed. Truly, Naraka hath no fury like a woman scorned. It's what made Hibiki a little fearful, respectful, of her. One wrong word and... oops, there goes the mountain as she brought that frightful strength to bear. The sea was still angry, still churning, but it was the waning anger after a storm when the dawn broke and the sailors found their ship afloat.

It seemed the two of them had finally completed their courting dance and were moving on to the fun part. Hibiki wasn't jealous—he wasn't, he told himself—but... he would literally murder the population of a small country to trade places with Hikari.

They stood around the television and watched and waited. The Hokage was making a statement. The first since their attack nearly two days ago. Bolt was an anxious bundle of nerves—for more than one reason. The anchor paused in her prepared speech and announced that the Hokage would be speaking shortly. The camera panned to a very familiar figure: tall, blond, blue eyes. Older, with a face marred by an additional scar on each cheek and plenty of wrinkles.

Not as much of a looker as Bolt. Hibiki assumed he took after his mother more than his father.

There were quite literally hundreds and men and women in attendance to hear the Hokage speak. The flashes of the cameras were nearly blinding. No less than thirty mics were arranged before him. He cleared his throat.

" _Two days ago,"_ the Hokage began. The crowd quieted. _"Enemies of peace committed an act of war against the Leaf. We sons and daughters of the Leaf have known war. We have known the casualties of war, but for the second time, we have known them in the heart of our great city on a peaceful morning. Hundreds bravely gave their lives to defend their homes. Thousands more were injured in the line of duty. Even more, still, were left homeless. Were left bereft of life and property. All of this, in a single day."_

The Hokage paused. Bolt leaned forward. Eyes hard and watchful. Barely drawing breath. Hibiki saw Hikari hovering nearby. Her hand inched toward his, but never took it.

" _When night fell,"_ the Hokage continued his speech. _"It fell on a different world. A world where peace itself is under attack. The Leaf—the world—has many questions, tonight. They are asking: 'Who attacked our home?' Tonight, I can safely answer those questions. The Leaf was attacked by a group, an organization, of notorious criminals, rogue ninja all, with members from many nations. They are the terrorists responsible for the destruction of Hōzuki Castle and the Great Naruto Bridge. They have suspected ties to many anti-Union and anti-government organizations, including the Revolution, whom we believe their leader, the Celestial Maiden, shares membership between. They share a name and an ideology with an old enemy. The Leaf was attacked... by a new generation of the Akatsuki."_

The crowd erupted. Shouted questions and cries of fear. Hibiki smiled. The Hokage held a hand up and the crowd was silenced.

" _This new Akatsuki has declared war on peace by attacking the Leaf, by attacking the Union. They are murderers who make no distinction between civilian or military targets. Who make no distinction between men, women, or children. And tonight, the Leaf makes the following demands of the new Akatsuki, their allies, and any who would offer aid or support to them. Surrender to Union authorities your leaders and members. Cease all hostilities with Union forces. Release all prisoners of war. If you do not... then the Leaf will bring its full might to bear and meet you on the battlefield of war."_

The crowd was cheering now. Applauding, even. How fickle, Hibiki thought. Bolt wore a grin that bared teeth. Ah, how lovely he was. Hibiki sighed.

" _I would like to take this time to address my fellow Kage and all foreign leaders,"_ the Hokage spoke. _"The Akatsuki is more than just a threat to the Leaf. It is a threat to the entire world. A threat to the peace we have built ourselves in the wake of the Fourth War. For that reason, I am calling the second Kage Summit. As per the Union charter, we shall meet in the Land of Iron, at the city of Three Wolves, in one week's time. Thank you."_

The Hokage walked from the stage with purpose and determination. He did not answer any questions the crowd of reporters had.

"Well," Kagami sighed. "That was interesting. Not."

"On the contrary, it was _very_ interesting," Bolt countered with a small grin.

The twins seemed to perk up at that. "We're going to attack them, boss? Aren't we? Please say we are," Kagari squealed. Hibiki admired their dauntless bloodlust, even if it frightened him a little.

"No," Bolt answered. "We are—"

"Come on!" Kagami protested. "They'll all be in one spot! It'll be easy!"

Lightning danced through their leader's golden locks. Both sisters quieted. "We don't stand a chance against the combined might of the Kage," Bolt explained. "That's not a fight. That's suicide. We dealt the first blow. Now we watch and wait. When they make their first mistake, we strike again."

"What? That's—that's stupid!" Kagari hissed.

Bolt smiled something dark and cold. "Let me tell you an old strategy, Kagari," he said. "All warfare is deception. If you want to defeat a more powerful enemy, feign weakness and encourage their superiority. Offer them bait and lure them into a trap. Then crush them when they act on their arrogance."

The sisters were quiet as they thought upon his words. "We're not going to attack the Kage Summit," Bolt said. "But we are going to attack someone else."

That seemed to brighten their day. "Who?" the Akiyama sisters asked, as one. Hibiki still thought their manner of simultaneous speaking was creepy.

Bolt smiled. "We need to rescue our eighth member," he said. "Have you ever fought a Sannin?"

* * *

The torso twitched with every fall of the needle. It was surprising, really, how much movement a body without its head, arms, or legs could move. Bolt tightened the restraints and returned to tattooing the seal into the torso's flesh.

It was some of his best work, he had to admit. Numerous immobilization seals with redundant backups designed to incapacitate its victim. The final of which was designed to turn muscle fiber to stone. A multitude of tracking seals so that Bolt would always know where he was. A seal that monitored the vitals and fed them back to him so he could detect falsehoods.

But it was what he penned now that took all his concentration, and what made Hidan's insufferable squirming all the more annoying. A seal designed to transmute matter to energy. If activated, Hidan would be obliterated down to the last cell. There was no coming back from that—immortality or not.

Bolt still wasn't sure he even believed in Hidan's supposed "immortality." The man was a fucking walking abomination. His chakra was _static._ It never changed. Never. Not once. Bolt had even tried to alter it. It didn't work. He supposed that was one form of immortality. The monks preached that the brain was simply a house for the soul, the chakra. That a person truly resided in the combination of their physical and spiritual energies. So, if those energies never depleted, never changed, they were, technically, immortal.

That was Hidan's strength. Bolt had wondered why, of all people, Hidan had been invited to join the original Akatsuki. He was by far the weakest, least talented member. He hailed from Steam, a joke of a ninja village, possessed no bloodline, and had no great training in anything other than the use of his scythe.

That had been before Bolt had seen the man's chakra. He didn't have too much of it. Jōnin quantities, for certain, but nothing special.

He just never ran out of chakra.

That was it. That was his strength. His chakra was forever statically locked at the same quantity and quality. The source of his immortality and his greatest strength. And now that strength belonged to him and him alone.

Bolt finished the final piece of the seal and stood. "Put him back together," Bolt ordered Katasuke. "Do not—I repeat, _do not—_ allow him to come into contact with any biological material. Use puppets to deliver his food and water. Under no circumstance are you or any other living person to interact with him without my supervision."

"Of course, young master," Katasuke said with a small bow.

Bolt turned to leave. He hesitated as Katasuke worked his jaw up and down. "What is it, Katasuke?" he asked.

The scientist swallowed. "Young master, it's about... the cells of Danzō Shimura," Katasuke said. "Tsuchigumo and I, we have tried cloning them, but... they aren't taking the program well. It is unlikely we will be able to clone a vessel without more samples. We are running desperately low as it is."

Bolt frowned. That was unfortunate. Luckily, their attack on the Leaf had been successful. There was no longer a pressing need for the living prison of the Tailed Beasts. "Discontinue the cloning experiments and salvage as much genetic material as you can," Bolt ordered him.

"At once, young master," Katasuke bowed.

Bolt made his way from the labs to the living quarters. Running an organization of sociopathic ninja who were out for themselves was more trying than he had originally thought. If they were lucky, they were about to add two more to their number—Yasuo and Hidan. That would make managing the others even more difficult. The Akiyama sisters were frothing at the bit for a good fight. Tetsu, after much encouragement, was ready to begin his quest to unite the Seven. Hibiki and his jealousy was becoming more and more troublesome. Tsuchigumo was still too withdrawn from the team...

He needed to nip the Akiyama sisters in the bud for good. He rapped his knuckles against their door, wincing as his sensitive skin protested, and waited. Kagari opened the door a few seconds later, smiling and eyes dancing with mirth, before she saw him and squeaked. "Boss!" Kagari snapped to attention.

"Can I come in?" Bolt asked. He figured it would be polite to ask. He had designed the security measures for the base. If he wanted to enter their room, he could. It was a formality. He could have summoned them to the briefing room, but he wanted their meeting to be a more personal one.

"Uh, yeah, of course," Kagari choked out.

The sisters' shared quarters were... opulent. That was the word. A large, walk-in wardrobe overflowing with fine clothes. They had a pair of couches with rich red leather that sat around a low wooden table created from the wood supposedly grown by Hashirama Senju himself. The table alone cost more than most peasants made in their entire lives. Kagami had noticed him and sat upright, her cheeks red. A film played in the background.

Bolt resisted the urge to smirk. He let them stew. Just a little bit. When they were both nervous and fidgeting, he took pity on them. "You two remind me a lot of myself," he said. "In a different world, our destiny's could have been switched. Both talented, both dissatisfied with the ninja world, both born into dysfunctional families."

He paused. "The only difference between you and me is the direction we chose to channel our dissatisfaction," Bolt said. He saw the confusion in their faces. "You could have been so much more, so much greater, if you had overcome your boredom. If your goal in life was more than just living for the next big fight. It's... a shame."

He could see the way Kagami sneered at him for pitying them. "But I don't blame you," he added quickly. "I didn't come here to lecture you. I came here to congratulate you. Since you joined the Akatsuki, you've worked hard and proven yourselves. The others were... sceptical, to say the least, that you would be able to overcome your previous occupation and become loyal supporters of the cause. But I saw the potential, and you've embraced it."

Bolt held out both hands; one for Kagami, one for Kagari. Cupped within, he summoned their prizes. "You've proven yourselves to be worthy of becoming full members of the Akatsuki. This... is your prize," he said. He opened one hand. "For you, Kagami, I give North. It was previously worn by the rogue Waterfall ninja, Kakuzu. For you, Kagari, I give South. It was previously worn by the rogue Mist ninja, Kisame Hoshigaki."

"You're... giving us rings?" Kagari asked, as she gingerly took the ring.

Kagami, as usual, was all sass. "You know, I was wondering where you five got the rings. I thought it was just some fashion statement," she quipped.

"They're not simple jewellery. They're tools. Put them on," Bolt instructed. They struggled to find the correct finger. "Left ring and middle finger."

Kagami and Kagari looked suitably embarrassed and chastised. Bolt raised his right arm and clenched his fist. Zero sat at its place of honor on his thumb. The silvery metal was remarkably similar to chakra steel. When he channeled his energy into it, he could the metal greedily drink his chakra. And, through it, he could feel his companions' chakra. Kagami and Kagari twitched.

"The rings are powerful artifacts that allow up to ten people to pool their chakra for a single, specific jutsu," Bolt explained.

"... What kind of technique would need the combined chakra of ten people? Ten people as strong as us?" Kagari asked.

Bolt humored them. "A singularly unique forbidden fūinjutsu technique," he answered. "It was used by the old Akatsuki to seal away the Tailed Beasts. We will be using it for a similar purpose."

The twins stared down at their rings with newfound respect. "They are quite beautiful," Kagari remarked, gazing at the brilliant yellow topaz set in South.

"In a way," Bolt agreed. He saw their true beauty in their construction and purpose, not their form. He turned to leave. "Get some rest," Bolt remarked. "After we kill Orochimaru, you two will have the fight I promised you."

They looked up from their rings at him. He saw the unasked question dancing in their eyes.

"The Two-Tails," he answered them.

* * *

She was the third to arrive. It was unfortunate, too, because it meant she would have to watch the snivelling fool Kazekage talk strategy with the Hokage. They sat, together, whispering in hushed tones. At the fore of the table sat the ever stoic aging leader of the Land of Iron, Mifune.

He was getting up there in his years, Kurotsuchi thought. She hadn't heard of him naming a successor. Poor choice, in her opinion, given the current state of global unrest. He could drop dead any day from old age or a knife in the back. His death would plunge the Land of Iron into a state of anarchy.

It didn't take long for the others to arrive. The Raikage and Mizukage had to travel the furthest. They all wore the ceremonial garb of their office. Flowing robes of white with a triangular hat. The character for "Lightning" and "Water" was emblazoned on the front boldly.

The air was heavy with tension. Kurotsuchi could have cut it with a knife. Eventually, Mifune stood and cleared his throat. "We are all present," he rattled. "I now convene the second Kage Summit."

All eyes fell on the Hokage. Inside, Kurotsuchi was smiling. She wanted to see how he explained away what had befallen the Leaf—and him, personally. Outside, she was emotionless, stoic.

"I'll make this short. We all know what happened," the Hokage said. Curt, to the point. "A new generation of the Akatsuki has risen. They've attacked the Leaf. As per the Union charter, an act of war against one of us is an act of war against us all. Not only that, every nation has a vested interest in ensuring a group like the Akatsuki never rises again."

They all nodded.

"We've learned from our previous mistakes," he continued. "We cannot afford to do nothing and fight the Akatsuki, one-by-one, as they go about accomplishing their goals. Some of us, I believe, wouldn't have agreed to do so even if I had suggested it."

Kurotsuchi smiled inwardly. No, she would not have. So, too, would the Raikage.

"Therefore, I propose a joint operation between the Great Five. A new, independent department within the Union with members from every nation. An anti-Akatsuki task force, consisting of the best and brightest we each have to offer. They will work together to bring the new Akatsuki to heel," the Hokage concluded. He didn't phrase it like it was a question. It was a statement. A fact.

And they all knew it. The Leaf was the victim here. They had point.

"And the Leaf will be sharing their intel on this new Akatsuki, I presume?" the Mizukage asked.

The Hokage nodded. "The intel is top secret and will be trusted only with the Kage and their chosen task force members. There have been some... doubts, raised about joint membership between the leader of the Revolution and several members of the new Akatsuki," he said.

"You're afraid we have moles?" the Raikage asked with a frown.

The Hokage leaned forward. "Let's be honest here," he said. "We know we have spies in the Union. In each village, too. If this becomes common knowledge, it will get back to the Revolution within the week. I guarantee it. If it leaks to the Revolution, and the Celestial Maiden is, in fact, a member of the new Akatsuki, we lose the element of surprise."

The Raikage grunted an affirmation. Kurotsuchi frowned. She didn't like the way the Hokage was taking control. The last time they let him dictate things, he got them into this mess. "Peace" her ass. He was dismantling their entire way of life, their culture, brick-by-brick. And the only ones who seemed to understand that were her and their fucking enemies.

"Are we agreed, then?" the Hokage asked.

The hopeful shine in his eyes was too much. Kurotsuchi took a breath to deny him.

"—No," the Raikage spoke.

Kurotsuchi sighed as her thunder was stolen.

"No?" the Hokage asked. He sounded... disbelieving.

"No," the Raikage confirmed. "You've skipped over one very important detail. A detail that, I think, would sway the voting."

The Hokage was silent.

"Your son is the leader of this new Akatsuki, isn't he?" Chōjūrō asked. It was more of a statement than a question.

The Hokage gnawed on his bottom lip. "He is," he admitted.

"Then you're too close to the matter," the Raikage countered.

"I don't remember Cloud being too close to the matter when they were the ones slighted by the Akatsuki," the Kazekage wheezed out.

It was the best entertainment she could ask for. The look on the Raikage's face was priceless.

"I am too close to the matter, you're right," the Hokage admitted. "Which is why we are delegating the hunt for the Akatsuki to an independent task force. One which will have no qualms about its leader or members."

The room was silent as they each stewed over the proposition. Kurotsuchi knew what their votes would be even before they were cast. There was only one answer. To vote otherwise was political suicide. She couldn't afford to go against the flow here. Not yet, anyway. Not until Stone was ready to stand on its own once more.

"Agreed," the Raikage spoke.

"Agreed," the Mizukage echoed.

"Agreed," Kurotsuchi chimed in.

"Agreed," the Kazekage choked out. He broke into a fit of coughing.

"... Agreed," the Hokage voted.

"Then we are in agreement," Mifune stated. "The Union hereby authorizes the creation of a task force dedicated to the eradication of the new Akatsuki."

* * *

"I want in," Himawari demanded.

Her father was unreadable. He sat behind his desk, perfectly still, no emotion on his face. He didn't answer her. Still, she would not be denied.

"I am volunteering, Lord Seventh," she hissed. "For the anti-Akatsuki task force. I am the only person who has fought _him_ and stood their ground. I know _him._ How _he_ fights. What _his_ strengths are."

Still, he was quiet. Her father wilted. "Himawari," he said softly. "You were just released from the hospital. Even if I were to accept, you're not cleared for active duty. And—and besides... do you really want to kill your own brother?"

"He is _not_ my brother!" Himawari screamed. A strange, hard emotion stirred in her heart. It was painful. So very, unbearably, painful. Like her heart had turned to callous and bone. Unshed tears welled in her eyes. "He is a monster! And he needs to be put down!"

He couldn't meet her eyes. Her father kept his gaze firmly on the documents he had been signing. Probably the very papers that were creating the new task force. "If you deny me this..." Himawari threatened. "Then you better prepare to add me to the bingo book. I will bring _him_ down. Whether I do it with a scratch on my headband or not."

"... Fine," he croaked.

Himawari turned and stormed out of his office. The tears from before fell down her cheeks against her will. It felt like someone had her throat in their grip. The sorrow she felt was so powerful it was a physical sensation.

Her brother had hurt her. Worse than their father ever had. After he had promised never to do so. He had betrayed her in the worst way possible. And now... now she would do the memory of the person she loved most one final honor. She would save him from the monster he had become.

Himawari nearly ran into someone—her best friend—in her haste to leave the building.

"Himawari? Are you..." Sarada stumbled over her words. Instead, she pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. "I'm so sorry," Sarada mumbled. "I'm so, so sorry. I—I should have been there. If I had, then..."

"No," Himawari choked out. "No, nothing would have changed. If—if anything, I'm glad you weren't there. You... you still love him, don't you? You awoken your Mangekyō for him. I couldn't—I can't ask you to kill him. No one can."

Sarada pulled back. "Himawari... I'm," she paused. "I'm part of the task force. I was the first volunteer."

Himawari choked on her tongue. "But... but how! You know what we're going to be doing, don't you?"

Sarada smiled sadly at her. "Yeah," she admitted. "But that's why I have to be there. It's my responsibility, you know? If... if we're going to kill Bolt, it should be someone who loves him to do it. Not some ninja who will kill him with a knife in the back and then spit on his corpse. He... he deserves better than that. Despite all he's done."

Himawari couldn't comprehend it. As much as his betrayal had hurt her, it must have certainly hurt Sarada just as much. Perhaps, more? There was a difference between familial love and... what Sarada felt. She wanted to spend her life with her brother. Grow old. Have children. Her grandfather had been over the moon with happiness at the possibility of a branch unifying the Uchiha and Hyūga clans.

She couldn't understand Sarada, so she said nothing.

Her friend cleared her throat. "The Hokage, um, called for me. The task force was in a briefing. He said we had a new member... I'm guessing that's you?" Sarada hazarded.

Himawari nodded. "Alright, come on. We're meeting in the basement of the old Torture and Intelligence building," Sarada beckoned.

The state that her brother had left their home in always inspired a sense of awe and anger in equal measure. Part of that destruction, Himawari knew, was her fault. But it was her brother who fried everything that ran on electricity in the entire city. It was her brother who bombed the city. It was her brother who directed his—his... what could you even call them? Do monsters have something as human as "friends?" It was her brother who set the new Akatsuki on her home.

They were rebuilding. It was a painfully slow process, but they were rebuilding. Makeshift, crude wooden buildings that would be built upon to replace the old. A city of tents where workers and critical ninja slept. Some of the other members of the ninja corps were moved to the civilian sectors of the city atop Hokage Rock. Still, the Leaf was in ruins.

The old T&I headquarters had been damaged heavily in the fighting. It had been one of her brother's primary targets. Himawari was hoping to find out why at the briefing.

And what a meeting of the minds it was. Some of the best and brightest in the world had been gathered. Shinki and his team from Sand, she recognized. Yurui and his team from Cloud, too, though she hadn't seen them in years. Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō were present, along with Metal Lee. There were two teams she didn't recognize. A trio of two masked men and one woman who wore flowing, seaweed-green robes. Etched into their masks was the symbol of the Mist. From Stone came a pair of barrel-chested, grizzled men with frayed, graying beards.

And presiding over them all was Kakashi Hatake, the Sixth Hokage.

"Well," Kakashi spoke genially. "Now that we're all here, we can begin. I'll bring everyone up to speed. Firstly, we have thirteen suspected members of the Akatsuki identified."

One of the burly men from Stone let out a low whistle.

"The inner circle, we believe, consists of Bolt Uzumaki, Hikari Yagami, Tetsu... Uzumaki, an unnamed puppeteer from Sand who has assumed the alias 'Tsuchigumo,' Hibiki Otonari, and the Akiyama sisters, Kagami and Kagari," Kakashi rattled off. He withdrew a series of folders. "Here you'll find each of their profiles. Any information the Union has on them and their skills is in there. They are, however, outdated in light of the most recent attack."

"And the changes?" Shinki asked. He spoke for the Sand contingent. Himawari watched as his cape of shifting iron sand shifted rhymically.

"Right," Kakashi continued. "Their previous threat ratings have changed. Intelligence has warned us to consider each member of the Akatsuki a Kage class threat in their own right."

One of the men from Stone stepped forward. "The Akiyama brats are not so powerful to be called Kage," he rumbled.

"Ah," Kakashi sighed. "Everyone, meet Kosaku Yamaguchi. He is a lieutenant in the Stone's Explosion Corps and was the Akiyama sisters' instructor. Well, as for their threat rating... Intelligence theorizes that they have been... training. One of our most decorated and powerful member of the ninja corps fought them during the battle. His report suggested that they were used to fighting an enemy much faster and more durable than themselves. They were also more controlled in their destruction than Stone's intel reported. They attacked with precision and restraint so as to preserve their chakra."

Kosaku grunted something but did not raise the point again. Himawari returned her attention to Kakashi.

"Moving on," the Sixth Hokage said. "The attack on the Leaf was split into several phases. Phase one was the infiltration of our Intelligence bureau. There, two of the Akatsuki's members broke into a secure vault and stole a single item. A ring, seized from a previous member of the Akatsuki who had been killed several decades prior. We identified themselves as 'Blue'—whom we believe to be Hibiki Otonari—and 'Sky'—whom we believe to be the puppeteer 'Tsuchigumo.' Our ninja who fought with them have their reports... here," Kakashi pushed forward another stack of folders.

"Of note, Hibiki appears to be capable of creating auditory genjutsu by speaking or singing. His technique was powerful enough to overcome a seasoned combat medic, an experienced Yamanaka clansmen, and a decorated member of our ANBU simultaneously. Luckily, we have an Uchiha on our side," Kakashi said with what Himawari was sure was a hidden smile beneath his mask.

"Tsuchigumo displays all the characteristics associated with Sand puppeteering; ambushes, weapons laced with poison, and a skill in fūinjutsu. Intelligence reports that it was he who managed to crack the security on the vaults and enter the facility undetected," Kakashi explained.

"Troublesome," Shikadai swore. "How good is his fūinjutsu? Are we going to have another Lee on our hands every time we fight them?"

Kakashi shook his head. "We don't know. So, until then, we're going to assume extreme caution. Fūinjutsu users often are more troublesome in pairs when they can work off each other. For our foreign friends, Bolt Uzumaki is a skilled fūinjutsu user who disabled one of our most powerful ninja with a seal that restricted movement. We were unable to remove it for several days until it wore off naturally," he said.

"Next... Tetsu Uzumaki, who identified himself as 'Vermillion,'" Kakashi continued. "A swordsman from the Land of Iron. Intelligence has confirmed with Iron that his training was standard for their men: strength and speed training, Flash, and their unique Saber technique. I'm sure you all saw the rift in the center of the village?"

Himawari nodded idly along with the other foreigners.

"That was a single Flash," Kakashi enunciated clearly. "We are considering him the second most powerful member of the Akatsuki. Engage with caution."

"Hikari Yagami was not seen fighting in any of the major battles. She accompanied Bolt during their mission in the Leaf. However, she has been noted to possess a powerful chakra-enhanced strength, skill with poisons, and thanks to our friends from Cloud, able to summon jellyfish," Kakashi said.

The masked woman from Mist cocked her head and produced a file from the folds of her robes. "Mist's intel on her from when she served in the hunter corps," she said in a low, cold voice.

"Thank you," Kakashi said, taking the file. He placed it on the table nearest him. "And, finally... Leaf's own Bolt Uzumaki. Here is where things get... complicated."

"Finally?" Yurui asked. "You said there were thirteen in all, I thought."

"I did," Kakashi confirmed. "Like I said, complicated. The other five members of the Akatsuki... we believe to be—how to phrase it, not human. They consisted of three men and two women, all of whom wore white masks of varying features. Each displayed abilities unique to them, as well as the possession of the Byakugan."

This, Himawari was interested in. She hadn't been present for the early battles.

"Their unique abilities are, we believe, in order... a pair of men who can create barriers which completely negate physical and chakra-based attacks, respectively; a man skilled in the use of ninja tools who possesses a unique scythe that, as far as we can tell, absorbs chakra from whatever it cuts; a woman who possesses multiple summoning contracts of great size, including a snake, a hawk, and a turtle; and a woman who, as far as we can tell, is able to manipulate biology with her Yang chakra," Kakashi rattled off.

"And... how powerful were each of these... people?" Shinki asked.

"Each appears to have been as powerful as a high jōnin," Kakashi said. "I personally fought the pair that created barriers. They were troublesome, but not overly powerful individually."

"Why did you say they were inhuman?" one of the masked ninja from the Mist asked.

"Ah, that," Kakashi hummed. "Aside from their masks, all the men and women identified themselves as 'Pain'—the former leader of the Akatsuki, as you all well know. They shared the same features; tall, thin, with blond hair. Bolt himself claimed to be Pain, and has, on other occasions, borrowed techniques or strategies from the first Pain and the original Akatsuki. For example, he attempted to hide his Byakugan by pretending that each Pain was visually linked—like the first Pain was. We believe that Bolt is, somehow, attempting to copy the first Pain by creating additional bodies with unique abilities."

Himawari nodded in understanding. The burly man from Stone—Kosaku, if she remembered right—spoke. "A clone technique?" he rumbled.

"That's certainly one possibility," Kakashi nodded. "Bolt is a known user of the Shadow Clone technique. Although it is one that is... less preferable."

"How so?" Yurui questioned.

"Because," Kakashi drawled. "A shadow clone halves the user's chakra upon each successive clone. Five clones mean that each body would have been operating on a meager sixth of his full chakra. Needless to say... that speaks badly for anyone less than a Kage fighting him."

There were nods of understanding and agreement all around.

Kakashi cleared his throat. "In addition," he began. "The clones—if they are—were much sturdier than normal shadow clones. While it is possible to create durable clones, the damage which some of them sustained would have almost surely dispelled them."

"What about the possible link to the Revolution?" Sarada asked next to her.

"That is speculation by Intelligence, at the moment," Kakashi answered. "But, Bolt himself wore one of the featureless white masks that members of the Revolution are known to wear. In addition, each of the Pains also wore masks, though none bear any resemblance to the mask the Celestial Maiden wears. We suspect that either the Celestial Maiden has ties to the Akatsuki, or Bolt has ties to the Revolution. Either way... troublesome."

Yurui cleared his throat. "The Raikage informed me that... Bolt had achieved what you are calling the next level of the Lightning Armor. What do we know about that?" he asked.

Kakashi turned to face her. Himawari swallowed. "Himawari?" he asked.

She nodded. "Right," Himawari said. "I fought him when he used it. He called it the 'Lightning Armor: Thunder God Mode.' It—he turns into electricity, essentially. That's it. He didn't have a physical body as far as I could tell. Any time I managed to hit him, he recovered from the damage and... remade himself, I guess?"

"How fast was he?" Yurui pressed.

"... Inhumanly," Himawari answered. She could still feel the bite of electricity as her brother ran his fingers through her chakra points. It was an agony she couldn't begin to describe. "As far as I could tell, he was as fast as a lightning strike. Each time he moved, it was with a clap of thunder."

The girl from Sand—Himawari forgot her name—let out a low, nervous chuckle. "How are we supposed to fight that, exactly? Sounds pretty aptly named to me. Thunder God, my ass," she swore.

Himawari frowned. "The technique isn't flawless," she countered. "There was... it's hard to describe. There's a windup time. He has to 'charge' himself. For one small instant, he has to stop before he can move again. I took advantage of that with Sage Mode to counterattack. I also didn't see him move in anything but a straight line. He might not have needed to move in any other direction, or it could be a limitation of the technique."

"Did he follow any other property of lightning? Path of least resistance?" Shinki asked. With a wave of his hand, he formed a rod of iron sand. "I could create a lightning rod."

"Something to test," Kakashi said with a nod. "Either way, we'll need to be careful. Himawari was safe because of her Sage Mode. The rest of us? We won't be so lucky."

"About that," Sarada spoke up. "I think my Susano'o could hold up to him. I could shield two or three additional people if it came to it."

"... I should be able to endure it as well," Yurui stated with a shrug.

Himawari wasn't sure how he planned to do that without Sage Mode. She just hoped he didn't get himself killed. The task force descended into tense silence as they mulled the new information over.

"Well," Kakashi broke the silence. "There was one other thing I thought I should mention. During the battle, Bolt displayed an unusual ability to dodge—"

* * *

"Are you sure this is safe?" Hikari asked him.

Bolt glanced at her. "Mostly," he said with a small grin.

"Be serious, Bolt," Hikari chided him. "Hidan is dangerous. You told me that, remember? I was there when you read what Nagato and Konan had to say about the... man."

"Hidan needs biological material for his technique to work," Bolt told her, even though she already knew. "I won't be anything close to biological when I'm speaking with him."

"How do you know he will even help you?" Hikari hissed.

He could tell she was getting irritated with him. Nervous, maybe. Scared of losing him. "Hidan was insane before he was buried alive for thirty years," Bolt quipped. "He's barely human now. You were there. What were his first words? What did he call me?"

"... Lord Jashin," she spat.

Bolt nodded. "So, Hidan is going to be meeting with his 'god.' Who am I to deny him?"

"Still, I—" Hikari protested.

He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to her mask where he forehead would have been. "I'll be fine, promise," Bolt swore.

She didn't have time to speak again before he became the Thunder God. He strode forward, met the steel of the vault door, and then walked through it. It was an odd sensation. Like walking underwater except... not. Steel was much colder. And hard. Like swimming through ice? He couldn't put it into words.

Hidan scrambled to his feet, still a little unsteady after being put back together, and faced him. Immediately, his face broke into a wide, ear-to-ear grin. His eyes danced with light and zeal. "Lord Jashin!" Hidan crowed, taking a knee and holding his arms to his side. "I—I knew this day would come! My faith has been rewarded!"

Bolt pondered what a god of death—he scoffed at the notion, knowing that his clan was descended from Death himself—destruction, and pain would do. He mentally shrugged and raised an 'arm.' Lightning lashed out and licked at Hidan was a crackling scream echoed by the sizzle of cooking flesh.

Hidan screamed. Oh, did he scream. He chased each scream with a laugh. Fits of joyous laughter bubbling up behind every scream.

Eventually, Bolt ceased his attack. Hidan was left little more than a husk of charred, blackened flesh. But he was still alive. Alive, and chuckling maniacally. "Hidan," Bolt rumbled. Speaking was frustratingly annoying. He had to internalize and control the electricity so that each chirp and clap of thunder created a facsimile of his voice. "You have served me well. Your devotion is admirable. For your piety... I have seen fit to reward you."

Hidan made small, broken noises of delight in the back of his throat as he drowned on his own blood and the smoke of his burning flesh. "You will be my Right Hand in this land, bringing Pain—" Bolt smiled. "—to my enemies. To the non-believers."

"Y—yes, Lord J—Jashin!" Hidan rasped. "I accept! I accept!"

Already, he was healing. Good. The improvements Katasuke and Tsuchigumo had implemented were working.

"Good, good..." Bolt rumbled. He gestured to Hikari, who was watching through one-way glass. The slot where Hidan received his food opened. Bolt gestured to the items within. Another annoyance—he couldn't hold things. "Then prove yourself, my champion."

Hidan stood, a broken man, and shambled forward. He grasped the rusted metal spike which he had been buried with in one hand, and took the bloodied shuriken in the other. Hidan understood at once. Bolt simply hadn't been expecting the zeal with which the deranged man responded. Hidan swallowed the shuriken whole, blood and all, and Bolt was forced to watch as it cut his throat to ribbons on the way down.

Immediately, Hidan's skin began to darken in an entirely unnatural way. Lines of white, a pale imitation of a human skeleton, were traced upon his skin. "For Lord Jashin!" Hidan cried, and then sunk the spike into his chest. Bolt saw it spear through his heart.

He smiled.

* * *

"... Bolt displayed an unusual ability to dodge—" Kakashi trailed off. "—he... to dodge..."

Something was wrong. Himawari knew it. "Kakashi?" she asked. "Uncle Kakashi?"

Kakashi clutched at his chest with both hands before he fell it his knees. "Kakashi!" Himawari cried, rushing to his side.

Blood blossomed through his jōnin jacket and rapidly pooled beneath him. Himawari futilely held her hands to the wound and applied pressure. "Medic! Medic!" she barked. "Hang on Kakashi! You'll be fine! The hospital—it's not far away! So just..."

Himawari fell silent. Kakashi, her uncle in all but blood, stared blankly at her with lidded, sightless eyes.

"No," Sarada uttered in a strangled, horrified voice behind her.

Kakashi Hatake the Copy Ninja, the Sixth Hokage, was dead.

* * *

The hawks parted around him with nervous, alarmed squawks. He hadn't been back to their mountainous domain in... a long time.

Now, though? Now he didn't fear them. Sasuke was far, far away and wouldn't be able to stop him. He didn't fear being trapped on the mountain, either, now that he could become the Thunder God at will. Why fly upon the wings of beasts when he could dance across the heavens as easily as any other god?

Bolt made his way to the largest, central cave. There, he found who he was looking for. Suzaku. Thankfully, the Lord of All Hawks was fully himself. Both eyes were slitted and bestial yellow instead of a mismatched Sharingan and Rinnegan.

"Master Bolt," Suzaku greeted him. "It has been a long time."

"That it has, Lord Suzaku," Bolt agreed with a nod.

"It is a shame, what has become between us," Suzaku said. "Ours was an alliance destined for greatness."

"It could have," Bolt admitted.

"Why have you come here now?" Suzaku asked, eventually.

"I'd like you to cancel our contract," he requested respectfully.

"That, I can do," Suzaku squawked. "I believe, without the influence of Master Sasuke, I could make preparations to make the cancellation permanent."

Bolt nodded. "That would be excellent," he said. "One thing first, however."

He smiled.

"Teach me Sage Mode."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Ya'll thought we were going to get out of this arc without a major character death? Think again. Earlier drafts for the story included Kakashi dying similarly to how he "died" against Pain, but I thought this was a much better choice.

I am considering changing "Bolt" to "Boruto." In light of reading the manga, again, it's beginning to sound better and better. When I started this story, the official translation was "Bolt." I was already several tens of chapters deep by the time "Boruto" became the norm in the community. When I re-wrote chapter one several months ago, I changed the name. If you'd like to re-read that, to see how it sounds, to give yourself an example, you're more than welcome to. What are your guys' thoughts?

Re: shipping — This is not a romance/shipping story, but there is romance in the background. It's a byproduct of certain characters becoming close to other characters during the course of the story. Bolt and Hikari are not the only pairing, but they are the most obvious. The only other one I am entertaining right now is Himawari/Shikadai, but that is neither a focus or set in stone. For the shippers following my story, feel free to chime in.


	73. Chapter 73

**A/N:** Happy New Years! Let's start this one with a bang, shall we? Triple chapter release!

* * *

"You must become one with the wind," Suzaku preached. They sat perched upon a crag overlooking the entire mountain range the hawk clan called home. "Be still; for the wind does not move, it simply is. Let go your earthly tethers and become one with the wind."

Bolt took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and tried to... become one with the wind. He had a nervous, churning feeling in his stomach. Wind was his most neglected element. And now he was supposed to become one with it?

The two of them, man and beast, meditated. Bolt felt no great calling of freedom that Suzaku described. He only felt, if anything, more grounded; caged, trapped. He took a deep, shuddering breath and cleared his mind. This, like everything else he had tried his hand at, he would master too. It would simply take time. If his sister could master Sage Mode, so could he. It was in their blood.

Free yourself. Become one with the wind. Cut free his earthly tethers. Deep breaths. Become one with the wind...

He couldn't feel it. No great stirring of energy, without or within. The wind—focus on the wind. As it blew through his hair, as it caressed his skin. It was unchained, free. He had to become the same. Energy without form, free. Just like when he became the Thunder God. Only, this time, he was trying to become his opposite.

Hours passed.

"You must be still," Suzaku chided. "The wind does not move, it simply is."

"I know!" Bolt snapped. He took a deep breath. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'm trying."

"Do not fret, young one," Suzaku squawked. "We hawks have not had a Sage for an age. It is not something one learns in a few paltry hours."

Bolt nodded and closed his eyes. He took another deep breath, held it, and released a shuddering exhale. Be still. Become one with the wind. The wind did not move. The wind was omnipresent. It simply _was._

Days passed.

Bolt did not move from the crag. He paused in his training, once, to tell his companions that he would not be returning so soon. It felt like an admission of weakness. That Sage Mode was beyond him. Bolt hated it.

He lived and breathed his mantra: become one with the wind.

A week passed. Then two. A third. Finally, on the fourth week, Bolt had had enough.

"I can't do it," he spat. The words were vile and disgusting on his tongue, like bile. He had never— _never_ —failed at anything he had set his mind to. This... this was a first. A new experience. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

Suzaku cooed at him like he was a hatchling. "Do not think less of yourself, young one," he said. "Only a rare few have the ability to become a Sage."

That only made it worse. "I—I don't understand!" Bolt shouted. "My sister and father can use Sage Mode! Why can't I?"

The old hawk hummed in thought as he waddled up and down the crag. "There... may be a way," Suzaku squawked. "An old ritual that our clan has not done in a millenia. Not since the time of my father's father."

"What is it?" Bolt asked. Hope blossomed in his chest.

Suzaku nodded to the west where, far in the distance, a storm crested the horizon. It was dark, with great black-purple clouds that were brimming with purple arcs of lightning. Occasionally... Bolt thought it was a trick of the eye. He could have sworn he saw an arc of _black_ lightning. Bolt had seen the storm many a time before when he helped the hawk clan.

"The Eternal Storm," Suzaku intoned softly. "It has been raging since time immemorial. Before man had even begun to use chakra."

Bolt could see the old hawk's eyes grow cloudy with memories of the distant past.

"When we were young, it was often a challenge. A test of skill. The best of us would brave the storm to prove ourselves. It served another purpose, too. Sometimes, a hatchling would be born lame. Incapable of taking to the skies as we were. We would take them to the Eye and loose them upon the storm. If they learned to fly, they returned stronger. If they did not... they did not return," Suzaku told him.

"You want me to brave the storm then?" Bolt asked.

Suzaku bobbed his head in affirmation.

"Let's do it," he said, standing. His legs and back were sore with disuse after weeks of sitting and meditation.

"Do you have no fear, young one?" Suzaku asked.

Bolt smiled. "How bad could it be?" he asked.

"Very well," Suzaku crowed. "Prepare yourself, Bolt!"

With a mighty cry, Suzaku snatched him with his claws and took flight. The hawk clan answered his call and took to the skies. Their wing-beats sounded like thunder in his ears as the entire mountain emptied and flew westward towards the Eternal Storm.

As they approached, Bolt began to feel more at home. The air was sweet and pungent in that alluring way that always came after the rain or a thunderstorm. His hair stood on end and his skin rippled with goosebumps. This... this he was used to. Lightning he understood. Thunder boomed so loudly he couldn't hear himself think. The flock flew higher and higher until they breached the clouds and ascended to the heavens.

It was beautiful.

The sun crested the storm and painted the world in a dichotomy of shadow and light; grays, blacks, and purples of the Eternal Storm clashing with the yellows, oranges, pinks, and reds of the dawn.

Bolt could see several "anvils" of the stormclouds reaching up above the rest of the storm. There, he knew, brimmed the most powerful lightning of all. And, ruling over it all, was a large swathe of calm skies surrounded by swirling clouds and dancing electricity. The wind howled and raged but Suzaku held him tightly.

Bolt swallowed as they flew over the eye of the storm. There was nothing for miles and miles except the ocean far, far below.

"May the Wind guide you, young one," Suzaku squawked above the roar of the storm.

"Wait! What—" his words were torn from his lips and scattered to the four wind as Suzaku released him unto the storm.

In an instant, his heart was hammering against his ribs as he fell. His breath was stolen from his lungs as he plummeted.

"Become one with the wind," Bolt chanted. "Let go your earthly tethers. Become one with the wind. Let go your earthly tethers. Become one with the wind—"

A bolt of lightning arced past him with a thunderous crack that reverberated in his skull. His breaths came fast and shallow. The more he fell, the more he could see the ocean shift below him. Great schools of fish that swam through the water and darkened the part they occupied. Waves whose height was deceptively diminished from the altitude he fell from.

"Become one with the wind. Become one with the wind," Bolt chanted. He closed his eyes. Panic welled within him as he was deprived of his most important sense. All that was left was the howl of the wind and the clap of thunder.

"Become one with the wind," Bolt breathed. "Become one with the wind. Become one with the wind..."

He cracked his eyes open and immediately sealed them shut. The ocean was much closer than he was comfortable with. Bolt emptied his mind. Tried to enter the headspace he was in when he used his Lightning Armor. When everything else fell away and all that was left was him and his little kingdom. "Become one with the wind," Bolt chanted. "Let go your earthly tethers."

He felt the wind lick at his skin like needles. The comforting way the storm reassured him of his safety. He wasn't in any danger. He simply had to become... one with the Wind.

His descent slowed.

Bolt peeled open his eyes, afraid of what he was going to see. He was... flying. Or, at least, controlling his fall. No—the Wind did not fly, it simply... was. Suzaku's words made sense now. Bolt let loose a nervous chuckle. Like his eyes had finally been opened, he could "feel" the world with a new, untrained sixth sense. Like a muscle he had never even considered having let alone used. So much energy... so much power. Untapped and at his fingers.

Was this what his sister and father felt? His achievements felt so paltry in the face of natural energy. Any old fool could sit and meditate for years to become a Sage and bypass decades of training and genius, just like that. It wasn't fair.

Panic blossomed in his chest as his eyesight swam before him. The world became perfectly clear and precise, as if held beneath a magnifying glass. As such, he could see the skin of his arms begin to gray and harden. A wave of numbness washed over him. He was... he was petrifying.

"Oh, shit," Bolt swore. "Oh, come the fuck on! This can't be happening!"

Bolt strained his new "sixth sense" and began to rise. He hesitated to call it flying. He simply moved... up. He needed to return to Suzaku and continue his training. Figure out a way to reverse the petrification and—

Agony.

Pain cascaded through each and every fiber of his being and stole every conscious thought from his mind. It was the kind of pain that was mind-consuming, all-destroying, and eternal. A pain so great that his very existence faded to nothing as his mind became a blank slate of white.

Bolt screamed and fell. Through wind and lightning and thunder, he fell, as the sound of clapping thunder and crashing waves drowned out everything else. The pain was too much. He was going to die, Bolt thought. Alone, in the middle of an ocean in a far away land, without ever accomplishing his dream.

That, above all else, he could not stand. Bolt forced himself to open his eyes. He fought through the pain, the agony. He had to—had to do something. That knowledge of what, exactly, was stolen by the pain. Above him, purple lightning crackled through pregnant stormclouds. Above even them, the anvil of the storm was brimming with powerful positive electricity.

The sight tugged at something in his memory. His head rolled to the side and, in the distance, he could see mountains. He needed to reach land, but it was so far. The pain muddled his thoughts. He was so warm and tired... it would be so easy to close his eyes.

But he couldn't. That one thought Bolt grasped and refused to let go of. To sleep was to die.

Thunder boomed in his skull. Something struck him, but it was too fast for the eye to follow. Electricity danced across and through his body. Clarity returned, however brief. He was the Thunder God. Lightning made flesh.

Bolt seared through the sky.

When he awoke, he was blissfully free of the pain. Instead, he felt nothing but a drowning warmth. The world was dark. Bolt blinked and sputtered as he sat up and gasped. He was caked in an earthy mud with a pungent herbal scent. Soft downy feathers covered the mud. Around him, hatchlings squawked playfully at their newest sibling.

Bolt scowled and rubbed at his mouth and eyes in an attempt to rid them of the no doubt regurgitated plant matter. He heard a rustle of folded wings and looked up. Suzaku peered down into the nest at him.

"How long was I out?" Bolt asked.

"... A day, no more," Suzaku answered him.

The old hawk seemed hesitant to speak. "What is it? Bolt demanded.

"Your body," Suzaku began. "It... did not take well to the power of Sage Mode. I have never seen such a thing before, but... I am sorry, young one. You will never tame the power of natural energy. It would kill you."

Bolt drew a long, shuddering breath as he considered the wizened hawk's words. He clenched his fists. He had thought he was better. He hadn't felt any pain or discomfort following his imprisonment under Orochimaru. His mind was his own. Whatever Orochimaru had tried to do to him, it had failed. He had healed. He hadn't heard the "buzz," the "chatter," in more than a year. He was supposed to have gotten better. Moved past that part of his life.

And yet, the vile snake still found a way to cripple him. It was Orochimaru's fault he would never master Sage Mode, never tap the power of natural energy.

No, Bolt decided. It was his own fault. Orochimaru might have been the one to strike the blow, but it was he himself that couldn't find the means to overcome it. All his power, all his knowledge, all his genius, and he couldn't master Sage Mode.

He was a failure.

"Orochimaru!" Bolt howled.

* * *

The day of Kakashi's funeral, it rained.

Shikamaru hated it. Dark stormclouds blot out the sun and blanketed the Leaf in perpetual gloom. It was a nice ceremony, he supposed. State sponsored—everyone was in attendance. Even the Academy students. They were wide-eyed and frightened at the collective sorrow of the village. They didn't know if they were supposed to be sad or fearful.

The rain was good for one thing, though.

It hid his tears.

But it couldn't hide his guilt. It was his fault that Kakashi was dead. His and his alone. He should have seen it. It was so damn obvious in retrospect. He got hung up on the rings. That was why the Akatsuki attacked—the rings. It just so happened Hidan was attached to one of those rings. And like any good opponent, the Akatsuki took advantage of anything—anyone—they could find. He should have seen Bolt's final actions for what they were.

Instead, the Sixth Hokage was dead. Assassinated from a thousand miles away in broad daylight.

It wasn't how he should have died. Kakashi should have died in the battlefield in glory, or in his bed an old man. Not... like this.

How could he face Naruto again? Shikamaru was supposed to be his chief advisor. He was supposed to be the tactical mind behind his friend's charismatic one. He didn't see the Akatsuki attack coming. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't identify Pain. He couldn't stop Pain. Couldn't prevent the damage or the death.

It was all his fault.

"Shikamaru," Temari whispered softly.

"Yeah?" Shikamaru asked, blinking away tears. He had lost track of time. There were only a scattered few mourners remaining—Naruto, Sakura, Guy, Lee, Kurenai, and Mirai.

"It's not your fault," his wife said firmly.

"Yeah, it is," Shikamaru countered. He was about to explain why, exactly, it was his fault, when she pressed a finger to his lips and silenced him.

"It's not," Temari pressed. "You had no way of knowing. But now you do. Just like when we were dealing with the Akatsuki the first time, you'll find a way to put that... that monster down. Just like you did before. You know how Hidan thinks, what his powers are. You've beaten him already. You just haven't done it yet. _Trust me_."

Shikamaru took a breath as Temari removed her finger and readied himself to give that earlier lecture, when he realized something. She was right. The new Akatsuki was... predictable. He knew what, roughly, their agenda was. He had all the clues. The shared an, if altered, ideology with the old Akatsuki, the ties with the Revolution, and, now, the recruitment of Hidan.

Temari could see something in him that made her smirk. "See? I'm always right," she said, tilting her chin up haughtily.

"Shit," Shikamaru swore. He could already think of a dozen moves the Akatsuki could have—should have—made.

"What?" Temari asked, her smile faltering.

"We need to get ready," Shikamaru breathed, sloshing through the rain and the mud towards Naruto.

"Ready for what?" Temari asked, hot on his heels.

"This was only a taste of what's to come," Shikamaru rattled off. "Akatsuki—they operated in cells of two. To ensure their members were safer, but also so that they could accomplish multiple missions at once. It's been two weeks and we haven't heard a single rumor about their movements. That means they're planning something. Something big. Something with all of their members."

"... Like an attack on another of the Great Five," Naruto—who had begun listening in—said.

"Right," Shikamaru pressed. "We need to get word out. Now. Everyone on high alert."

Naruto nodded, the grief in his eyes clear, but a new resolve, a new steel, brimming beneath. Shikamaru followed him to the new Hokage tower.

* * *

Katasuke held his breath as his eyes roved the data on the screen before him. To his right, a second monitor displayed the young master's vitals. "Initiating test sequence six," Katasuke announced.

Bolt had only enough time to suck in a breath before he pushed the key to initiate the test sequence. He strained against the bindings that held him down by his arms, legs, and chest. His back arched from the operating table, muscles rippling and spasming. Katasuke could see the way his jaw clenched, painfully tight, as he endured the pain.

It took only seconds. The sequence stopped the moment his subject's vitals entered dangerous territory. The operating room was quiet save for the young master's rasping gasps for breath and the low hum of the computer hardware as it compiled and displayed data.

To Katasuke, it was fascinating. Many things, he found, were, under the Akatsuki. There were no laws, few peers, and no morals when it came to science. With the Akatsuki, unlike the Union, he was free. Free to bathe himself in knowledge.

"What—" Bolt gasped. He took a shuddering breath. "—What is the prognosis?"

Katasuke hummed in thought as his eyes scoured the data racing across the screen. "I've never seen or read of anything quite like it," he admitted. "However, I believe I have discovered what the problem is."

"And that is?" Bolt snapped.

Katasuke didn't mind. It was a scientist's greatest honor to impart their wisdom to the younger generation. "The chakra pathway system is quite remarkable, really. It is malleable; adaptable. We know it is, partially, at least, based on physiology—but there is also an element of spirituality that is still debated among the scientific community," he lectured. "Your ailment, I believe, stems from that adaptability."

"... Go on," Bolt urged him.

He smiled. Katasuke did admire that in the young man. While not a scientist himself, he had a mind that hungered for knowledge. "You told me that Orochimaru attempted to gain control over you using a seal that was powered by natural energy, yes?" Katasuke asked. It was rhetorical, of course. "And, then, it rejected you. For whatever reason. Fūinjutsu is not my area of expertise outside of ammunition for the Gauntlet. The result was that you nearly died. Came quite close, even."

Bolt nodded and gestured for him to continue.

Katasuke did. "It is of my opinion, then, that, rather like the body's immune system, your chakra pathways attempted to adapt to the sudden influx of natural energy that was killing its host. The response your body shows to even a small quantity of natural energy is remarkably, frighteningly similar to an autoimmune disease," he explained. "To put it more simply... your body attacks foreign natural energy with such vigor that it damages itself. Quite badly, I might add."

Bolt was sitting upon the operating table. When Katasuke finished speaking, the room was filled the whine of crushing steel as the young master clenched his fists and mangled the metal he sat upon. Katasuke felt sweat bead on his forehead.

"You... you're telling me," Bolt paused. He took a deep, hissing breath. Then he exhaled. "You're telling me, I am _allergic_ to natural energy?"

"Well," Katasuke stuttered. "There is a not small difference between an allergic reaction and an abnormal autoimmune response, and it originates in the chakra pathways, not the body, but—"

Every piece of equipment that ran on electricity abruptly shorted. Power supply units in computer towers exploded in a shower of sparks and tongues of flames. The florescent lights overhead glowed with an unnatural luminance before the filaments exploded.

Katasuke backed away. When arcs of screaming electricity began to spontaneously conduct themselves over every metal surface, he wisely slipped out of the lab and scurried to safety. Katasuke lamented that, although the young master had a mind predisposed towards logic and science, he also had the temper of a warrior.

The two did not mix well.

* * *

Shikadai took a deep breath and steeled himself. Trying to appear as confident as he needed to be, he opened the door and entered the task force's headquarters like he owned it. Which, he guessed, in a way, he did.

He really wished his father would have chosen someone, anyone, other than him to replace Kakashi. Talk about big shoes to fill. He was absolutely not qualified to be the leader of the group responsible for putting down the greatest threat to their society since the Fourth War. Not at all. He was twenty. Twenty! The two burly dudes from Stone looked like they stole lunch money from kids like him at the Academy! The masked hunter ninja from Mist were silent, unhelpful, and creepy.

And he was responsible for them all.

The others were already there. Shikadai cleared his throat and gestured to the two men behind him that would be joining them. "Everyone," he paused. He could do this. He could. "This is—"

"Kohaku!" Sarada and Himawari exclaimed as one.

"Hey, brats," Kohaku waved.

"... Kohaku Uzumaki," Shikadai said, his thunder stolen. "He's on loan to us from Whirlpool for his specialty in fūinjutsu, specifically, Uzumaki-style fūinjutsu. And this gentleman is Master Uesugi Nishimura, a famed swordsman from the Land of Iron and the one who trained Tetsu Uzumaki in the way of the sword."

Kohaku was nice enough. Tall, with broad shoulders, and the signature crimson hair of the Uzumaki clan. What he knew of him was mainly what Himawari told him when he checked her tracking seal.

Uesugi Nishimura, on the other hand, was the very picture of intimidation. He was an older man, clearly in his sixties or seventies. Tall, lean, and tanned, he had a long, wispy gray-black beard that ran to his midsection and a mustache that drooped down below his jaw in two tendrils. He was bald save for a small topknot upon which sat an ornate metal band that held it together. The ornate gold-red robes he wore and the ceremonial sword strapped to his hip made him look like royalty.

Everyone exchanged clipped, if polite, greetings. It didn't make what he had to say next any easier. Shikadai cleared his throat. "We've got a new mission," he said. Everyone quieted. "We have reason to believe, and intel to support, that the Akatsuki are preparing for another large-scale mission similar to the attack on the Leaf. Whether that means another ninja village, or another high-priority target, we don't know. But it means that we need to be ready to respond to any threat. The Union is in a state of heightened alert. If the Akatsuki attacks, we'll be the first to know."

Grim nods all around. Uesugi was stroking his beard, deep in thought. The swordsman looked much more like a leader than he did, Shikadai thought. "Also," he added. At his gesture, a screen at the far end of the room lit up. "The Revolution has made a statement regarding the Akatsuki."

Shikadai watched as the video began to play. He and his father, along with a not small portion of Torture & Intelligence, had examined the video so many times he could recite the dialogue by memory.

The Celestial Maiden, clad in her military fatigues and her featureless, veiled mask, stood at attention in the fore of a large room. _"Ladies and gentleman,"_ she began her speech. Shikadai mouthed it under his breath. _"If the oppressors of the world have not deafened you, then no doubt you will have heard about the return of the Akatsuki!"_

Out of view of the camera, the sound of a thunderous applause could be heard. Shikadai didn't know if there were really that many people cheering or if it was sound effects.

" _I know you are frightened. You have every right to be. The... old Akatsuki did terrible, atrocious things in their war against the world. They were the face of terror, of war, and they struck fear into our hearts and the hearts of our leaders,"_ the Celestial Maiden intoned. Then she slammed her right fist to her left palm with such force that the mic boomed. _"And that is exactly why this new group of freedom fighters chose to take up the mantle of the Akatsuki! They chose to take up the mantle of the most hated and feared group of rogue ninja in history exactly because the sight of red clouds on a black field strikes fear into the hearts of the Union even today!"_

There was another round of raucous cheering.

" _The Revolution applauds the actions of the new Akatsuki. By taking the battle that we, the people, are unable to wage, to the Leaf—the champion of the Union—they are standing for us all! Do not be blinded by old fears and the propaganda of the Union! They would have you believe the new Akatsuki is war reborn, given human form, when it is the opposite! The new Akatsuki stands for freedom, for a desire of peace, and for a lasting change that will herald the dawn of a new era!"_

The Celestial Maiden straightened and assumed her previous stance of authority. _"Rise up! I urge the people to protest the oppression of the Union! Join your local chapters of the Revolution! Do not fear the new Akatsuki! Fight! For freedom, and for peace! Long live the Revolution!"_

Shikamaru clicked pause. The image of the Celestial Maiden raising her fist above a sea of other raised fists that had entered the view of the camera was frozen for all to see. That, at least, Shikadai didn't think was fake. There were two hundred and nine fists—they had counted them.

"So..." Shikadai said. "There's that. There is also—" his voice cracked. Shikadai felt his cheeks and ears grow uncomfortable warm. "—there is also the matter of how we are going to divide our forces to counter each member of the Akatsuki and take advantage of their weaknesses."

Everyone was looking to him for guidance. Even the burly dudes from Stone and the masked creeps from Mist. Shikadai took a deep breath. "Here's something my father and I put together..." he began.

Then an alarm wailed.

* * *

" _Please,"_ Karin begged. _"Let me go!"_

"Sorry," her body whispered under its breath. "I can't do that."

" _Please!"_ Karin begged. _"I won't tell anyone! I—I won't! Please! Just... let me go!"_

She wanted to cry, to sob, to scream. But she couldn't. She was nothing—nothing except thought and chakra. Her body had been stolen from her. Now, she was a prisoner in her own flesh.

Her body paused, adopted a thinking pose, before clicking its tongue. She moved over to her desk, took the lamp, and unplugged it from the wall. With surprising agility, her body leapt atop her bed and wrapped the electrical cord around her ceiling fan. With the free end, her hands came up and tied a knot—a noose.

" _Oh,"_ Karin sobbed. _"No! Please, no, don't!"_

Her body moved to balance atop one of the corner posts of her bed and slipped the noose around her neck. Karin felt trapped. She wanted to cry, for her heart to hammer in her chest, for her skin to grow slick with sweat. But she couldn't and she didn't. Her body was calm and collected. Just like her captor.

"I could set you free," her body whispered. "It would be so easy."

Her body leaned forward and began to lose its balance. _"No!"_ Karin screamed. _"No! Don't!"_

The electrical cord strained against her neck. "Are you sure?" her captor asked. "What would you rather your fate be? Tell me and I'll grant you it."

Karin wanted to cry. Never in her entire life had she wanted to cry more. And never, ever in her entire life had she been more ashamed of herself. She was a coward. She knew what her answer would be the moment the question had passed her body's lips.

Her captor shrugged, stepped back, and removed her neck from the noose. Karin would have went limp with relief if she could. Instead, she simply... was. Her sorrow and fear washed over her. She was drowning in it.

Her body paused, looked at the clock, and then moved to leave the room. Her captor hesitated at the threshold. "I'm not cruel," they said. "It won't last long. I promise."

It was of little consolation.

" _Why?"_ Karin asked.

Her captor paused. "You willingly serve the evilest, most vile creature that has ever drawn breath," her body hissed. "He... it... murdered my entire family. That is why."

Her body stalked through the halls of the mountain complex and headed towards her assigned duties for the day. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, typing her username and password, before running diagnostic checks on all the current Mitsuki series clones.

Karin felt cold. No one knew her login information except her. Was her captor... were they reading her memories?

"No," her body hummed. Her captor executed the protocol to begin cloning the next line. "You're just... predictable. I've had a lot of time to watch you."

Then, Karin felt something. Her sensory abilities were her own. She couldn't turn them off. But she couldn't use them either. That she registered something must mean—

Alarms wailed and red lights began to flash. **"Intruder alert!"** a droning, mechanical voice spoke over the speakers. **"Intruder alert! All combat personnel, report to your stations!"**

Her body began to move again. And not towards the bunkers where non-combat staff were supposed to go. Towards... the entrance. As she drew closer and closer, Karin couldn't ignore the collective of supermassive chakra signatures lurking just outside the mountain.

Karin realized then that today, one way or the other, the spy that had been lurking in their midst would be leaving them. And, since they were currently inhabiting her body... she was going to end up like the rest of the victims.

Dead.

Karin whimpered.

"Karin!" Orochimaru barked. He had rounded the corner to go to the defense of their base. "What are we dealing with?"

"Six chakra signatures, Lord Orochimaru," her captor said. Karin felt terror blossom in her mind, again, because she knew her captor couldn't use her sensory ability. They knew exactly who was coming and how many of them there were.

"Who are they?" Orochimaru demanded.

Her captor hesitated. Karin prayed to whatever gods there may be that they made a mistake and outed themselves. "... The Hokage's son, sir," her body answered.

Orochimaru broke into a sinister grin. Then he laughed. "This should be interesting then," he hissed.

Karin felt her hope wither and die. Jūgo, Suigetsu, Mitsuki, and Log joined them, along with a handful of ninja loyal to the cause. The sense of awe Karin felt as she approached the chakra signatures didn't diminish—it grew.

They stood before the heavy steel door, reinforced with fūinjutsu, and waited. After a few moments, her captor spoke. "They're waiting," her body said.

Suigetsu sighed and hefted his sword. "Small mercies," he quipped. "I don't wanna have to rebuild this place again."

"We should greet our guests, then," Orochimaru hissed with a low chuckle.

Of them all, Mitsuki seemed the most nervous. Karin knew why as she stepped outside. Her blood ran cold. Six people—three men, three women, all garbed in the robes of the Akatsuki. She had heard of the attack on the Leaf, they all had, but it was another thing entirely to see them in person again.

Her terror was only compounded more because she could feel their chakra. The Hokage's son stood at the fore of the group and his chakra loomed over her own like the shadow of death. The hulking mountain of a man next to him could hardly be described as human. If she had sensed him without seeing him, she would have said they were being attacked by a Tailed Beast. Most terrifying of all was the masked woman. She had more chakra contained in her skull than all of those present combined—several times over.

The others weren't slouches either, but they at least felt like they had human quantities of chakra.

"Bolt..." Mitsuki spoke up with some hesitation. "Why—what are you doing here?"

Orochimaru just laughed that low, gravelly laugh he always did. "Isn't it obvious, son? He's either here to recruit us... or kill us," he hissed.

"Orochimaru," Bolt said. He was doing something with his voice, Karin could tell. A Wind technique, maybe, that made it carry more. There was an undertone of anger that made her want to shiver. "You stand in the way of true, lasting peace. Of global order and stability. A relic from an era of war and strife. For your crimes against the world, against me, you must die."

Orochimaru smiled from ear-to-ear and bared his fangs. "Far more impressive men than you have tried to kill me, brat," he hissed. "All of them have failed. What makes you think you'll be any different?"

"You made a mistake, snake," the Hokage's son all but spat. "You let me live. This time will be different."

"Bolt!" Mitsuki yelped. He moved to stand between his father and his friend. "What are you doing?"

Karin strained against her mental bonds. Anything to try and regain control of her body before the fighting began. Her captor's iron control never slipped.

"Mitsuki," Bolt said. He sounded sympathetic. "I'm sorry, but you must realize what kind of man your 'father' is. He is a cancer gnawing at this world's slowly dying corpse. You know this. How many times did we bond over our fathers' shared indifference of us? He doesn't care about you. He never cared about you. That's why he erased your memories, remember? You couldn't even stay for fear that he was lying and manipulating you. You told me that. That's why you were driven to the Leaf and allowed to drown in your loneliness for years. Would a loving father do that?"

Mitsuki looked disarmed. _"No, Mitsuki!"_ Karin screamed. _"Don't fall for it!"_

"But you don't have to be alone anymore," Bolt said smoothly. "You're here, now, because you don't have anywhere else to turn. The Leaf wasn't your home. It never was. I know, because I feel the same way. It was our house, our place of residence, but never our home. You stayed... because of me, right?"

Mitsuki nodded shakily.

" _Fuck you!"_ Karin raged. _"Orochimaru does care for him, you bastard!"_

"Quiet," her captor demanded under her breath.

"I am sorry, Mitsuki. I left... and never told you. I should have brought you with me. Together, we would have been unstoppable. We could still be, if you choose," Bolt said. He took a step forward. Karin tensed, mentally, and saw Jūgo and Suigetsu do the same. "The Akatsuki is always looking for more members. Powerful, talented people like yourself. People who the world has failed. Join me, and you'll have the home the Leaf never was."

Mitsuki looked between his friend and his father with clear turmoil shining in his eyes. Karin kicked at her mental bonds, again, to no effect.

Orochimaru laughed. Not a dark chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh. "Oh, you are fascinating!" Orochimaru hissed. "You're far more dangerous than anyone realizes, brat. You should watch your silver tongue or someone is liable to cut it out one day!"

"My offer stands, Mitsuki," Bolt pressed.

"Bolt, I... the work we are doing here—I can't!" Mitsuki cried. "We—you don't know what is coming! There's a threat unlike anything we as a species have ever faced! This... this is no time to be squabbling amongst ourselves! The Ōtsutsuki will—"

"Whatever, whoever, threatens my future of peace, I will put down," Bolt told him. "That I promise you. Your work can be continued with the Akatsuki. We have considerable resources and personnel at our disposal. Whatever you need that we do not possess, we can secure and provide. That you care for global peace and stability only cements your place in my Akatsuki."

Karin could see Mitsuki grit his teeth. "Bolt... if you would've asked me this eight years ago, I would have agreed without hesitation. This 'peace' you dream of... now I have a dream too. My place is here, with my father and brothers, whether they love me or not. The work we are doing will save millions of lives. Don't do this, Bolt. For me. Please," he implored.

All of them were tense; coiled and ready to strike. "... I'm sorry, Mitsuki," the Hokage's son said.

The lumbering giant of a man stepped forward and drew his sword. His crimson eyes burned for one man and one man only: Suigetsu. "This one humbly requests a duel," he rumbled. "To the victor goes the Seversword."

"Shit," Suigetsu swore, hefting the unwieldy bulk of his sword. "You can pry it from my cold, dead hands."

" _Suigetsu! You fucking idiot! Don't give him any ideas!"_ Karin screamed.

Bolt and the masked woman were leading Orochimaru away from the mountain and into the forest. Jūgo was rapidly becoming more and more monstrous by the second. Mitsuki and Log made to follow their father, but were stopped by the two blonde bimbos.

And Karin? She watched as her body snuck into the forest after Orochimaru.

* * *

The Seversword was wasted on the waif of a man that possessed it, Tetsu decided. It was taller than the blue-haired man was and nearly as wide. But, to one of his stature, the sword looked perfectly proportional. It was crafted, the legend's said, by the purest chakra steel ever forged. From ore that fell from the heavens, some said, a gift from the Sage of the Six Paths himself.

Tetsu didn't know if he believed that. He was never one for stories or superstition. He believed in the power of cold, hard steel, the strength of a man's back, and the sweat of his brow.

He led the blue-haired man away from the mountain so that they would not be disturbed by the fighting. This was a duel of honor between two men. To have it desecrated was to bring dishonor upon his Lord. Eventually, he found a clearing around a small stream of water.

Tetsu turned to face his foe and bowed at the waist. He stood, sharply, and took a stance. His opponent flashed him a lopsided grin and hefted the Seversword into a lazy stance.

Tetsu frowned. "Begin," he intoned.

He surged forward, sword held high, and brought his blade down upon the smaller man. Suigetsu was surprisingly agile for his appearance. He danced out of the way and allowed his sword to cleave through the ground. Tetsu drew his sword from the stone and lashed out with a sweeping kick.

Suigetsu staggered away, narrowly avoiding being grappled, and put the bulk of Seversword between his body and Tetsu. Their blades met with a thunderous crash of steel upon steel that was music to Tetsu's ears. He could hear the siren's call of the great sword calling to him. Begging him to claim it as his own. To become the greatest swordsman to ever live. To bring honor to his Lord.

For such a waif of a man, Suigetsu was deceptively strong. He must have been, Tetsu knew, to swing the Seversword with such power. He blocked the larger sword with the flat of his blade. Suigetsu brought his free arm up, pointed a finger, and a lance of water shot out and pierced his shoulder.

Tetsu grunted in pain. He barged forward, slamming his other shoulder into the flat of the Seversword and knocking Suigetsu back. As his foe tumbled away, Tetsu lashed out with an arcing slash. It cut deep into the thin man's chest, between his shoulder and neck, but instead of the spray of blood Tetsu expected, he saw only a frothing, watery mist.

In the next moment, the Seversword was slammed against the flat of his sword with enough force that Tetsu had to dig the heels of his boots into the ground in order to stay standing. He felt the way the sword strained in his grasp as it failed to keep at bay the superior weapon's craftsmanship.

Chakra danced along the blade, reinforcing it and honing it to a razor's edge. Tetsu lunged forward and slammed his shoulder into the flat of his sword and dislodged the Seversword and its wielder. With a minor application of the Saber Technique, his chakra coalesced around the blade of his sword and was shaped into a longer, broader sword, one that more easily would stand against the Seversword.

Tetsu brought his chakra-enhanced blade down upon his opponent with a lightning-fast swing. He intended to cleave Suigetsu in two, but all he earned for his troubles was another contest of strength as their two swords collided and locked. His opponent's legs buckled under the strain, losing their physical form and becoming a vortex of water.

A tongue of water lashed out from the vortex and licked at the back of his knees. Tetsu shimmied away and frowned as a gash was cut down his calf. It bled profusely and pooled in his boots. It was sticky, warm, and uncomfortable. It didn't make moving physically more difficult, but made him question his footwork.

Tetsu batted away an arcing swing of the Seversword, took a step back, and coiled his chakra. An eighth, he decided, would do. His chakra cascaded forward and into his chosen instrument. "Flash," he intoned. As the word left his lips, he swung his sword. A crescent wave of white-blue chakra flooded the clearing. Tetsu heard a yelped cry of surprise before it was drowned out by the sound of trees being torn asunder.

Leaves and wooden splinters rained down all around him yet his foe was nowhere to be seen. All that was left was the discarded Seversword.

Tetsu smiled, small and hesitant, as he stepped forward to claim his prize. It was the first thing he had done for himself in... a long time. He couldn't remember the last action he took that was not at the behest of his master, those he owed a debt, or his Lord. It was... a liberating feeling.

He reached down to grasp the sword by its hilt when he heard the creek behind him babble loudly. He abandoned the sword and leapt away as a cascading wave of water surged from the banks and attempted to swallow him whole. The disembodied Suigetsu was encased within. He was little more than a face and a vague body with no arms or legs.

It was, Tetsu noted, remarkably similar to his Lord's form. He frowned, disappointed that he did not possess the Lightning Release his Lord was feared for. Such an ability would defeat his opponent with ease. Tetsu reasoned that their similar forms would share similar weaknesses: wildly negative reactions to their elemental weakness. His Lord had not healed from his shoulder wound for many weeks.

Tetsu brandished his sword as Suigetsu reclaimed the Seversword. It bobbed up and down in the animated wave with surprising skill. Almost as if the wave itself were the man's limbs. Tetsu took a breath. While he may not possess the Lightning Release, he had no doubt in his mind that he possessed much, much more chakra than his waif of an opponent. And while it was difficult for an element to overpower its natural weakness... it was not unheard of.

Roughly half would do, Tetsu decided. Like the tide, his chakra surged forward within him. He ignited it, like oil, and set it ablaze. It raged, a sea of fire, incinerating him from the inside out and begging for release.

Suigetsu surged forward, with all the force of the tides, the creek surging up behind him in a colossal tidal wave of water. Tetsu lunged forward, swinging his sword low before bringing it up high. With a whisper, he unleashed the inferno. "Fire Release: Flash," Tetsu intoned.

His chakra reserves dipped suddenly, dangerously, as his power left him to fuel the technique. The world was consumed by flame as a pillar of fire rose to challenge the rising sea. They clashed, violently and explosively. The forest was inundated with a bank of steam that seared skin.

Tetsu let out a low grunt of pain and began to run. Anywhere, really, anywhere that wasn't where he was being cooked alive like a pot of rice. An itch in the back of his mind nagged at him that he was running away from his duel. Tetsu scratched it by telling himself that, as soon as the steam dissipated, he would return to finish the fight—to claim the Seversword, in the case of his victory, or die, in the case of his defeat.

Idly, in the distance, Tetsu could see his allies fighting. His Lord and Lady—he could safely give her that title, now—were doing battle against the Sannin. Hibiki, in his own irritating way, was fighting the monstrous Jūgo. The sisters were doing battle with the clone brothers. Theirs was a battle of explosive destruction that Tetsu could see even from some distance away. He worried that they had forgotten his Lord's commandment to not harm the young Mitsuki. Tetsu would be most cross with them if they did.

Tetsu breathed deep the cool air as he emerged from the bank of steam. It took several minutes for the steam to dissipate and cool. When it did, Tetsu leapt back into the fray with his sword drawn and brandished. He waved it through the air, parting and cutting the steam, moving forward with some caution.

He reached the clearing once more and found it a ruined wasteland compared to the tranquil forest he had found it in. The babbling creek was gone. All that was left was a dry riverbed of smooth stone and dried mud. The forest had been incinerated or otherwise destroyed for several hundred feet in any direction.

Tetsu found Suigetsu laying prone near the far end of the creek. He was horribly burned. White-pink skin that had been flash-boiled by the steam sloughed off him in languid waves. He was stretched too thin, like a noodle, and unhealthily pale. He clutched the Seversword like it would save him.

Tetsu approached, sword at his side, and looked down upon his opponent. He did not believe Suigetsu was feigning injury. Tetsu raised his sword to end the man's life and claim his prize. Suigetsu stared up at him with lidded, pained eyes.

And Tetsu hesitated. He considered it, then, what he should do. A duel need not end in blood, his master had told him. His Lord had given him no order to take Suigetsu's life. He merely gave him permission to duel for ownership of the Seversword. And, in some small way, Tetsu did not wish to slay him. The world was brimming with powerful foes, but few were swordsmen. Of them, few were of the power needed to challenge him. And, Tetsu decided, he did not wish to rob the world of one of the few swordsmen who could challenge him.

Tetsu sheathed his sword. "You are a worthy foe, Suigetsu Hōzuki," he spoke. "This one is honored to have been your opponent. I will spare your life. In return, hone your skill. When you are ready, challenge me once more and we shall again decide ownership of the Seversword."

He reached down, pried one of the Seven legendary blades from his opponent's hand. Suigetsu made a low, pained sound that Tetsu knew had less to do with pain, and everything with having lost his sword. He knew the feeling well.

"Farewell," Tetsu bid him, before turning and breaking into a loping sprint to aid his allies.

* * *

There was nothing like it. The way her heart hammered in her chest, so quick and frenzied in its beat, like the drums of war. The way her blood thrummed with every clash. The way her entire world faded away until there was nothing left but the battlefield, but the fight.

Kagami loved it. The pleasure, the pain, it was all beautifully exquisite. She raised her arm, her explosive chakra searing through her pathways, and the blissful release as she snapped her fingers. The world exploded with fire, light, and heat, and her heart thudded with every explosive boom of her bloodline.

At her side, her sister wore a feral, gleeful grin. Kagami knew Kagari enjoyed the battle as much as she herself did. She snapped her fingers and unleashed another explosion upon the two pale men. The younger, she was told in no unclear terms, not to kill. Mitsuki, Bolt had told her and her sister.

Well, Kagami noted, there wouldn't be a problem on that front. Mitsuki leapt into the path of her explosive spark as it headed for his brother. He was wreathed in writhing, incorporeal serpents that were coiled around his chest, arms, and legs. It created an effective shroud that blocked everything they had thrown at it—explosions, lava, even mundane fire and electricity.

It was annoying, actually. She wanted to see him _burn and bleed._ Kagami snapped her fingers twice in quick succession and launched one spark after the other. His brother had moved, so Mitsuki simply ran. And he was damn fucking fast. Not as fast as their blond boss, but pretty damn fast.

Kagami admitted she and her sister would have probably been overwhelmed by him if they hadn't been sparring against Bolt and Tetsu every single fucking day for the past year plus change. The two Uzumaki clansmen had beaten the meaning of speed into their brains and bodies. Literally. Fucking pricks.

Kagari spat a wall of molten rock at Mitsuki as he approached. He was forced to stop, nearly skidding into the lava, before darting around. He ran right into an explosive spark she unleashed. He took it in the face like a champion. Kagami smiled. Mitsuki recovered, taking a knee, and glaring at her with angry eyes as a thin trail of blood crept out of the corner of his mouth.

He was kind of cute.

Kagami turned, looking for the brother, already weaving hand signs. She erected an earthen wall as the older clone spat a wave of water at her and her sister. Annoying bastard. Like that was going to work on them. It wasn't like the boss and his girlfriend weren't Water Release users. That was Kagami's weakness, and they had made sure she was prepared for it.

She turned back and unleashed an explosive spark upon Mitsuki before he could attack them. He raised his arms across his face in a crude guard and charged forward. Kagami grinned. This is what she lived for. Her sister spat another wave of molten rock at him. That, too, he charged through. Her grin faltered.

"No, you crazy bastard, don't die yet!" Kagami howled. She didn't want the fight to end yet. She also really, really didn't want to find out what the boss would do to them if they killed one of his friends. For a homicidal megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur, he sure didn't like killing people he liked.

Her fears were unfounded. Mitsuki tumbled through the lava, unharmed, save for his robes that had been singed at the hem. He lashed out with an arm and sent an incorporeal serpent at her sister. Kagari dodged with a yelp of surprise and then Kagami had better things to deal with. Like the cute boy tackling her and pinning her to the ground.

Mitsuki pinned her arms above her head with one hand and raised his other in a fist. "Surrender," he hissed.

Kagami arched up and licked him, from his neck, over his jaw, and up to his cheek. Her blood was pounding in her veins. To his credit, Mitsuki didn't even twitch. She grinned "Moving a little fast, aren't we?" Kagami breathed, bucking her hips.

Mitsuki reared back, fist clenched, and swung. Kagami clicked her teeth together, creating an impromptu, poorly formed explosive spark. The fire burned, and her ears rang, but the pain made the fight all the more exciting. Mitsuki coughed and staggered away from her. His hair was tousled and charred.

Kagami threw herself to her feet and grinned. Mitsuki recovered and glared daggers at her. "Come on, baby! Burn for me!" Kagami cried, snapping her fingers rapidly with abandon. Right now, she didn't care if she killed him. She just wanted to fight.

Mitsuki disappeared among the explosions and Kagami paused. Her sister was at her back and keeping the brother at bay—he wasn't a threat. Worse, he was _boring._ Mitsuki appeared, sprinting at them with a fist cocked back. Kagari created another barrier of lava. He stopped short and threw his fist forward. The molten rock exploded as an incorporeal serpent tore through it.

Kagami yelped in surprise—not fear, it wasn't, no way—even as she remembered the last time her sister's wall had exploded into a spray of liquid fire when they were fighting that Uchiha bitch. The two of them weaved between the droplets and continued their attack. Kagami turned to unleash an explosion upon Mitsuki when she noticed he was kneeling and smirking at them.

"Don't look so smug, pretty boy!" Kagami howled, snapping her fingers.

As she did, a spectral snake exploded skyward from underneath her feet. Kagami cried out in surprise, pushing her sister out of the way and then leaping to safety.

 _Something_ struck her, hard, in the face. Her world went dark, and when she came to, Mitsuki was looming over her with a sword in hand. He lashed out and she felt the sharp bite of steel on her neck.

Kagami gasped, hands rushing to her throat, expecting to find her lifeblood spilling from a gaping gash. It wasn't. All she felt was a small cut. Her body felt warm, feverish, and her mind was muddled. She was so tired... a nap wouldn't hurt, would it?

Her heart calmed and her blood cooled as she closed her eyes.

* * *

Bolt lunged forward and lashed out with an open palm. Orochimaru was every bit as monstrously powerful as he remembered. Frighteningly quick, even with using his Lightning Armor, the Sannin dodged some of his attacks. Others hit him and did nothing. Orochimaru either shrugged off the damage or healed from it in an instant. Bolt felt the ones that did land was simply Orochimaru playing with him. Humoring him.

Hikari was faring worse. She was slower than him, than Orochimaru, and for all her strength, if she couldn't hit the Sannin, it didn't matter. Bolt darted forward, missed with a high-kick, spun on the ball of his foot, grabbed Hikari by the wrist, and swung her at Orochimaru like a club with as much speed as he could. Hikari lashed out with a kick that caught Orochimaru in the shoulder. The Sannin was hurled bodily through the forest, uprooting trees and crashing through the underbrush.

Bolt took a breath, thankful for the reprieve. He didn't dare think that Orochimaru had been defeated. He didn't think he _could_ actually kill Orochimaru, if push came to shove. He was just so... inhuman. He didn't even think Thunder God Mode would put Orochimaru down for good. But he would use the lull in the battle to gather his thoughts and plan their next attack.

Orochimaru lumbered back through the forest, weaving through the trees, a grin splitting his face from ear-to-ear that bared a maw of fangs and a serpentine tongue. Bolt shuddered. He vividly remembered struggling in the grasp of that monster as those fangs pierced his neck.

"I must admit," Orochimaru hissed. "I was right to mark you. You would have made an _exceptional_ tool against the Ōtsutsuki. Well, the less... divine ones, anyway."

Bolt frowned. Next to him, Hikari clenched her fists so tightly he heard her knuckles pop.

"It's a shame we can't come to an agreement," Orochimaru said. "The Ōtsutsuki are coming, boy, and instead of humanity coming together, like your father wanted, you've only split us further apart."

Again with these "Ōtsutsuki" people. "You've lied to Mitsuki to turn him against me," Bolt countered. "Filling his head with visions of a foreign power coming to kill us all. I won't fall for it."

Orochimaru grinned and something dark danced in his bestial eyes. "Believe me or not, they are coming, brat. The last one took your father and Sasuke to defeat. If they hadn't had the technique to seal her away, they would have been killed and we would all be slaves right now," he hissed. "That's how powerful she, alone, was. And there are many, many more of her kin coming for us."

"Enough!" Bolt snapped. Lightning danced through his hair.

Orochimaru shook his head with a sigh that sounded like a low hiss. His inky black hair swayed with the motion. "You can't kill me. No one can," he said. "I chose this body so that I would have an eternity to master every technique under the heavens—"

Bolt lunged forward, crossing the distance in the space between one breath and the next, and rammed a fist through Orochimaru's chest. The snake hissed and his flesh parted as he simply slipped around the wound as if it wasn't even there. Hikari was right behind him, fist rushing forward.

"You may have an impressive book of techniques, but I've spent my life amassing the entire library!" Orochimaru hissed.

The snake grappled Hikari and slammed her into him. Bolt quickly adjusted his armor so that it wouldn't hurt her. The world slowed down as he came out of his trance. Orochimaru struck him across the cheek with an elbow that made him see stars. The world fell from beneath his feet and Bolt felt something cold and thick swallow his boots; a pit of muddy tar. He threw Hikari away to solid ground and began to work himself out of the muck. His Lightning Armor screamed as it returned with a vengeance.

Bolt twitched as he felt a breeze caress his skin. His hair stood on end. Orochimaru stood, several tens of feet away, his chest bloated and his cheeks full. Fear blossomed in his chest. The aching wound on his shoulder throbbed. Bolt had _still_ not fully healed from where he had been clipped with a Wind Release attack. Even Hikari and the Universal Healer didn't know why he wasn't healing. Something about how his Thunder God Mode interacted with Wind chakra.

He dropped his Lightning Armor immediately. He wasn't going to risk another debilitating wound that wouldn't heal. Better to be cut to ribbons and put back together later. Bolt raised his arms across his face in a crude guard. Blades of pressurized air licked at his exposed flesh and cut his Akatsuki robes to ribbons. He hissed in pain but endured.

With a mighty battle cry, Hikari slammed her fist into the ground. The earth was pulped and Bolt could finally struggle free of the tar cloying at his legs. Orochimaru took to a nearby tree that had withstood the tremors and stared down at them with a bemused expression.

Bolt cupped a hand and hurled a Rasengan at him. The Sannin leapt away to safety in another nearby tree. His previous perch was obliterated. Bolt shared a glance with Hikari. Together, as one, they weaved hand signs and took a step forward. They spat a colossal wave of water forth that cascaded over itself and crashed forward. Orochimaru took to the ground, weaving his own signs. From the forest floor a towering earthen wall was erected.

Bolt poured more and more chakra into the technique in an attempt to overpower Orochimaru's wall. A second passed, then two, and then three. The wall held. If anything, it was growing stronger. Bolt growled and ceased the technique. He and Hikari had used a not insignificant portion of their chakra.

Orochimaru was standing there, bemused, as his wall crumbled to dust. With a thought, his Lightning Armor erupted to life. Bolt dashed forward. Orochimaru sucked in a mighty breath. Bolt came to a stop, slipping over pools of muddy water, and deactivated his armor once more. Orochimaru exhaled a wave of air and he broke into a spin powered by explosive releases of chakra from the chakra points in his legs, feet, and arms.

Bolt spun, batting the Wind Release technique away, and then... slowed. Against his will. Something caught him by the foot and tangled itself around his boots. By the time he willingly came to a stop, his feet were encased in a cocoon of chakra threads. Orochimaru chuckled, hands held aloft with chakra threads running from his fingertips. Then he pulled.

Thinking quickly, Bolt created a sword of electricity and cut the strings. But not before Orochimaru threw him from his feet. Bolt felt what remained of his Akatsuki robe be stained with mud as his back slammed into the ground. In an instant, he was on his feet. Hikari ran up beside him, breathing heavy, her fists clenched. She had not tapped her Strength of a Hundred seal—yet—and Bolt hoped she wouldn't have to.

"Afraid of a little Wind, are you?" Orochimaru laughed. "A little bird told me you had quite the technique you unveiled in the attack on the Leaf. I'd _love_ to see it. I am a bit of a collector of rare and powerful techniques, you see."

Bolt exhaled through his nose. He was sorely tempted to give Orochimaru what he wanted, but he wouldn't. There was a fine line between caution and hesitation. The former was wisdom and the latter was fear. Bolt liked to think he abstained in wisdom, but the throbbing reminder of his wound whispered it was fear.

"No?" Orochimaru hazarded. "A pity. I was told it really was quite extraordinary. Perhaps you might even be able to kill me with it?"

Bolt grit his teeth. He really hated that fucking snake. For more than that Orochimaru had crippled him by denying him the power of natural energy. He was a smug bastard. Worse, he was a _powerful_ smug bastard. Bolt chanced a glance at Hikari. "Formation delta," he whispered to her.

Hikari nodded and stepped forward. She clenched her right fist, adjusting her glove with her left hand. With a twitch, Bolt activated his Lightning Armor once more. Unlike most of their formations, Hikari led the attack instead of him. She didn't sprint forward—she kicked the ground with enough force to shatter stone. Bolt cupped his hand and formed a Rasengan larger than his skull.

When Hikari was no more than a handful of feet away from Orochimaru she slid to a stop and threw her fist forward. The force of her punch, Bolt knew, was so powerful that it created a concussive blast of air that would deafen and disorient anyone hit by it. Orochimaru staggered, hands raised to shield his eyes.

Bolt leapt at him. He came in sideways, hard and fast, arm cocked. Orochimaru was turning to block, but he was too slow, too late. Bolt thrust his Rasengan forward. Orochimaru was lashing out with an arm, palm thrust forward. Bolt smirked. It wouldn't kill the snake, but seeing the monster's body in pieces would be gratifying. Orochimaru thrust his palm forward to meet his Rasengan—

—and popped it.

Bolt stared at his empty hand. Orochimaru chuckled, his arm extending, sinuous and flexible, as it wrapped around Bolt's own arm and held him fast. The snake chuckled darkly.

"Rasengan? How elementary," Orochimaru chided. "Nothing more than chakra rotating at high speeds. Easily cancelled by applying equal force in the opposite direction."

"Easily," as if it was easy to instantly gauge a technique like the Rasengan's quantity of chakra and force of rotation with a mere glance. "Easily," as if it was easy to then cancel out the jutsu as if it was nothing more than child's play, than an Academy student's jutsu.

Hikari appeared behind Orochimaru and slammed the shin of her leg into his skull with a powerful high-kick. Orochimaru didn't dodge, didn't even budge. His skull fucking wrapped around her leg like it was made of clay or sand.

"Do you even remember what it was like to be human?" Bolt asked through gritted teeth.

"Honestly?" Orochimaru asked. He tightened his grip on his arm. Bolt winced in pain. His Lightning Armor charred and cooked the pale gray-white flesh of Orochimaru's arm. "Not really," the snake hissed with a pleased grin.

Then Orochimaru slammed his free fist into Bolt's face. It hurt even through the Lightning Armor. Bolt tried to block, but unable to retreat and with only one arm to guard with, it was a losing battle. Hikari took offense to their situation and slammed a fist into Orochimaru's spine. Bolt saw the indentation she made in the front of his chest, near where the snake's heart should have been. She was unable to withdraw the limb. For her struggles, Orochimaru paused in his beating and slapped the back of his fist into her face. Bolt heard her mask crack and her gasp of pain.

With a growl, Bolt coated his free hand in screaming electricity and sent a lateral chop at Orochimaru's neck. He cleaved the snake's head from his shoulders with a satisfying crackle. Orochimaru didn't drop, however. His body continued to slam its fist into his face with increasing strength and brutality. Bolt felt warm, sticky blood well in his nose and mouth. Slowly, tendrils of clay-like flesh knit Orochimaru's severed head back to his body. Hikari struggled feebly in her own prison even as Orochimaru favored him with an amused grin.

Things were going poorly, Bolt decided. They weren't going to win. He didn't think they could win. Though that didn't change the plan, it still frustrated him. With an audible clap, Bolt dispelled his armor. Orochimaru paused in his beating and it was what gave him the ability to react as Bolt shifted all of his focus, all of his chakra, into bringing forth his clan's Adamantine Sealing Chains.

Orochimaru dodged the first chain as it erupted from his chest and released him. The chain shifted, phasing through his body, until it rested in the palm of his hand. Bolt lashed out and whipped it at Orochimaru with as much force and speed as he could muster. The Sannin dodged, again, but that was fine. Bolt wasn't aiming for him. He was aiming for Hikari. His chain wrapped around her, shielding her, and forcing Orochimaru to either be ensnared or release her.

And release her he did. Hikari took her rightful place at his side once more. She was bloodied, bruised, and angry, but otherwise fine. Bolt himself probably looked a good deal more wounded than her. With a thought, that well of energy within him split and fragmented. Bolt pushed and pulled and forged himself until he had not one chain, but two. One for each hand.

Orochimaru eyed him like he was a piece of meat. "How interesting," he hissed. "The famed sealing chains of the Uzumaki clan. But they're nothing I haven't seen before—"

Bolt wasn't going to let the fucking snake disrespect the Uzumaki clan, the Whirlpool, after all that the Uzukage had done to help him. He lashed out with the first chain, then the second, whipping at Orochimaru in quick succession.

Orochimaru ducked and weaved, dodging each lash. "My dear Karin is quite experienced in the technique, you see. I helped her master it," he hissed. "The chains are powerful, certainly. But they're slow. Good against large, lumbering foes—like the Tailed Beasts. Ah, that must be how you defeated Shukaku." Orochimaru laughed. "But not so good against smaller, faster enemies—like me."

Orochimaru talked entirely too much, Bolt found. He shifted his attacks away from whippings and lashes, instead opting to focus on entrapping and ensnaring Orochimaru. Links of his chains flowed from the palms of his hands and coiled upon the ground. The more sheer footage he produced, the lower and lower his chakra dipped. Hikari was waiting in the wings for an opportunity to attack.

"Odd coloration," Orochimaru noted, examining his white-violet chains. He sighed wistfully. "How I would have loved to study you."

Bolt weaved his trap like a spider weaving its web. Snaking his chains below the ground, back and forth, needling them through the air in great arcing threads. Orochimaru watched with bestial eyes that danced with amusement. Every so often, Bolt would try to spear him with the business end of one of his chains. So far, Orochimaru had dodged every one of his attacks.

"Got you," Bolt hissed triumphantly under his breath. The chains phased through his body, leaving his hands, and came to rest at the small of his back. Bolt brought his freed hands before him and formed the Snake sign—and how ironic was that, he thought.

His chains glowed with an inner light as a barrier was erected from each and every link. Bolt reeled his chains back into his body, coiling them back around his core. Orochimaru gazed in wonder at the technique as the net of chains came down upon him. There was no escaping it. Every path of escape was blocked by a barrier that repelled and dispelled all chakra it touched.

The chains bound Orochimaru within the inescapable bubble. "Now, Hikari!" Bolt barked.

Hikari leapt forward, in perfect form, with a roared battle cry. Bolt could see the influx of chakra with his Byakugan as she put a large portion of her chakra—near fifty percent—into the punch. Just before her fist could touch the barrier, he dismissed the technique entirely. Links of the chains burned themselves to nothing with tongues of white-purple fire.

Orochimaru exploded into a fine mist of meaty gray-white flesh. It _rained_ Sannin. The ground beneath Hikari and Orochimaru exploded outward like it had been struck by a meteor. In the wake of her punch, a large crater formed. The spray of dirt and rock that exploded skyward was visible for hundreds of feet. The earth trembled and rumbled as if an earthquake had struck, but Bolt knew better. Subterranean tunnels, reservoirs of water, and a few hallways of Orochimaru's underground base were crumbling. The ground was shifting to accommodate the new space.

Bolt held his breath and prayed.

And, just like when he had tried prayer at the Wind Temple, the Sage of Six Paths was silent. Drops of gray-white flesh began to pool together into puddles. The puddles converged and built upon themselves, forming a blob of something that couldn't even be called flesh. And from that, Orochimaru rose again.

Bolt felt the weight of crushing defeat fall on his shoulders. The same crushing feeling he got when he fought the One-Tail. The same feeling he got when he fought his father. The same feeling he got when he grasped only a small part of Master Sasuke's power when they trained.

And then Bolt knew. He couldn't beat Orochimaru. Nothing short of complete cellular obliteration could. Orochimaru grinned at him with a lopsided mouth as his face reconstructed itself.

"You need to die," Bolt stated with absolute certainty. "Nature never meant for something like you to exist."

"You would be surprised what kind of monstrosities nature has created on its own, brat," Orochimaru warbled as his jaw and tongue were reconstructed.

Bolt just stood there. For the first time, in a long time, he didn't know what to do.

"At a loss, are you?" Orochimaru hummed. "I warned you earlier. You can't kill me."

He didn't have a retort for that either. Just then, he caught a flash of crimson hair in the woods with his Byakugan. Bolt breathed a sigh of relief that should have been much more comforting than it actually was. "I never said _I_ was going to be the one to put you down, Orochimaru," he said.

A momentary expression of confusion spread across Orochimaru's face before Karin—before _Yasuo_ —stepped into the clearing.

* * *

Orochimaru paused and considered the brat's words. He was arrogant, yes, and prideful too, but he wasn't a fool. He bided his time and struck when he was stronger and wiser. Exactly as he himself would do when facing a superior enemy.

But... but if Bolt hadn't intended to kill him personally—and he had every motivation to do so after Orochimaru had narrowly killed him—then why attack at all?

Orochimaru heard a twig snap underfoot in the forest behind him. It was followed by a soft clap. He whirled around in time to see Karin step from the woods with her hands pressed together as if in prayer. Her head was bowed so that her hair obscured her face. "Karin...?" Orochimaru asked.

Karin raised her head, eyes angry and dark and brimming with tears. "You murdered my entire family," she hissed.

Then she said the two words he feared most. The two words that haunted his darkest dreams.

"Shiki Fūjin."

* * *

The snake screamed and lunged at him. In his mind, Yasuo heard Karin scream a high, shrill wail. He felt the chill of death invade her body. This was it, Yasuo knew. He would have his revenge or he would die. Either way, he would be at peace with his ancestors.

Years of training, spread over many tens of sessions, paid off. Countless hours spent in the dead of night as Bolt taught him the the technique that would be the tool of his vengeance. He felt something—something _otherworldly_ —be thrust through the girl's chest. Her body spasmed and her mind cried out with panicked, fearful sobs.

Bolt surged forward, wreathed in screaming electricity, and prevented Orochimaru from murdering him. The snake screamed, panicked, and it was the sweetest thing Yasuo had ever heard.

Yasuo tilted Karin's head so he could look down. An arm, bony and thin with skin a mottled purple color, speared her through. Behind him, he logically knew, would be a literal God. If the Uzumaki clan was to be believed, that was. Yasuo didn't dare look. He was perfectly content to let the afterlife remain a surprise.

The spectral hand lashed out with ruinous nailed fingers that looked more like claws. The air seemed to darken around it as it lunged for Orochimaru. Bolt moved out of the way and gave the limb a healthy amount of room to move. The snake tried to avoid it, but Death, like Bolt said, came for all men. You could run, but you would only die tired.

And Death came for Orochimaru. It ripped Orochimaru's soul from his body with a frighteningly casual ease. His spirit wailed something fearful but Yasuo couldn't catch the words. The body he had been puppeting collapsed like its strings were cut. Yasuo felt the exact moment the woman's heart stopped, her mind ceased, and her chakra was torn from her body. He spilled from her mouth, a voluminous cloud of pink-red smoke.

Bolt was at his side in the blink of an eye. His iron grip grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away. Yasuo could feel his frail body bruise and protest the painful grasp. He wasn't going to complain, though, as he looked up.

Death stared down at them. A "man,' if it could be called that, horned with eyes as black as night and a maw of fangs that were more demonic than bestial. It was garbed in white ceremonial robes that hid purple mottled, rotting flesh.

And it ate the souls of Orochimaru and Karin as if they were a delicacy. Yasuo swallowed and felt his legs give out as Death's black eyes settled on him. He couldn't breathe. Then, the deity shifted its gaze to rest on Bolt.

And there its eyes remained. Bolt released him, took an unsteady step forward, and kneeled. Yasuo felt his breath catch in his chest as Death stared down at the two of them for a long, yawning moment.

Then the deity faded and he could breathe again.

The forest was quiet and still except for the distant sounds of maniacal screaming and explosions.

Yasuo watched as Bolt stood on unsteady legs. His mind finally caught up with the enormity of what had just happened. He had done it. He had achieved vengeance for his clan. His mother could rest in peace knowing that the monster that killed her entire family was dead and gone.

He also realized how close he had been to... whatever fate Orochimaru and Karin now shared in. "How did you know?" Yasuo asked.

Bolt hummed. The unsaid _"How did I know what?"_ hung in the air.

"How did you know it would be her and not me that Death took?" Yasuo asked.

Bolt shrugged. "I didn't," he answered. Yasuo felt a chill crawl up his spine. "But it doesn't really matter, does it? Either way, you got what you wanted. If you died, Orochimaru still died with you. And if not... well, then I earned myself another member of the Akatsuki. I win, no matter what."

Yasuo didn't quite like the ease at which Bolt had gambled his life—and he was a gambling man. "And what if I turned Shiki Fūjin against you? Or another member of the Akatsuki?" Yasuo countered.

Bolt released a shuddering breath. "Death and I... we have an agreement," he answered. "You'll find that he has no interest in souls he already possesses."

And wasn't that a dark prospect.

Bolt held his hand aloft and a briefcase appeared in the palm of his hand with nary a wisp of smoke. He popped it open and displayed the neatly organized notes of ryō within. "The rest of your payment," he said, snapping the case shut and handing it over.

Yasuo took it gingerly. It was much heavier than his atrophied muscles could handle.

"You will, of course, be holding up your end of the deal," Bolt continued. "You will submit to a seal that will instantly kill you should you ever attempt to use the Shiki Fūjin again, as we agreed upon. Don't worry, it's a very specific set of ten hand signs. It is unlikely you will ever discover a technique using the same ones. In addition... you will serve the new Akatsuki."

Yasuo nodded numbly, feeling as if he had just made a deal with a particularly cunning demon. A masked woman—her name was Hikari, he was pretty sure—stood behind Bolt. His new... employer, he supposed, beckoned him to follow as he began walking back towards the mountain complex.

The scene they arrived to was chaos incarnate. Jūgo, the monster, was screaming and wildly running in circles. A bemused man was perched upon a boulder and played a soft, lilting tune on an ocarina. His eyes followed Jūgo as he ran to and fro. A short distance away, Mitsuki stood over the prone form of his brother and was breathing heavily. He was hemmed in by a mountain of a man with an unwieldy large sword. A short distance away, two beautiful blonde women were lying either dead or unconscious.

The fighting stopped as the three of them entered the clearing.

"... No," Mitsuki choked and fell to his knees.

Bolt looked genuinely saddened as his friend cried. "I am sorry, Mitsuki. I hope you can forgive me one day. This was necessary for true peace. I hope you'll see that, when the time comes," he said. He addressed the others. "Leave him. We're done here."

The Akatsuki gathered. The towering swordsman sheathed his blade and threw both of the unconscious women over his shoulder before moving to stand behind his employer. The musician continued to play his tune even as Jūgo ran in circles like a mad dog chasing its tail.

Bolt formed the Tiger sign with his hands. His voice came out warped and distorted. "Tsuchigumo, begin extraction—"

Yasuo, and the entire group, looked up as a looming skeletal construct of orange-red fire erupted in the forest no more than a hundred feet from them. Yasuo was not alone in being too stunned to react as the colossal skeleton hurled two fistfuls of _something_ at them.

An ungodly loud crash of steel upon steel reverberated in his ears. The swordsman with crimson hair had locked swords with a balding older man. The skeleton had thrown... people at them?

"Bolt!" a young woman with flowing purple-black hair cried. Then she slammed a fist into his employer's chest.

"—extraction! Now! Right now!" Bolt gasped.

When a shimmering barrier of orange chakra surrounded the forest, Yasuo knew something had gone terribly wrong.

* * *

Himawari stared down at the prone form of her brother. He stared up at her, eyes wide and mouth agape, clearly stunned that his plan to cut-and-run had failed. With Kohaku creating an anti-summoning barrier, the Akatsuki would be forced to fight. And, with their combined allies, they would divide and conquer.

Sarada appeared at her side. Spectral tongues of fire licked at her skin, remnants of her Susano'o, and a single bloody tear ran from the corners of her right eye.

"This ends now, Bolt," Himawari stated with all the finality of an executioner.

* * *

 **A/N:**

My Shiki Fujin is slightly different than canon. That whole shadow clone thing Hiruzen pulled is bull. One life for another, period. In addition, all men were not created equally. The soul of the user must be of equal or greater value than the soul of the person they are sealing. For the same reason that Minato, a mere human, was not worth the entirety of Kurama, a Tailed Beast, and an elderly, dying Hiruzen was not worth more than the arms of a healthy, powerful Orochimaru. "Death" has a reason for allowing "mortals" to call upon him, which may be revealed at a later date. Or perhaps not. Some mystery is always fun.

Naturally, Shiki Fujin is a powerful plot device that is often abused in the community. This is the only time that I've planned for it to be used in the story, as I considered it poetic justice, though I cannot rule out that it will not be used at a future date depending on how the plot organically changes. If such a thing comes to pass, I have placed a hard cap of two uses on the technique (meaning only one is left).

Re: "overpowered" claims and power levels — After much internal debate and consultation with trusted readers and reviewers, I have decided that such claims have no factual substance. This will become clear at a later date in the story, but I hope this and the following chapter assuage some concerns. There is, in fact, a methodology to the powers I give each and every character—not just Bolt. In the same way that the five elements each have a strength and a weakness, so too does each of the abilities I give my characters.

Word of God: I define overpowered as the ease at which a character defeats their next closest peer in power. If that peer cannot be beaten with a casual ease, then that character is not overpowered. For the same reason that Naruto is not overpowered because Sasuke exists, Bolt is not overpowered because his peers are of a similar strength to him. There is a critical difference between being overpowered and being powerful.

The power _dynamic,_ however, is a different story. Bolt has always gone through "peaks" and "valleys" in power; "peaks," where he is the strongest of the new generation, and "valleys," where his peers catch up to him. This dynamic is spun in a new, unfamiliar light because we've seen the fall from hero to villain. It's one thing for the good guys to be the strongest, and another thing entirely for the bad guys to be.

 **I will be deleting all guest reviews which continue to spam the review section with debates of power levels!** If you wish to discuss power balance, you may create an account and send me a private message. I am more than happy to explain my decisions, in detail, but not in the review section or an author's note.


	74. Chapter 74

**A/N:** Triple chapter release warning! Start by reading chapter 73!

* * *

"We need to hurry!" Himawari urged.

Shikadai could hear the eagerness in her tone. He... didn't know how to feel about bringing the girl he liked to a battlefield to murder her brother—his best friend. "I know how much this means to you, Hima," he said. "But we have to do this right. Orochimaru and his allies can hold the Akatsuki while we get prepared."

As Shikadai reprimanded her, an explosion rocked the forest. "At least, I hope so," he muttered under his breath. "Sarada, what are our odds?" Shikadai asked, louder.

Sarada paused and stared into distance with unseeing eyes. Her Sharingan whirred and folded in upon itself before forming the signature whirling spiral pattern of her Mangekyō. A single tear of blood ran down her cheek from her right eye. _"Omoikane,"_ Shikadai heard her breathe, like an oath.

"... Eight hundred and ninety-two possible timelines. Six hundred and fifty-nine timelines where we kill or capture one or more members of the Akatsuki," Sarada answered

"And how many where we... secure Bolt?" Shikadai asked, casting a wary glance at Himawari.

She paused again. Her brows narrowed and her lips dipped in a frown. "Eighteen," Sarada answered.

"Eighteen? Are you serious? That's it?" Shinki asked. His ever-present cloud of iron sand shifted restlessly behind him.

"If nothing else," Yurui said, nervously palming the hilt of one of his swords. "He has the balls to call himself the leader of the Akatsuki. That's gotta count for something."

Sarada nodded. "My power isn't perfect," she countered. "The future is ever-changing and I can only control my actions in each of the possible timelines. I can shift and prod to try and guide us to a certain outcome, but how you and the Akatsuki react to each branch in the timeline will change which outcome ultimately occurs."

"Troublesome," Shikadai swore.

"Kohaku will be finished setting up the barrier in four minutes and thirty-two seconds," Sarada informed them.

Shikadai clenched his fists. He could do this. He knew he could. He had lost countless hours of sleep the past month as he, his father, and Torture & Intelligence crafted strategy after strategy, ran through scenario after scenario. He released a shuddering breath. "Alright. Sarada, are there any timelines where we lose instantly? Any where we sustain heavy casualties?" Shikadai asked.

"Yes," Sarada answered without hesitation. Honestly, her ability to see into the future terrified him sometimes. It put the cunning and strategy he prided himself on to shame. "I'll try to guide us away from those timelines as much as possible. There's two things we need to avoid: do not, under any circumstance, kill Hikari Yagami. That would be... bad. Very bad," Sarada blanched and shuddered.

"How bad are we talking here?" Yurui probed.

"You remember that video that circulated online after the One-Tail was captured? The one where the desert was a sea of glass for miles?" Sarada asked. Yurui hesitantly nodded and Shikadai found himself mirroring him. "Same thing," she finished.

"He... he unleashes the One-Tail on us if the girl dies?" Shinki asked, for clarification.

"Among... other things," Sarada said with a nod. "Two minutes and eleven seconds until the barrier is complete," she added.

One of the men from Stone swore so colorfully a sailor would have blushed. "Alright, let's not do that," Shikadai said, taking the reigns. "What's the second thing we need to avoid?"

"If the barrier falls, the Akatsuki escapes. The threat to it is two-fold: in eight hundred and seventy-nine of the eight hundred and ninety-two timelines, Bolt realizes the Akatsuki is fighting a losing battle. In the thirteen timelines he stays and fights, we win. That is our best case scenario. In the others, he immediately moves his forces to retreat. If Bolt reaches the barrier, he takes it down with times varying between twenty-two and forty-eight seconds," Sarada explained. She paused, wincing in pain and rubbing at her eyes. "The second threat is the puppeteer. He was the summoner for their extraction plan. When the summoning fails, he's going to send reinforcements to take down the barrier from the outside. For him, it takes longer. Times varying between two minutes and eleven seconds to three minutes and thirty seconds."

Shikadai nodded. More to himself than the others. He could do this. "Alright, we've prepared for this. Shinki, you and your team will guard Kohaku and keep the puppeteer at bay. Your Magnet Release is our backup for dealing with Thunder God Mode, so be safe. Our friends from the Mist will take care of Hikari Yagami—with extreme caution, I hope?" Shikadai asked.

The masked hunter ninja nodded their agreement. Shikadai cleared his throat and continued. "The men from Stone will secure the downed Akiyama sisters and remove them from the battlefield," he said. Both of the burly men grunted an affirmation. "Master Nishimura will face Tetsu Uzumaki. Yurui, you and your team will—"

"—Wait," Sarada said. She was squinting and staring into the distance. "The Akatsuki didn't attack Orochimaru for no reason. They've recruited a new member. He... he can control Jūgo. That's a problem. Yurui and his team give us the greatest chance for an optimal victory."

"Okay," Shikadai sighed. "Yurui, you and your team will handle Jūgo. My team and I will deal with Hibiki, unless Hidan shows, in which case Sarada will disable him with her Sharingan. And that just leaves..."

"Sarada and I to kill Bolt," Himawari finished for him.

"Right," Shikadai confirmed. He whispered a silent prayer that he wouldn't have to see the two siblings fight each other to the death. Himawari might want her brother dead now... but Shikadai knew, just like after his "funeral," that she would devastated by her brother's death. "But," he continued. "We should try to take one or all of them alive if at all reasonably and safely possible. We need intel."

There. He did his part.

He paused. "Sarada, is there... is there a timeline where the two of you... fall to Bolt?" Shikadai asked. He didn't want to even think about a future where Himawari died at the hands of her brother, his best friend.

Sarada twitched. "Just one," she answered. "But it won't happen unless I personally do something." Sarada paused. "The barrier will be completed in eighteen seconds," she added.

He took a deep breath and cleared his mind. "Alright, everyone prepare for battle," Shikadai intoned. "And good luck."

"... We'll need it," someone whispered.

* * *

The summoning had failed.

Himawari loomed over him, eyes rimmed with orange markings and cheeks dotted with small fleshy growths like freckles. Sarada stood next to her, her Mangekyō shedding tears of blood.

They were fucked.

Bolt swore and leapt into action. He broke into a powerful Revolving Heaven that shielded him from his sister punching a hole through his skull and knocked both her and Sarada away from him. It bought him breathing room.

He took stock of the battlefield. Tetsu was engaged with another swordsman in a fierce battle of steel clashing against steel. The Akiyama sisters were unconscious and out of the fight. Hibiki was worriedly continuing to play his ocarina and keeping Jūgo in check. Hikari was leaping to his defense, but both of them were low on chakra after their duel with Orochimaru. Yasuo looked like he wanted to be anywhere except the battlefield.

"Yasuo!" Bolt barked as his rotations halted. "Possesse Jūgo! Hibiki, retreat! Tetsu, Hikari! Defensive positions! Everyone retreat to the barrier!"

He would have to bring forth his Paths. It was a gamble. He would have to sell that he had overpowered the anti-summoning barrier in order to not give away that his Paths were clones. But he _needed_ them. The Universal Healer could get Kagami and Kagari on their feet, adding two to their number. The Sage of the North and the Sage of the South could defend them for a short time until they could rally against their ambushers...

This was not a situation Bolt was comfortable in. His was the side that fought using ambushes and guerilla warfare. To be put on the opposite foot, to defend against the same tactics he used to the fullest, was not something he was experienced in.

Bolt bit his thumb and made a show of weaving hand signs and ramping up his chakra to a level that most summoning techniques did not warrant. He slammed his palm to the ground. Instead, his chakra contorted within his pathways and created three shadow clones—as many as he could create and still operate as a Path himself. His already greatly diminished chakra was partitioned further. Before the smoke could clear, his clones withdrew their masks from the storage seal on their arms. He stood among his impromptu allies; the Sage of the North, the Sage of the South, and the Universal Healer.

"What!" Himawari snapped. "The barrier is still up!"

"Focus on attacking!" Sarada barked an order.

More people poured into the clearing. Yurui, he recognized, and his team, who were heading for Yasuo—for Jūgo, now. Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō were circling around the back. There were two teams he didn't know, but then again, Bolt didn't think he would. A duo from Stone, burly men whose arms were as thick as his chest, and a trio of masked hunter ninja from the Mist. The pair of Stone ninja broke into a stampeding sprint to get to the Akiyama sisters, whom Tetsu had discarded to fight the enemy swordsman. The hunter ninja, however, headed straight for Hikari.

Bolt realized what he was facing in an instant. A group designed, built, solely for the purpose of defeating his organization.

Sarada was surging forward, arm cocked and fist raised. The Sage of the South stepped up, staff raised, and a shimmering barrier of red chakra blocked her punch. Bolt turned and ran. The Universal Healer followed him. Together, the two of them beat a hasty retreat and intercepted the two men from Stone before they could capture Kagami and Kagari. The Sage of the North created a shimmering barrier of blue chakra that stopped his sister from incinerating them with a Fire Release technique that was augmented by—what he could only assume—was natural energy. It was blinding in its intensity.

"Kosaku! Four o'clock!" Sarada barked behind him. She was sprinting around the Sage of the South even as his Path tried to bar her passage.

One of the men from Stone took a wide, powerful stance and thrust an elbow-locked arm forward with a clenched fist. "Ha!" Kosaku yelled.

The air between them was set ablaze with fire and light. Bolt managed to bring his arms up in a crude guard before the brunt of the explosion slammed into him. The man's technique was similar, yet different, than Kagami's. Taking a deep breath, Bolt activated his Lightning Armor. He kept it at the first level of activation to preserve precious chakra. Charging through the fire and the smoke, he passed by the man who had attacked him and instead backhanded the other Stone ninja just before he reached the Akiyama sisters.

The Universal Healer bit at the palms of her hands to bloody them as she charged Kosaku. Bolt expected her to deal with him in the way she did most of her enemies: horrible bodily mutation. Instead... Kosaku abandoned all pretense of offense and focussed on both avoiding physical contact with his Path and her blood.

"—Flash!"

"—Flash!"

A titanic collision of two great masses of chakra heralded an echoing boom that left Bolt reeling. Tetsu and his opponent were moving further and further away from the rest of their group. Still, he managed to bring himself to intercept the Stone ninja the Universal Healer was fighting and allowed her to see to Kagami and Kagari. The man continued to focus on evasion and headed to his fellow's aid.

It became apparent why as a spectral skeletal fist slammed down upon him. Bolt leapt out of the way with a yelp. A quick glance revealed the Sage of the South on his knees, struggling to climb to his feet. Bolt had missed how he had been defeated—a brief peek at his clone's memories told him that Himawari had merely punched him... through the barrier that blocked all physical attacks.

But neither the Sage of the South nor the Sage of the North blocked _natural energy._ The fireball from earlier, maybe, because it possessed some elemental chakra. But Bolt knew from firsthand experience that his sister's punches were just battering rams of natural chakra. And now Himawari was sprinting at him, her face contorted in righteous anger.

A thunderous boom echoed in his ears as Yasuo finally learned how to control Jūgo. He unleashed several beams of pure chakra in quick succession. Bolt focussed on defense, on avoidance, ensuring that there was maximum distance between him and his sister's attacks. It was not something he was accustomed to. Lightning Armor was a technique that granted its user great offensive abilities. Bolt was meant to be attacking, not defending. But it was better than trying to trade blows with Himawari and getting his face pummeled more than it already was.

"Focus on the healer! The one in the back!" Sarada barked as she lunged at him. When she spoke, the rest of the group listened. The two men from Stone thrust their fists forward and created more explosions. Bolt commanded the Sage of the North to create a barrier.

Then he had no more time to manage his forces as he dodged a high-kick from Himawari and a thrusting jab from Sarada. They were fighting unfairly—he admitted that. They were smart. Taking out the Universal Healer before she could heal...

Bolt narrowed his brows as Sarada wreathed her hands in screaming electricity. He dodged one Chidori, narrowly, and then the second. How did they know the Universal Healer did, in fact, heal? He had only displayed her meager offensive capabilities in the attack on the Leaf.

He abandoned that thought as Himawari charged him with a roared battle cry. Bolt made sure to put several ample feet between himself and her passing fist. He could feel his bioelectric aura waver as something passed through it and narrowly missed his body.

The Sage of the North and the Sage of the South took turns alternating with their barriers. Bolt couldn't afford to lock them, the Universal Healer, and the Akiyama sisters up with their ultimate defense. They would be fine but the rest of them would be dead or captured by the time the barrier collapsed.

"Shit," Sarada swore.

Bolt smiled as Kagami and Kagari sluggishly stood on unsteady legs. That was one problem resolved, and another point in their favor. Sarada lunged at him with a Chidori. She was surprisingly quick on her feet and managed to cut his already ragged Akatsuki robe. Bolt tapped his chakra and activated the second level of his Lightning Armor. He reached up and severed the remnants of his robe and was left wearing a slightly less ragged charcoal-gray shirt. He sent a wordless command to his Paths to defend the Universal Healer.

She was the second most important Path next to himself. Her power allowed her to heal all but the most grievous of injuries and, sometimes, even them. That gave him, his Paths, and his allies excellent endurance in an extended battle. Distantly, Bolt regretted not having the Universal Healer give him a once-over. His face was starting to swell where Orochimaru had pummeled him.

"Can't we talk about this?" Bolt asked, keeping a wary eye on his fuming sister. It took some time for the Universal Healer to completely run through her ability. A few seconds, that's all he needed. Then Kagami and Kagari would be fine.

"There's nothing to talk about!" Himawari spat. "You're a monster!"

Bolt twitched at the lingering, stinging feeling of a knife cutting into his chest. He focussed on what Hikari had told him. It... helped, in a way. Dulled the pain, but it was still there.

Sarada frowned and held an arm up to keep his sister at bay. "There's nothing to talk about, Bolt. It's too late to talk about it. Your ambition and lust for power has disrupted the peace," she said.

"It was never about ambition, or power," Bolt told the two of them. Kagami and Kagari were looking more steady on their feet. His Paths were holding the men from Stone at bay quite admirably. Not much longer then. "It is about bringing order and stability to our world."

"You've done quite the opposite, Bolt," Sarada countered. Her voice was a little sad and a little soft. He had expected her to hate him as much as his sister did. "If you had never done anything, where would we be? Our world would be much more peaceful."

"I've just accelerated the process," Bolt countered. "We were dying a slow death. By the time everyone realized it, we would be too far gone to truly stop it. I've brought the sickness of the ninja world to the forefront. Once we've cured ourselves of it, only then can we move on and start to build a better world. The problem isn't chakra—it's ninja. So long as we as a people are divided, there can never be peace."

"... Maybe you're right," Sarada admitted. Bolt felt hope blossom in his chest. "But that doesn't change what you've done. You've used your power to force change upon the world from up high. Peace through tyranny will never last."

"Not without someone to enforce it, true," Bolt said. His eyes fell on Himawari, who looked ready to beat him to death, and then back to Sarada. "Which is what the Akatsuki was created for. The first hundred years will be the most trying. Hopefully, I'll be there for most of them. And when I die, my successor will continue my work. But, eventually, the peace will be all our people have ever known. Then they will accept it. Even if it takes two hundred years."

Bolt took a breath. "You can see it, can't you? You're not blinded by what I've done. You know it's bad, but you see the greater good behind the committed atrocities. The Akatsuki is always looking for more members. People like you, who—"

"Enough!" Himawari snapped. "You've stolen my brother from me! I won't let you steal my best friend too!"

The battle raged around them with a sudden clarity and a newfound intensity. Steel clashed against steel, explosions scarred the landscape, and it was all directed by a melodious, lilting tune.

The battle was renewed with an increased ferocity. Bolt lunged forward, moving faster than the electrical signals that travelled between the eyes and the brain. He would take out Sarada first, and then figure out how he was going to survive his sister running as low on chakra as he was. Bolt brought a hand up, wreathed in lightning, and made to chop at Sarada's neck.

She dodged.

Gracefully and with ease, Sarada dodged.

That was impossible. Physically impossible. Not without some sort of cognitive-boosting technique that allowed her central nervous system to react faster than a base human's. Like the Lightning Armor augmented him. Sarada brought up one of her hands, a Chidori on her fingertips, and slashed at him. Her hand cut through his armor, bypassing the bioelectric aura, but didn't make it deep enough to cut flesh. Bolt ignored her in favor of evading his sister's wild barrage of punches augmented by natural energy. He gave them a wide berth. Better to need less room than more, he thought.

Bolt hated being on the defensive. For every ten attacks Himawari and Sarada got in, he managed only a single one. More time spent dodging well-placed punches and a Chidori or two than using his Gentle Fist to end the fight. He was tired of the farce. He would put Sarada down and then deal with his sister.

Bolt dodged one final flowing combination of warped Gentle Fist punches from Himawari before he turned and leapt at Sarada with all the speed he could muster. He would try to fit the Eight Trigrams: Sixty-Four Palms between the space of him attacking and Himawari coming to her rescue.

Sarada leaned out of the way of the palm strike that was going to disable her shoulder. She raised her left leg to evade the finger thrust that would have struck her thigh. The two-fingered jab that would have disabled her neck was dodged as she leaned backwards. And she continued to dodge. All sixty-four attacks. Contorting her body in ways that no one should have been able to do. Predicting each and every punch. Perfectly avoiding them all. Bolt couldn't believe it. She wasn't fast—not at all. She just... seemed to know what he was going to do before he did it. He stared dumbly at her. Sarada favored him a small, prideful smile.

His vision darkened as something colossal slammed into the side of his skull. Bolt saw stars. Vaguely, he was aware of crashing through trees and bushes. He heard someone scream his name, a woman, probably Hikari. It didn't sound angry, like his sister, and it lacked the distinctive gleeful ecstasy of the Akiyama sisters' battle cries.

Bolt knew he had to get up. His body was moving, trotting forward on all fours. His mind, his conscious mind, just had to take control. The hindbrain was keeping him alive. An inferno incinerated the part of the forest he had landed in.

Just as his mind cleared, a cloud of shifting, glinting darkness rose outside the anti-summoning barrier. Everyone seemed to pause to take its appearance in as the cloud became a wave that surged forward and scoured the forest from the map.

"Shinki," Bolt swore under his breath. If there was a team from Cloud, Mist, and Stone, then surely there would be one from Sand too.

He needed to get to that barrier. "Retreat!" Bolt shouted.

Hibiki was being chased by Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō as he ran through the forest and furiously played a tune on his ocarina. He was the closest to escaping. Tetsu was the farthest, being engaged in an explosive duel with the other swordsman—probably a samurai from the Land of Iron. The three hunter ninja from the Mist were circling and hounding Hikari but she was fending them off admirably. Bolt didn't have to worry about her. Kagami and Kagari, now conscious, were sowing chaos and wreaking havoc with their bloodlines.

And Yasuo—in his Jūgo puppet—was being cut to ribbons by the whirlwind of swords that was Yurui. His team provided well-placed, strategic hits where they could. Every so often, Yasuo would unleash a beam of pure, concentrated chakra that obliterated a small portion of the woods.

Bolt weaved hand signs and exhaled a bank of cloying, thick mist. It spilled from his lips, drowning the forest and leaving those without dōjutsu deprived of their eyesight. He, Hikari, and Tetsu could handle it. Likely, Sarada and Himawari could as well. But the others? They would be blinded. Bolt tried to layer the mist in such a way that the Akatsuki would be able to retreat with some meager visibility.

The mist gave him some time to breathe and blink the darkness away that was encroaching his vision. Just then, a colossal spectral, skeletal fist crashed through the mist and destroyed the tree he had been hiding behind.

Sarada waded forward, clad in her Susano'o.

* * *

Bolt was staring up at her through the burning flesh of her Susano'o. Through the mist, he appeared as nothing more than an iridescent blue-white ghost. Obscuring the battlefield had been a good move on his part, to be fair. Her Sharingan couldn't quite see through it. Himawari was not so limited with her Byakugan.

But, then again, Sarada really didn't "see" anything. Her foresight was not physical. At least, she didn't think so. She simply _knew_. And her knowledge came to her as visions of things that may be and things that had yet to come.

Sarada brought the crude skeletal fist of her Susano'o down on him again. He was too fast, she knew—she saw, she lived—and he dodged by sprinting through the mist. Already, the timelines were converging. Some doors were closing and others were opening. With each branch in time, Sarada guided them all to the future she desired.

Tears of blood welled unshed in her right eye. She blinked them away. Before her, all timelines converged once more. Bolt was going to attack her, from behind, in an attempt to punch through her Susano'o. Her skin rippled with pinpricks of pain as she forced the burning bones in her spine and ribs to grow rippled cords of muscle and skin.

Her Susano'o withstood the attack even as Bolt's augmented Gentle Fist tried to shear through it. Himawari crashed down on him as she leapt over her spectral shoulder. Bolt managed to leap out of the way by kicking the spine of her construct. Sarada saw his future self do so. She backhanded him with her Susano'o. Bolt sailed into the mist once more and came to a stop as he struck a boulder that had been knocked loose by Master Nishimura dueling Tetsu.

Idly, Sarada brought her other spectral arm down on Kagami and Kagari. The sisters were beginning to overwhelm the aging duo from Stone. The two women yelped in alarm and attacked her. The molten rock superheated the bones of her Susano'o but did little else. She withdrew her fist and turned back to the matter at hand.

Bolt had rallied with the other "Pains." Sarada thought it was odd he only called three of them. Whether that was because of the barrier, or because he didn't have the chakra, or something else, she didn't know. All she knew was that in every timeline, there were only three. Fortunately, she was lucky that Bolt had chosen to heal Kagami and Kagari. He didn't choose to do so in every timeline. That he did meant that they would have a chance to destroy the most useful Pain before she could cause trouble in future battles.

Sarada strode forward and her Susano'o puppeted her. She was keeping it crude and incomplete to spare herself pain and preserve chakra; only its spine, ribcage, and both arms were constructed. Still, she could feel the pit of darkness in the back of her mind that would call it forth in all her clan's glory.

She hoped it didn't come to that.

Her Mangekyō told her that it would.

Bolt charged her again. Sarada brought a spectral arm down that blocked his path. He was too quick, though, and easily darted around it. With a thought, her Susano'o burned itself to nothing and allowed her greater freedom of movement. Her right eye burned as she gazed into the future. She saw each and every strike before they came. An open-palmed punch to the sternum; she leaned to the side and made herself small. It missed. Two pointed fingers thrusting at her neck; Sarada tilted her head to the side. It missed. Bolt contorted his hands into claws and attempted to gore her; she raised her left leg, bent over backwards, and balanced her right arm on the ground. It missed.

The howl of anger and frustration Bolt let slip was very gratifying. For all his speed, all his power, he couldn't touch her. Not unless she wanted him to. Then he was forced to run away as his sister chased him like a mad dog. They were putting the Akatsuki on the defensive—and that was good. Sarada could feel—could see—them breaking.

Bolt tried, and failed, to dodge Himawari. He couldn't run forever. He was tiring and slowing. Himawari caught her brother with something that looked like a cross between a palm strike and a maul. Bolt crashed into the ground and tumbled ass over end for several yards before coming to a rest.

She didn't regret lying to her friends when she told them Orochimaru could hold the Akatsuki. She would bear that sin. If there was one thing that the ANBU had taught her, that she could agree with Bolt on, it was that the world needed hard people to make even harder decisions. She could be that person. That was who the Hokage was. That was who she was. If by sacrificing Orochimaru—an irredeemably evil man that had nearly submitted her father to a fate worse than death—would mean bringing Bolt to justice, she would make that sacrifice.

In fact, Sarada was rather impressed Bolt had managed to engineer the death of Orochimaru in every possible timeline.

"Enough!" Bolt shouted. He stood, batting away one of Himawari's punches, and kicked her in the ribs. She was punted away but Sarada knew she sustained no lasting damage. Her Sage Mode, incomplete as it was, was still powerful enough to shield her.

Time frayed. Some doors closed and others opened.

The three Pains ran into the forest. Two, the ones who created barriers, disappeared as they bit their thumbs and slammed their palms to the ground. The healer, however, stayed. She hid well, lowering her chakra as much as she could, and wedging herself between a boulder and a tree that was heavy with the cloying mist.

Her skin broke into goosebumps as her hair stood on end. Sarada could see what was going to happen before it did. It was one thing to hear about in a mission briefing and another thing entirely to witness it in person.

Bolt began to glow with an inner blue-white light.

Sarada immersed herself in the agony that came with her clan's powers. Her Susano'o was aflame as it burned to life. Orange-red tongues of fire that gave birth to spectral bone, corded muscle, and thick skin. But her Mangekyō told her she would have to go even further. She did. Fire blossomed all around her as slabs of metal were forged into reality. A breastplate of tiled armor, one atop the other, covered her construct's chest. Two pauldrons fell from her shoulders and four plated tassets protected her thighs, rear, and groin.

Sarada had never pushed her Susano'o so far before. Her construct, she had thought, was androgynous, but now that it was more fleshed out, more complete, she noticed it had a slight swell in the armor where its breasts would have been.

And the pain that came with it was nearly mind-consuming. And this wasn't even its final form. Her Susano'o had its skull left bare, bereft of armor and flesh, and she still had yet to bring forth the legs and the second set of arms.

And then Sarada had no more time to speculate on her abilities.

The air hummed with power and chakra—her own, and the Uzumaki siblings'. The mist that had obscured the battlefield began to thin as even it could not stand before their three combined powers.

The "Thunder God" was quite a sight to behold. A scintillating storm of electricity that had been bottled in the vague shape of a man. A sluggish "glitch" in the electricity ran through the avatar, making it flicker from head to toe.

Her Sharingan copied the technique and added it to her ever growing database of jutsu—not that she would be able to use it. Like his Lightning Armor, Bolt was using his Hyūga blood and impeccable control of all his chakra points to assist with the transformation.

Then the battled raged on.

Her Mangekyō told her Bolt didn't even have a single minute's worth of chakra to fuel Thunder God Mode.

Her Mangekyō told her that, in every single timeline, she was going to get hit. It was disorienting to see every possible future converge for one single action. For most people, even if they were set in their actions, there was always some hesitation. Some alternative that they could take if prodded in the right direction.

Not Bolt. The Thunder God moved and it moved for her.

Lightning slammed into the chest of her Susano'o. Her armor was sheared away as Bolt attempted to tear through her. His arrival was heralded with a clap of thunder that reverberated in her ears.

But her Susano'o held. Sarada was glad she had tethered herself to her spectral knight. The force of Bolt colliding with her actually moved her Susano'o several yards back. Sarada dug the heels of her boots into the ground and focussed on staying upright. Himawari crashed down on him with a slashing chop whose range was far greater than her body suggested.

Bolt was taking no chances. Sarada saw, again, as every timeline converged and left only one path to him: up. Sarada was moving her spectral arm up to slap him down when Bolt paused—nearly flying, but more of a glacially slow drift—and then thundered into Himawari. She brought her right forearm forward as a makeshift shield as Bolt slammed into her. After personally witnessing the strength behind Thunder God Mode, Sarada had newfound respect for Sage Mode as Bolt broke upon her "shield" like waves upon a rock.

Sarada brought her raised hand down and swatted Bolt like he was an insect. Himawari narrowly dodged. Bolt himself seeped through her fingers. It was like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands.

Thirty-two seconds left. That was all she needed to last for.

Bolt lunged at her, again, and Sarada braced herself. He broke upon her armor, again, shearing through plate after plate of spectral metal. Better prepared, the force of Thunder God Mode was more easily resisted. Sarada tried to crush him with two sweeps of her arms. Bolt dodged, moved, again, heralded by a clap of thunder.

Himawari hit him with an axe-kick that sundered stone and split him down the middle. Lightning danced up her leg, across her body, and through her hair. Bolt reconstituted himself and leapt away from both her and his sister.

Twelve more seconds. She could do this.

He had chakra for one more pass at them. Nothing more. The doors that led to the more apocalyptic futures began to close.

This time, Bolt lunged at Himawari with a rumbling, thunderous battle cry. Himawari batted him away with her augmented Sage Mode defenses. Sarada slammed a fist of her Susano'o down upon him.

Three seconds. She could see Thunder God Mode fading and retreating as Bolt became flesh and blood again.

Bolt slipped through her spectral fingers, again, and attacked his sister. Himawari blocked his "arm" with her forearm and darted inside his guard.

Doors opened and closed as the future rapidly changed direction once more.

"Ha!" Himawari cried, thrusting an open-palmed Gentle Fist strike at her brother.

It hit and connected with a surprisingly solid thump. Bolt screamed an echoing, metallic scream as he dropped Thunder God Mode—and his Lightning Armor—entirely. He was left on his hands and knees to dry heave and gasp for breath. Sarada approached with caution as Bolt rolled to his back and began to claw at his chest as if it was on fire. She didn't know what Himawari had done, but whatever it was, it had been effective.

Zero seconds. Sarada breathed a sigh of relief and allowed her Susano'o to burn itself to oblivion. The pain clouding her mind and stabbing at her eyes receded. They had avoided the two worst outcomes as that door closed.

Just then, a beam of exploding chakra tore through the battlefield. Sarada casually leapt out of the way as Himawari was bathed in the attack. A surprised yelp escaped her lips.

Doors opened and closed as the future rapidly changed direction once more. Tears of blood welled and fell from her right eye. Sarada was forced to close it as pain seared through her.

Jūgo—or the new member of the Akatsuki, Sarada knew—stood a few dozen yards away. He was weaving a long series of hand signs. He ended it with a clap. Time unraveled at its ends as many doors opened and closed in quick succession. "Shiki—" Jūgo roared, eying Himawari.

She couldn't see the future. "Hima!" Sarada barked.

Bolt was up, wreathed in screaming electricity, and thrusting a hand through Jūgo's eye and into his skull. It lasted only an instant before his Lightning Armor dissipated. When Bolt pulled his fist back, it was slick with blood and gray matter. A thick pink-red smoke spilled from the now very clearly deceased Jūgo's lips. Bolt fell to his knees, gasping for breath, as the smoke coalesced into a young boy.

Her ANBU training kicked in—young; dark brown hair; dark blue eyes; freckled; short; unnaturally thin; unnaturally pale. Her Sharingan memorized every feature. Sarada identified him as the unnamed, newly recruited member of the Akatsuki. She would be able to sketch his face later if he escaped.

Bolt was empty with exhaustion. She didn't even need her Sharingan to tell her that. He was finished. Sarada approached, along with Himawari, and allowed her right eye to open once more.

Her eyes widened. "Everyone jump!" Sarada screamed. Her command echoed over the battlefield. Himawari leapt skyward after her without hesitation. And for that, Sarada was thankful. Around her, she could spot the task force that was within range of her shout obey as they abandoned their individual fights.

The forest floor rippled. Like someone had tossed a pebble into a calm lake. Stone was turned to dust as entire swathes of the forest was uprooted and overturned by a tidal wave of debris. Standing at the epicenter was the masked Hikari. She was bloodied and bruised, her mask cracked, and her Akatsuki robe had been damaged and discarded during the fighting. Underneath, she wore a form-fitting black tank top that barely came to her navel.

Sarada was thankful because it gave her an eyeful of skin that was marred with snaking, inky blood-red lines; a seal. Her Sharingan memorized each and every inch.

Entire sections of the ground were falling apart and being subsumed by the earth as the land was, quite literally, beaten to a pulp. "Fuck! They're getting away!" Himawari screeched as the two of them fell.

Hikari leapt, deftly using chakra to stay afloat amid the liquid stone that now constituted the ground. She threw Bolt and the newest member of the Akatsuki over her shoulders and made haste to join her allies that were now massing near the border of the anti-summoning barrier. The Pain that could heal joined them and was acting as a vanguard.

"After them!" Sarada barked. She and Himawari landed, repeating the move she had seen Hikari use, and quickly scrambling over the ground as it churned like the waves of the ocean.

The task force rallied to her and Himawari. Sarada found, unfortunately, that one of the masked men from Mist had been killed. Quite brutally, her Mangekyō told her. He had been turned into a bloody, meaty paste after failing to dodge one of Hikari's punches. Kosaku and his colleague from Stone were looking singed but otherwise fine. Yurui and his team looked dishevelled and had the most chakra out of any of them.

Yurui, though... he looked too flawless. He didn't even have a scratch on him. That was odd, even if the newest member of the Akatsuki hadn't had much time to become acclimated with Jūgo's body. And his chakra... Sarada could have sworn she saw a lingering hint of red.

Hikari beat them to the barrier.

* * *

"Bolt!" Hikari was yelling. She was shaking his shoulders. He felt something sting his cheek. "Come on! Stay with me! We need you now!"

Bolt blinked, dazed. His chest burned with an angry, searing pain and his head throbbed with every beat of his heart. His skull felt like someone had placed it in a vice and was pounding nails into his brain. It was like that every time he fought Sarada.

"Shit! They're coming! Fuck!" That was Kagami. Or Kagari. They sounded so similar.

The pain faded, however slightly. "Come on, boss," his own voice—a woman's, but his own—said. Opening his eyes showed the Universal Healer resting a hand on his shoulder. He could feel her stoking his Yang chakra.

"It will not be brought down by sheer force, my Lady," Tetsu rumbled. He could hear the sound of steel clashing against chakra.

Bolt blinked and took a deep, shuddering breath. "The barrier," he mumbled, making a weak effort to crawl to the shimmering wall of orange-colored chakra. The Universal Healer helped prop him up and continued to flood his system with Yang chakra.

"I'll hold them off," Hikari told all of them.

"My Lady—" Tetsu protested.

"—I'll be fine," Hikari silenced him. "My Strength of a Hundred has barely been tapped. That last attack was only a twentieth of my reserves."

Bolt gazed at the wavy, whirling script that created the base of the barrier. It was a long, meandering line of commands that snaked around the entirety of the forest. With a thought, he brought forth a brush and an inkwell from the storage seal tattooed on his forearm. He began to methodically pick apart the barrier piece by piece. Commands that countered the original commands of the seal, loops that would catch commands as they ran through the seal and loop endlessly, random commands that would run outside the scope of the original seal.

A sound like a clap of thunder echoed behind him. Sarada had brought the fist of her crude, no longer armored, Susano'o down on Hikari, and Hikari had matched it blow-for-blow. Himawari charged her, eyes still tinged with orange. Tetsu stepped forward and bathed her in a Flash that prevented his sister from attacking Hikari.

The barrier shimmered and wavered. Bolt quickly scribbled one final command. It filtered through the barrier after a few seconds. An instant later, the barrier winked out of existence.

A wave of darkness—iron sand—rushed at them. Caught in it, like driftwood, were countless mangled puppets. The sand slammed into him and carried him away. Bolt felt it wrap around his arms and legs and prevent him from moving. Hands gripped him by the collar of his shirt and tore him from the sand forcefully—the Universal Healer. Hikari and Tetsu were keeping Sarada and his sister at bay. Kagami and Kagari were unloading their arsenal at the tide of iron sand. Yasuo was staying out of reach of the sand with his smoke form. And Hibiki...

"Where is Hibiki?" Bolt demanded, snapping to attention despite his wounds and exhaustion.

For a short instant, the Akatsuki paused and cast panicked glances around the small clearing they had gathered in.

Hibiki wasn't with them.

Bolt felt his heart flutter in his chest. He forced his body to come up with the chakra it didn't have. He forced his hands to run through the hand signs that only small, talentless children of the Hyūga clan ever used. His eyes ached as he forced his Byakugan to activate.

He found Hibiki in an instant. He was disarmed, staring at Bolt with wide, fearful eyes. Around him, inky tendrils of shadow clung to his body. A sealing tag that glowed with orange-colored chakra was pasted on his chest. And he was several hundred feet away, under the watchful eye of Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō.

"Hibiki!" Bolt shouted. He took a step forward and faltered. There was no possible way to cross the distance, save Hibiki, and then escape. With a sinking feeling, Bolt realized he was going to have to abandon Hibiki. It made something angry and acidic churn in his gut.

"Bolt! Move!" Hikari barked.

Bolt turned to stare dumbly at an incorporeal snake of white-green chakra as it leapt at him. He followed the snake with his eyes, from its head to its tail, and found Mitsuki with an outstretched fist at the end. He wasn't going to be able to dodge. He was too wounded, too exhausted. His "friends," they had... cornered him. Forced him into a lose-lose situation. A battle where he came out the lesser in every scenario.

He hated them for that.

With a furious command, the Universal Healer put herself between him and Mitsuki's attack. The incorporeal serpent speared her through the skull—through the mask. His clone screamed, high and shrill, as the death mask cracked, fractured, and then shattered. She died with an echoing scream and Bolt fell to his knees as her memories seared through his brain. He felt the icy claws of Death drag the Universal Healer into the yawning darkness as her mask broke. The porcelain shards were smoking as they dissolved and faded to nothing.

There was only one Path more important than the Universal Healer.

Him.

Bolt fought through the pain and met Hibiki's eyes across the forest. A thunderous crack echoed in his skull as Hikari and Sarada clashed again. Himawari had snapped Tetsu's newly acquired Seversword with frightening ease and was now beating him senseless.

With what small amount of chakra his clone had returned to him, Bolt frenzied his chakra in an entirely unnatural way. There was only one person who could have sensed it was Hibiki. Bolt continued the act for several long seconds. He thought he saw Hibiki nod tersely with lidded blue eyes.

Bolt would not let the Union take Hibiki from him.

He swallowed. "Tsuchigumo, extraction! Now!" Bolt ordered.

One by one, the Akatsuki was whisked away, leaving only wisps of acrid smoke in their wake.

* * *

Sarada limped through the dark subterranean halls of the newly constructed Torture and Intelligence bureau. After it had been infiltrated in the attack, Shikamaru and the Hokage had been eager to ensure it remained secure in the event of any future breaches.

She was tired, hungry, and in desperate need of a shower and a soft bed. But, she knew, they only had so long to break a prisoner before what intel they knew became outdated or inactionable. And Sarada wanted to be there for the "interrogation," if for no other reason than to see what kind of people Bolt associated with over her—over the Leaf.

Sarada entered the viewing room silently. Through a one-way mirror, she could see that the interrogators—Ibiki Morino, formerly retired, had volunteered to come in after the Akatsuki attack—were lounging around Hibiki. He looked unperturbed that he had been captured. All lidded eyes and a small, languid smile. Dare she say it, Hibiki looked almost... happy.

Sarada didn't see how he could be. He was strapped into a contraption of concrete and steel tubing that was surely flooding his system with drugs. Several Yamanaka clansmen manned the machine, and Inojin's mother stood before him next to Ibiki.

"We meet again, beautiful," Hibiki hummed, looking up at Ino.

Ibiki stepped forward. He wore one of the old, ragged black coats that the operatives used to wear in the old days. "Tell us what you know about the Akatsuki and your death will be quick and painless," he threatened with absolute certainty.

Hibiki _laughed_. "No," he answered. "I don't think I will."

Ibiki struck him with a backhanded punch in the jaw. Hibiki spat a mouthful of blood on his boots. That earned him another punch. "You can't kill me," Hibiki slurred. "I'm your only source of information. Trust me, I know. I worked for Grass, remember?"

The interrogators shared a look. "No, I suppose we can't," Ibiki admitted. He leaned down and smiled a toothy, dark grin. "But I can and will make the rest of your natural life exceedingly painful if you do not tell us what we want to know."

Hibiki laughed lightly and spat another mouthful of blood at Ibiki. "I suppose you can," he said. He looked to Ibiki. "But you won't get anything out of me. Not a word. Do you have a wife? Children?"

Ibiki hit him again. "No," he answered. "Casualty of the career."

"A shame," Hibiki said, his head lolling. He looked at Ino. "What about you? Husband? You and the pale guy seemed pretty close when we fought..."

She went perfectly still and said nothing. Hibiki shrugged and favored her a small smile. "Thought so," he said. "And I'm pretty sure one of the people who captured me was your son. He had your hair and eyes, and his pallor. You probably love them, don't you?"

Sarada listened with bated breath.

"I bet you wouldn't betray them, even under the threat of a lifetime of pain," Hibiki continued smugly. "I won't betray the person I love most either. _He_ is worth any suffering. And when he comes to rescue me, well... I wouldn't want to be you."

Hibiki didn't say another word after that, no matter what the interrogators tried. Ibiki sighed and gestured for Ino to step forward. She placed a hand on his forehead and Hibiki winked at her. Sarada tensed as her Sharingan saw her chakra invade his body.

A few seconds passed—twenty-five, forty, a minute. Ino stepped away from him. "His mind is guarded," she told Ibiki. "Both by natural skill and fūinjutsu."

Ibiki cracked his knuckles and smiled as he stepped forward. "Looks like we get to do this the fun way, boys," he said. From the folds of his black jacket, he withdrew a small, worn leather bag. It looked innocent, like a toiletry bag, but from it Ibiki withdrew countless knives, drills, and other surgical tools.

Ino quickly left the room before the torture started. Sarada averted her eyes and turned the radio off but not before she heard the first scream. She quickly left the viewing room. On the way out, she ran into Ino. The two of them shared the same tense, nervous look. "Let's get out of here," Ino told her warmly.

Sarada nodded and lead the way to the end of the hallway. She held her identification card up to the scanner. The light turned green and displayed the words "ANBU — Crow" before she heard the click of the lock.

Sarada reached down for the door handle. She frowned as she felt nothing. She patted around, sure it was nearby, but couldn't find it. Sarada looked down and took a panicked step away from the door.

"Sarada?" Ino asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Her blood was pounding so loudly in her ears that Sarada didn't even hear her. The world swam before her eyes, indistinct and undefined.

* * *

Shikadai sighed and steeled himself. He forced his arm to rise and his knuckles to rap against the Uzumaki household door. He nearly needed a shadow jutsu to force his body to obey his mind.

After a few moments, Hinata answered the door. Her eyes were red and the skin beneath her eyes was a dark mottled purple-black color. He regretted the choices that led to this moment immensely. "Ah, hello," Shikadai managed to choke out. "Is Himawari home? Can I talk to her?"

Hinata said nothing, simply nodding, before closing the door and scurrying off to fetch, he presumed, Himawari. When the door opened again, Himawari blinked at him owlishly. She was bruised and her hair was wild from sleep—and a little singed, thanks to her brother—but she seemed to be... fine.

"Hey, Himawari!" Shikadai greeted her. "Can I, uh, talk to your for for a bit? Get lunch, maybe?"

Himawari straightened and blinked, looking down at her pajamas. "Yeah, uh sure," she said. "Just give me a minute."

She slammed the door in his face and Shikadai could hear feet pattering over hardwood floor. When she returned, she had changed into the standard issued Leaf jōnin uniform. The jacket was about two sizes too big for her and was obviously made for men, not women. "Most of my stuff is at Mount Myōboku," Himawari said by way of an excuse.

Shikadai shrugged. He didn't really care what she wore. He took her to the same barbecue joint their class had gone to since their Academy days. Shikadai was pretty sure Chōchō's dad owned it. Or, at least, the Akimichi clan did.

"So," Himawari said, sipping at her tea. "What did you want to talk about?"

Shikadai stared into the cup of his own tea and sighed. "Alright, this is going to be awkward. Bear with me," he began. Himawari perked up at that. "I want to talk to you about your brother."

"Oh," Himawari deflated. Her expression turned sour.

Shikadai sighed. "Listen, I... I know this has been hard on you. It's been hard on everyone, but hard on you most of all," he said. Shikadai took a breath. "Whatever Bolt has become, he was our friend once, and—"

"And that was a long time ago, Shikadai," Himawari stated. "Eight long years ago."

"Right," Shikadai agreed. "Just hear me out, okay? Don't take this the wrong way. We are ninja. That means we're all a little insane—perk of the career. There's—we're all kind of sick, you know? Some of us more than others. The power, it does things to us. I sometimes think the nature of chakra is to be in conflict with others."

Himawari stared at him in silence.

"It makes sense, doesn't it? We live in the best, most peaceful era that there's ever been and people are still unhappy. People are still wanting to go to war. It just... never ends. That's our history, our future: war. Kind of sad, isn't it?" Shikadai asked.

He didn't get an answer. Shikadai cleared his throat. "Where I was going with this is... I don't know where Bolt went wrong, and I don't know when, but I know that he fell victim to this sickness that we've all got," he said.

"Was there a point to this conversation, or are you just trying to make me feel like shit?" Himawari snapped.

Shikadai flinched. "I just—I just believe that, maybe, there's some good in Bolt still. That there's a chance for him to redeem himself. But we won't ever find out if the task force is trying to assassinate him at every turn. I know—"

"You don't know anything!" Himawari hissed. She stood and slipped out of the booth.

Thinking fast, Shikadai contorted his hands into the Rat sign. His shadow lashed out, ensnared her, and forced her to sit back down. "Great," he sighed. "Now you're really pissed."

"Let me go!" Himawari grit out.

"I will," Shikadai countered. "Just as soon as you let me finish talking."

Himawari glared daggers at him but remained quiet.

"Look, I—your brother was important to me too, okay? Maybe not as important as he was to you, but he was my best friend. I literally can't remember a time when we weren't friends. My dad brought me to work, and your dad brought Bolt to work. It was inevitable. We named our fucking characters in that stupid game we used to play after each other! Can you believe it? He was 'Shadow Weaver' and I was 'Lawbringer,'" Shikadai laughed.

Shikadai took a deep breath through his nose. "What I'm trying to say is... I feel guilty. I feel like I've failed Bolt. That I should have seen his 'fall,' I guess, coming. That he was sicker than the rest of us were. And I—I at least want to give him the chance to prove he's strong enough to overcome his sickness. That he can still redeem himself. And I think you think the same thing, Himawari," he said.

Himawari glared at him. Tears welled unshed in her eyes.

"I think," Shikadai continued. "Deep down, you love him as much as ever, and you want him to redeem himself too. And as much as I want to help him, I want to help you even more."

Shikadai paused, let his message settle in, and then released her from his shadow. He expected her to immediately rise and leave. She didn't. Himawari sat there, quiet, and stared at her tea for a long time. The waitress delivered a tray of fried meats and vegetables. Shikadai wasn't very hungry.

"... Why do you even care?" Himawari asked eventually with a small, hopeful voice.

Shikadai rolled his eyes. "I think you already know, troublesome woman," he answered, taking a bite of the fried pork.

"Just for your information," Himawari said, smiling and taking several strips of meat for herself. "That was the worst confession I've ever heard of."

"Yeah, yeah," Shikadai huffed.

They ate in silence.

"If this is a date, you're paying for it," Himawari said after awhile.

Shikadai smiled. "Fine," he agreed.

"... You know," Himawari commented, taking another strip of meat. "My brother will probably kill you when he finds out about us. He's kind of overprotective."

His smile faltered.

* * *

Bolt savaged the armored man with a hand wreathed in screaming lightning. He tore him apart with such ease that it wasn't even akin to killing a man. More like crushing an insect beneath his boot. He raised his head, gazing over the battlefield, and watched the tide of men continue to march against him. Already, the dead were so numerous that on either side of him there was a small mountain of corpses and cawing crows.

Bolt killed them all. He killed, and he killed, and he killed. Until there was none left. Until the very dirt was forever stained red and the rivers ran with not water but blood. As he shambled back to the fortress, a body groaned and attempted to pull itself from the mountain of the dead.

Bolt beheaded them with a flick of his wrist and a blade of electricity. Its head lulled and rolled from its shoulders. Bolt stopped, dead in his tracks, as Sarada's head stared up at him with a pair of lidded, unseeing Mangekyō.

He sat up, gasping for breath, and slick with a cold sweat.

Bolt released a shuddering breath into the darkness of his room. Hikari had awoken where she sat in a chair at the far side of the room. She held a fistful of needles in her hand. "Nightmare?" Hikari asked softly, pocketing her needles.

"Yeah," Bolt admitted, sinking back into his bed. "I'm fine. How long have I been out?" he asked.

He heard her fumble around in the darkness for something. A clock, probably. "Little over a day and a half," Hikari answered. "It's three in the morning right now. Try to get some more sleep. You were dangerously close to chakra exhaustion. Katasuke says he thinks your sister managed to use the Gentle Fist to hit you with a dose of natural energy. That's why you were hurt even though you were using Thunder God Mode."

Bolt didn't think he would be able to fall asleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Sarada staring at him. Instead, he planned and he plotted. Hibiki would not be allowed to rot in some Union prison. He wouldn't allow it. Hibiki was _his._

After a few hours, he threw his sheets off and slipped into his bathroom. Bolt stared at himself in the mirror.

"Time to escalate," he told himself.

* * *

" _Earlier this morning, the newly emergent 'Akatsuki' released a video which has many experts drawing parallels between it and the popular anti-government group, the Revolution. This is the first time we are seeing its leader and hearing them speak following the attack on the Hidden Leaf nearly one and a half months ago," the news anchorman said. He turned, as if to watch the video himself._

 _The screen changed. A tall, thin blond man stood at the fore of the video. He wore a featureless white mask, harking back to the Revolution, and the infamous Akatsuki robes. "I am Pain," he said. "Leader of the Akatsuki. Someone was taken from me, an ally, by Union forces. I come before you all with a very simple message."_

 _The camera panned over the shoulder of Pain. It focussed on a strange, cylindrical device. It was as at least as tall and as wide as a fully grown man. It ran backwards for several yards. From the body were numerous smaller cylinders, each made of glass, with small, furled scrolls inside. Each scroll glowed blue-white with visible chakra._

" _This," Pain said, gesturing at the device. "Is a chakra bomb. Think of it as an explosive tag with all the chakra of a Kage to fuel it. It is capable of destroying tens of city blocks by itself."_

 _The camera panned, again, this time turning on itself and showing what Pain had been looking at. It was a large room, or cave, filled with tens—with hundreds—of chakra bombs._

" _For every day that my ally is not returned to me, I will detonate one of these bombs in a densely populated city. My demand is simple: release my ally, deactivate whatever defenses prevent me from summoning him to us, or face obliteration," Pain intoned._

" _And, well..." he trailed off. "If he is dead..."_

 _The screen returned to the news anchorman who quite literally jumped out of his chair as a booming explosion was heard._

* * *

 **A/N:**

And ya'll thought Bolt was the only one packing heat. Nobody was picking up what I was laying down when I gave Sarada _literal precognition._

I didn't plan for more shipping to happen so soon but... it just happened. Chiefly, Himawari needs emotional support and neither her mother, father, or Sarada are currently fit to give it. I also thought Shikadai, who his father would have taught him about the "king" of the Leaf, had some interesting thoughts on the ninja world.


	75. Chapter 75 -- Omake: Temple

**A/N:** Triple chapter release warning! Start by reading chapter 73!

* * *

Tokichiro didn't know where they were taking him. He was a farmer's son with a dreamer's heart. When the Revolution came to his village, he couldn't resist joining up with them. Even going against his father's will.

He should have listened.

The recruiter tied his hands behind his back and threw a burlap sack over his head. Tokichiro was only distantly aware of movement as the wagon he and the other new recruits were in bounced and jostled. It was colder than he was used to. The Land of Waterfalls was pleasantly warm with a southern wind blowing from the Land of Fire. Now, though? Now the wind was biting and cold. They had to be going into the mountains to the west, he realized. To the Land of Earth.

Tokichiro passed the time by counting the number of times the whining wheel of the wagon made.

He fell asleep before the five hundredth.

* * *

"Rise and shine, boys!"

Tokichiro startled awake. He was pulled forward by the ropes binding his hands. He tumbled out of the wagon and hit something hard as he fell. He only had a few seconds to blink in pain before rough hands were pulling him to his feet.

"Watch your step," a man said.

Tokichiro hesitantly walked forward. His boots found a ledge of stone. Carefully, he stepped over it. He and the others, he assumed by the number of footsteps, were led forward. The path they took was winding and hard, like an old goat's path up the side of a mountain. They hiked for what had to have been two or three hours. By the end, Tokichiro was gasping for breath through the darkness of the bag tired over his head.

"Take a right. Watch your step," a woman whispered to him.

He did so, finding a ledge, which turned out to be a crude stairway stone or metal. Something hard and cold. The air grew warm and damp the farther down the stairway he went. Eventually, the stairs levelled out.

"Keep going," a man grunted, nudging him in the back. Tokichiro walked forward. His heart began to pound in his chest. "Stop."

The bag was removed from his head. Tokichiro blinked. He was in a cave, dimly lit with torches, along with several tens of other people. Around their group were a number of men and women dressed in military fatigues with arms wrapped in black metal and wearing featureless white masks.

He and the other recruits nervously paced about. A few of them were brave enough to strike up conversation. It was hard to tell how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes before more members of the Revolution stormed into the cave. The new arrivals quickly dispersed among them armed with scrolls and brushes.

One of them came up to him. "Name, age, place of origin, occupation, and education?" a masked woman asked him in a clipped, terse tone.

"Uh, Tokichiro Sato. Thirteen, Land of Waterfalls, farmer, none," he managed to answer without stumbling over his words.

The masked woman scribbled his information down and moved onto the next person. It took no more than ten minutes for the entire group to surrender their information. Then the freedom fighters gathered together at the fore of the cave.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a tall, burly masked man spoke. His voice echoed through the cave. "Welcome to the Revolution."

* * *

They were given three scratchy, starched uniforms, three featureless white masks, a large bag made of heavy-duty cloth, and a small leather bag for toiletries.

That was it.

Everything else was confiscated.

The barracks—officially called the "dorms," but everyone knew better—were hewn from stone. People were assigned to bunks, one on the top and one on the bottom, with ten bunks per room. There was one bathroom that had two toilets, a urinal, and a community shower.

Tokichiro quickly became intimately acquainted with the nineteen other people in his barracks.

The mess hall was, at once, the best and worst part of joining the Revolution. The food was shit. The cook was a short, portly woman that appeared to have grown a second and third chin. The only redeeming thing about it was that there was so much of it. It felt good to go to bed and not be hungry like he had done so often on the farm.

The Revolution gave them a single day to get settled.

Then the training began.

Tokichiro and the rest of his newfound "friends" had been awoken at an ungodly hour. It was difficult to tell what time it was without the sun, and his family had been too poor to afford a clock. And, even if they did, the Revolution would have confiscated it. He assumed it couldn't have been more than two or three hours after they had all fallen asleep.

They were marched deeper into the mountain, below the barracks, into a large, yawning cavern that bored into the stone for hundreds of feet in either direction. It was one part obstacle course, one part gym.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a stout man with burly arms barked. "Welcome to the Revolution! I am Haku Hatanaka, and I will be your basic training instructor!"

Everyone murmured unsure greetings to him.

"Damn it!" Haku snapped. He stomped his foot and Tokichiro twitched as the ground actually rumbled. "What backwater shithole did the recruiters pull you lot out of! You will address me as 'sir,' and you will speak only when spoken to! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes... sir," Tokichiro managed to say. The others murmured similar.

"Better!" Haku barked. He pointed to a large, towering wooden wall a short distance aways. "Now get a fuckin' move on! If you're not done runnin' the course in an hour, you'll be doing it again and again until you can!"

Tokichiro ran over to the wall. He looked up. It had to be at least thirty feet in height. How were they supposed to get over it? A few people were doing the same thing he was. They shook their heads and meandered around the wall to continue on.

The booming drawl of their instructor echoed through the cavern. "You retards! What are you doin'? Climb over that fuckin' wall! Right now!" Haku shouted.

Tokichiro wracked his brain. Glancing to the side, he saw several people began to cup their hands and allow others to be hoisted up. It wasn't enough. They needed more people. It clicked, then, what the point of this exercise was.

Teamwork.

He joined them and began to organize their climb.

* * *

As it turned out, they didn't complete the course in an hour. Instructor Haku ran them ragged as they were forced to run the course again and again. Tokichiro didn't know how long they had been at it. Only, when the end came, he and his... neighbors, he supposed, filed into the mess hall, devoured their food, returned to their barracks, took a quick shower with hardly any awkwardness, and then collapsed into their beds.

The following day, they did it again.

And the day after that. And the day after that, too. And, of course, the day after that. On the seventh day, Tokichiro thought he was going to die. He couldn't take it anymore.

He found faith when his prayers were answered. Instructor Haku stood before them, smiling proudly, a foldable table separating him from their group. Numerous cases of black metal sat on the table.

Tokichiro was torn between elation that they wouldn't be running the course and terror that something even worse was about to come.

"Well done, maggots! You've made it to week two!" Haku boomed. "I may make warriors of you yet!"

"Thank you, sir," Tokichiro mumbled with the others.

Haku nodded. "We are fighting an enemy that has been bred to kill, make no mistake," he said, loud and clear. "Ninja were born with blood on their hands. They have been training since before they could even walk to be child soldiers. And they only got better from there!"

Tokichiro listened as he nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

"Let me make this perfectly, absolutely clear for you numbnuts!" Haku shouted. "Even an eight-year-old ninja would slaughter every man and woman in this room without breaking a sweat or blinking an eye! We stand no chance against them on the field of battle in a fair fight! There is no way for me or any other god forsaken bastard to train you to their level in even a year's time."

Tokichiro felt like asking why they had been recruiting people if it was a lost battle. He didn't sign up for certain death. He signed up to make the world a better place. To improve his family's lot in life. So that they didn't have to break their backs tending the land just to survive while those lucky enough to be born in the Great Five or the cities lived lives of luxury.

"Luckily!" Haku interrupted him. "Luckily, we don't have to! This, ladies and gentlemen, is a Gauntlet!"

Haku opened one of the metal cases and withdrew what appeared to be an armored glove of sleek, featureless metal. Their instructor slipped his hand inside and the armor came to life with a visible blue-white glow emanating from the palm of his hand and a low hum. The Gauntlet unfurled itself, moving to encase their instructor's arm from the tips of his fingers to his elbow.

"A Gauntlet is the standard-issue weapon of the Revolution!" Haku boomed. "With it even monkeys like you can go toe-to-toe with the Union scum! It invalidates years—decades, even—of training and natural talent! Observe!"

Haku turned, palmed something, slammed his free hand into the back of his Gauntlet, and aimed it at the cavern wall behind him. Tokichiro stood on the tips of his toes to get a better look. The hum of the Gauntlet increased until it rang in his ears. Suddenly, an arc of lightning sailed from the palm of their instructor's hand and bored into the stone. It lasted only an instant but left a cherry-red pockmark of rock on the wall.

"The power of chakra, at our fingertips, with minimal training! This is the tool of our victory of the Union scum! Step forward!" Haku shouted, pushing a Gauntlet into each of their hands. Tokichiro smiled as he slipped his hand into his Gauntlet and it came to life.

It was like nothing he had ever seen before. He had only heard about chakra—about _jutsu_ —in stories told by old men. He had dreamed about it. But he had never seen it.

Now he had.

"Oi! Watch where you point that fuckin' thing! Did your momma drop you on your fuckin' head, boy?" Haku boomed.

Tokichiro smiled.

* * *

A roaring wall of fire slammed into the boulder he and his team hid behind. Tokichiro swore under his breath. "Anyone got Water Release ammunition?" he yelped.

"Negative!" Ayaka answered. She briefly peeked over the boulder and returned fire with an Earth Release technique that spat a stream of small pebbles at high speeds at the enemy team.

"I'm out!" Jin said. He was fumbling through a case of their ammunition scrolls to reload his Gauntlet.

From the next boulder over, the rest of his team scoured their remaining ammunition. "Boss! Got it!" Kazuki barked. He slammed the case shut and slid it over to him. Another ball of fire shot between the two boulders and attempted to incinerate the case. It didn't take.

"Alright!" Tokichiro shouted over the din of battle. He withdrew the Water Release scrolls and slammed them into his Gauntlet. "Here's the plan! I break cover first, use Water to counter their Fire, and we rush the enemy's position! Once we're in the trenches, there's no way they can use and jutsu! Ready?"

His team nodded, one-by-one.

Tokichiro leapt from the boulder. In an instant, another ball of fire attempted to roast him. He rolled forward, kicked off a rock, and leapt over the ramparts and into the no man's land between them and the trenches. He held his Gauntlet aloft and unleashed a wave of water even as the enemy team shot two more fireballs at him. The two techniques met with an audible hiss and blanketed the battlefield in steam.

"Go!" Tokichiro shouted. "Go, go!"

He and his team dived into the trenches. With a slight twitch of his fingers, Tokichiro configured his Gauntlet to reinforce itself near his knuckles. The first of their opponents he found, he slammed his armored fist into their jaw. He went down with a strangled cry, unconscious. Like he had predicted, the trenches were too confined to use any jutsu. It was brutal, up-close combat.

And when the smoke and dust settled, Tokichiro and his team were the victors.

"Not bad, maggots!" Haku boomed. "Do it again!"

* * *

Six months.

He had lived and breathed training every minute of every day for six months. He was fourteen, now, a year older and wiser. He had been a thin, half-starving farmer's boy when he joined the Revolution. Now, after six months of intensive training and proper diet, he had grown taller and stronger. He knew, if it came down to it, he could kill another man with his bare hands.

And now it was over.

"Congratulations," Haku drawled. He tried to sound sarcastic, but Tokichiro could hear the hint of pride he was poorly concealing. "You've completed basic training. I have to say, I didn't believe some of you would make it—I'm looking at you, Kazuki, you slack-jawed idiot!"

Tokichiro laughed with everyone else. Kazuki's cheeks and ears were a rosy red color.

"Other than Kazuki damn near killin' himself with his own Gauntlet, you've all done good work," Haku continued. "I'm proud to say you are all now full members of the Revolution!"

Tokichiro clapped and cheered with the rest of his "graduating class."

"For some of you, this is the end of the line. You'll be assigned a team and given field work. For some of you, however... there is opportunity for advancement. Additional training. You won't be standard foot soldiers—you'll be officers," Haku boomed. "Step forward! Ayaka, Jin, and Tokichiro!"

Tokichiro did.

"You've got a choice to make now, brats," Haku bellowed. "Now what'll it be?"

And Tokichiro did.

* * *

They were taken that night.

Literally.

Tokichiro was awakened by having a bag thrust over his head. He lashed out, training borne of six months of agony guiding his blows, and struck one of his assailants in the jaw. He could the sound of bone breaking and teeth being knocked loose. He kicked out with both legs, even hampered by the sheets, and managed to catch another in the groin.

He could hear others struggling too.

Something sharp stabbed into his thigh. Warmth flooded his body and his mind grew muddled. Sleep came and Tokichiro dreamed of an endless dark nothing.

When he woke up, his heart was pounding. He wrists and shoulders ached something fierce. He could hardly feel them from how numb they were but what little he could feel was pain. Warm blood ran down his arms and wet his shirt. Tokichiro struggled and found that it only made the pain worse.

The room was dark with no lights or any features to identify it. He, Ayaka, and Jin were hanging from hooks in the ceiling. They had been stripped of their clothes and left to dangle like slabs of meat in a butcher's shop.

"Jin!" Tokichiro hissed. "Ayaka! Wake up! We're—"

He shut his mouth with an audible snap as he heard the telltale click of a door being unlocked and opened. A tapping noise, like wood striking stone, echoed through the room. Tokichiro realized they must still be in the mountain. In the darkness, he could just make out an old man leisurely circling around them. He possessed a wooden training sword that he used like a cane. Every footfall was echoed with a dull thud as its tip struck stone.

The man himself couldn't have been older than fifty. He wore his hair in a neat, trimmed style that suited itself to combat; nothing to grapple with. Angry white-pink scars marred his face and neck. He had a short beard, but where his face was scarred the hair didn't grow. He was, in a word, grizzled.

He circled them until Jin and Ayaka awakened. When they did, he spoke. "I am the Architect," the old man told them.

Jin, in all his sleep addled genius, chuckled. His laugh turned to a pitiable moan of pain as the Architect rapped his wooden sword across Jin's ribs loud enough that Tokichiro could hear his friend's bones rattle.

"Do you think my name is funny, boy?" the Architect asked. "I was once known as Harunobu Yamato, founder and leader of the Brotherhood of Blood. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

Tokichiro had, in a way. The Brotherhood of Blood was one of the more infamous mercenary companies that operated in and around the Land of Water and Lightning. In the wake of the Union's peace agreements, assassinations were formally and officially made illegal. It was one of the few crimes that brought down the wrath of the Union. The Brotherhood of Blood was one of the few companies that readily accepted them.

And they had paid the price for it, too, like every other group of mercenaries. Like the Iron Fist and the Crimson Tide, they were destroyed.

"Now," Harunobu—the Architect—said. "Now, I build weapons for the Revolution."

He gestured into the shadows. From the darkness came a man and two women. "Meet Citadel and Castle," the Architect pointed to the men. "And Hospital," the woman. "Three of my most recent creations."

Tokichiro shuddered.

"Take them," the Architect commanded.

* * *

"Your mission is to identify and eliminate the targets," the Architect told him.

A handful of shuriken were thrust into his hands. Tokichiro winced as once nicked his thumb. Then he was hurled into a dark room. A man—no, an outline of a man—leapt at him from the darkness. Tokichiro punched the outline in the face. It was a wooden target. The neck snapped and the head fell to the ground. In the dark, he saw another man-shaped target fly by before disappearing. Another target appeared and he peppered it with shuriken. There were two more targets after that but they were too far away to punch and he had no ranged weapons. Not even his Gauntlet.

Rough hands grabbed him by shoulders and neck. Tokichiro didn't struggle as he was dragged from the room.

He began to struggle as Citadel and Castle shoved him into a trough of water face-first. They held him down until his lungs burned and his brain ached. Finally, Tokichiro couldn't hold his breath any longer. He gasped and breathed in a mouthful of water. Only then was he pulled from the water and allowed to breathe.

Tokichiro sputtered as he was dragged back to the same dark room. Another fistful of shuriken was thrust into his hands. He dropped three of the five as he stumbled through the darkness.

"Again," the Architect's voice rang out.

* * *

"What is your name?" the Architect's voice echoed from the shadows.

"... Tokichiro," he answered hesitantly.

Citadel attacked. There was no warning. One moment he was alone, the next he was having his face beat in by the masked man. Tokichiro fought back. It was obvious that Citadel, Castle, and Hospital had extensive training. More extensive than he or his friends had been given.

But Tokichiro fought back all the same. He kicked, he punched, he struggled. When Citadel had broken his nose, punched his jaw until his lips split, and whaled on his face until his eyes swelled shut, Tokichiro fought back. He fought back until he didn't have the strength to. He crawled, he scratched, he bit.

The beating stopped.

Citadel grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Tokichiro swayed, unsteady and only half conscious. Citadel released him and returned to the shadows. Tokichiro braced himself with one arm against the wall.

"... What is your name?" the Architect asked again.

Tokichiro spat a mouthful of blood and a single tooth out. "Tokichiro," he rasped.

This time, it was Castle that came for him.

* * *

He could barely stand.

But he had to. He didn't want to be beaten again. His legs barely held his weight. Tokichiro swallowed. He had been given a Gauntlet—a crude, older model, true, but a Gauntlet all the same. He had a weapon. He was armed.

"Eliminate the target," the Architect ordered.

The dimly lit room shifted as a man-shaped target seated in a chair appeared before him. Tokichiro held his arm aloft and activated his Gauntlet. A small arc of electricity burned a hole through the target's head.

"Eliminate the target," the Architect intoned.

Another man-shaped target appeared before him. Tokichiro destroyed it too.

"Eliminate the target," the Architect repeated.

This time, it wasn't a target. It was a real, live person that had a black bag over their head and had their hands and feet pound. He was gagged, Tokichiro could tell, because he was moaning fearfully.

Tokichiro raised his arm. He hesitated.

That one instant of hesitation was enough. The man disappeared. Tokichiro knew what was coming before it even happened. Citadel and Castle appeared, grabbing him by the arms, and dragged him from the room. Tokichiro braced himself, taking great gasps of air, before he was thrust face-first into the water again.

No matter how much air he managed to get in, no matter how long he held his breath, they always waited until he half-drowned before allowing him to breathe.

Tokichiro didn't struggle as he was dragged back to the room.

"Eliminate the target," the Architect commanded.

Two targets. Then three. Four. The fifth was a real person.

He hesitated again.

He drowned again.

* * *

"... What is your name?" the Architect asked.

"My name," Tokichiro paused. "Is... It's Tokichiro."

Hospital attacked him. Something cold and hard cut deep into the soft meat below his ribs.

This time, Tokichiro didn't struggle. It was a waste of energy. He just lay there as the beating came.

* * *

"Identify and eliminate the targets," the Architect told him.

Tokichiro was thrust into the room. He had an iron, white-knuckled grip on the five shuriken he had been given. In that instant, they were the singularly most important thing in his life. The first target sailed through the darkness. He hurled a single shuriken and hit it dead in the chest.

The next target sailed through the shadows even quicker. He hit that one too. And the one after that. The one after that, though, he narrowly hit. The shuriken was lodged in the shoulder. He expected Castle or Citadel or Hospital to be there to punish him but they never came. The fifth target sailed through the darkness.

Tokichiro took aim. Then, he realized, the target was moving. Struggling. A woman, he thought, suspended by a rope around the waist.

He hesitated.

Castle came, then.

He was beaten.

Then he drowned.

* * *

"What is your name?" the Architect asked.

He hesitated.

"I don't know," he admitted.

The Architect emerged from the shadows. The old man smiled. "Good," he said.

The beating never came. Neither did the drowning.

He smiled too.

* * *

"Eliminate the target," the Architect commanded.

He was given his trusty five shuriken. The first target sailed by. He hit it in the chest. The second, the neck. The third he returned to the chest, but for the fourth he needled the target in the eye. The fifth target came screaming and kicking. It moved slower than the others. It was easy, really. Too slow, too loud.

He silenced the target with a well-placed shuriken to the neck.

He waited.

The beating never came.

The drowning didn't either.

"... Very good," the Architect said.

He smiled.

* * *

He had his Gauntlet again. Sleek, smooth, and precise. Much better than the old one he had used previously.

"Eliminate the target," the Architect intoned.

A man-shaped wooden target seated in a chair appeared before him. Without thought, on instinct, he put a hole through the target's "skull" with a well-placed Lightning Release shot. He repeated the same action again and again for the next three targets. On the fifth, a man appeared, sobbing and screaming against his gag.

He didn't hesitate then either.

The next three wooden targets were dealt with in much the same manner.

The Architect appeared before him. He had dreamed of this moment. It would be so easy now that he was armed. He could raise his arm and unleash the power of his Gauntlet. But he wouldn't.

"Very good, very good indeed," the Architect said. "... Temple."

Temple smiled.

* * *

Temple stood at attention. Next to him stood Shrine and Cathedral. The Architect, Citadel, Castle, and Hospital stood opposite them. None of them spoke, and none felt the need to speak. They waited in the darkness. And they were content to wait until such time as they were commanded otherwise.

Light spilled from an open door. It was the first time Temple had seen light... in a long time. But that didn't matter. Not anymore.

Soft footsteps echoed in the darkness. Temple could see wispy locks of blonde hair that trailed behind a lithe feminine form. But it was the woman's eyes that held him most of all. Clear and blue, like the sky. It was her only visible facial feature. A featureless mask of white, a woman's face wearing a veil, hid everything else.

The Celestial Maiden. Their leader.

Temple, and the others, bowed.

"They are ready, sir," the Architect spoke.

"... We shall see," the Celestial Maiden said.

Temple felt the telltale ripple of goosebumps as his senses alerted him to the danger. _Chakra,_ his instincts whispered. The Celestial Maiden tipped her head and spat a wave of crushing water at them.

Temple leapt out of the way. Shrine followed after him, but Cathedral was caught in the wave. He slammed against the stone wall and was knocked unconscious. Temple raised his arm, his Gauntlet answering the call, and released a cloud of screaming electricity upon the Celestial Maiden. At his side, Shrine mirrored him.

The electricity danced across the water's surface and electrocuted their leader. She shrugged it off, not even twitching, even as it burned at her uniform and licked at her body. When his hair began to drift, caught by an odd wind, Temple stilled. A gust struck him and Shrine as if a hurricane had torn through the room. It slammed them into the wall and cut shallow gashes up and down their arms and across their torsos.

When the wind stilled, Temple rose. He took aim with his Gauntlet only for a wispy, incorporeal fabric to wrap around his arm and restrain it. The fabric was white-gray and ornate, with flowery, flowing patterns in it. Like something a bride would have worn on her wedding day.

And it stripped him of what chakra his training had blessed him with. Left him weakened in body and spirit. Unable to fight back. At his side, Shrine was likewise bound. Another tendril of fabric carried Cathedral to them.

"You pass," the Celestial Maiden told him.

Temple smiled.

He did not struggle as she carried him and his two allies to a nearby table. It was cold and made of metal. Like everything, Temple endured. He was strapped to the table with thick leather restraints. The cold was even more unbearable when his shirt was removed.

"Do not move," the Celestial Maiden commanded him.

Temple didn't. Even as something sharp and cold sawed into him. The Celestial Maiden pricked him again and again with a small needle. Every so often she would dab it in ink. Temple did not resist as she tattooed him. When she was done, she moved to Shrine and then to Cathedral.

Their restraints were removed. Temple did not move. "Stand," the Celestial Maiden commanded.

He did. Shrine and the now conscious Cathedral obeyed as well.

"You have no name. You have no emotions. You have no past. You have no future," the Celestial Maiden intoned. She held a single document out for him to take. He took it. "There is only the mission. Do not fail me."

Temple wouldn't.

* * *

Temple prepared the jasmine tea. The scented aroma filled the small room with a pleasant smell. In the background, a television blared loudly. _"For every day that my ally is not returned to me, I will detonate one of these bombs in a densely populated city..."_ the leader of the Akatsuki intoned.

But it was no concern of Temple. He withdrew a small vial of clear liquid and emptied it into the teacup. With a few stirs of the spoon it was dissolved into the tea. Temple turned, smiled, and took the tea to the table. "Here is your tea, sir," he said.

"Thank you, my boy," the old man rasped. And he _was_ old. Ancient, really. Sagging, graying skin with hair that appeared to have been bleached white. He trembled uncontrollably. The only identifying feature he had was his overly large red nose.

He took a sip of his tea. Temple stood at the ready. "These young whippersnappers," the old man swore at the television. "If I were even ten years younger, why I'd have..."

The old man took another sip of tea and released a content sigh. "These brats have no idea what the Akatsuki stood for. Perhaps I'll come out of retirement one last time before—"

The old man dropped his teacup and gasped. He held a hand to his chest, clawing at it, but there was nothing that he could do. "Get—get help," he rasped, staring up at him. "My... my heart!"

Temple smiled.

The old man stared at him, mouth agape, and then the light faded from his eyes.

Ōnoki of Both Scales breathed his last breath as Temple slipped out into the night and made his escape.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I wanted to touch on what the Revolution was doing, but didn't want to detract from the main story. It's very hard to convey the sense of unrest and "war" that is going on when focussing on the characters who pull the strings from the shadows.

So, we have this omake.


	76. Chapter 76

"What the fuck do you mean you don't know how the bomb got inside the city?" Naruto roared. "It's the fucking capital of the Land of Fire! Nobody and nothing gets in those fucking gates without being searched! The Fire Lord is shitting his pants because a bomb went off in his city, and let me tell you, shit rolls down hill! Figure it out!"

Naruto slammed the phone down so hard it broke. Shikamaru whistled. Things must be bad then. "What's the situation?" he asked.

Naruto sighed. "We don't know," he groaned. "A bomb was detonated in the Fire Capital. It was seventeen city blocks from the Fire Lord's palace, but he's acting like it was an assassination attempt. I don't know why I even bother taking orders from that fat, slimy..."

Shikamaru favored his friend with a small smile and then frowned. "How many casualties?"

Naruto rubbed at his eyes with his hands. "Three hundred and fifty-one," he mumbled.

That was not an insignificant number of people. "Shit," Shikamaru swore.

Naruto nodded. "It... it wasn't as bad as it could have been," he said. "The bomb was placed in the sewers underneath the royal barracks. Most of the people caught in the blast were ninja or other military personnel employed by the Fire Lord. Only seven were civilians."

"Well," Shikamaru said. He wasn't sure what to say. "At the very least, Bolt tries to avoid civilian casualties. He didn't attack them here and he made sure to avoid killing them in the capital."

"Small mercies," Naruto muttered darkly. "If I could just leave, for even a day, I'd—"

"—Naruto," Shikamaru stopped him. "You can't blame yourself. There was nothing you could do. Leaving now is perhaps the _worst_ thing you could do. If the Akatsuki or the Revolution attack us while you're gone, the Leaf is finished. With these bomb threats, you're the only thing standing between us and an attack. Your empath sensing is keeping tens of thousands of people safe. Remember that, please."

Naruto sighed. "Okay. You're right," he breathed.

Shikamaru patted him on the back. "Chin up," he said. "We've got a meeting in five."

Naruto groaned. "Can't you wear the Hat for a day?"

Shikamaru smiled. "Not a chance," he swore.

Five minutes later, the various screens and cameras blinked to life and the now intimately familiar visages of the Five Kage appeared before him. It seemed that they were having these impromptu, emergency sessions more often.

Shikamaru knew something was wrong immediately. Naruto, it seemed, did to. "Kurotsuchi? What's wrong?" Naruto asked, alarmed.

Her eyes were red and Shikamaru could see where she had used makeup to hide her tear-stained cheeks. "The... the Third Tsuchikage is dead," Kurotsuchi said. To her credit, her voice barely wavered. "He died in the night. Heart attack."

Shikamaru swallowed.

"My condolences," Naruto mumbled.

The other Kage mirrored him. "Ōnoki was old," Gaara wheezed. "He lived a long life. A good life. He helped many people, Tsuchikage. He will be missed."

"Thank you," the Tsuchikage murmured.

There was a moment of shared silence for the passing of one of their own.

Then it was all business.

"What are we doing to do about the bombs?" the Raikage asked.

"I've alerted the task force and made this their top priority," Naruto said. Shikamaru handed him a few leaves of paper. "We've got ANBU working with the Fire Lord's forces to sweep the capital and ensure no other bombs were hidden in the city. As far as we've discovered, the bomb left no trace of itself. We're still looking. I've put the alert out to every major city in the Union to increase their defenses and begin sweeping their city for suspicious persons, events, or objects."

Shikamaru nodded as he conveyed the necessary information.

"Do we have _any_ leads?" the Mizukage pressed.

Naruto looked up at him. Shikamaru sighed and then shook his head. Then he jotted a few words down on a piece of paper and slid it to him. Naruto gave him a single nod of thanks.

"No," Naruto began. "But we have reason to believe that the cities with bombs have already been infiltrated. How the Akatsuki have managed to smuggle in the supplies to create them, however, we have no idea. We should focus on clearing the largest cities first."

The Five Kage were silent for a moment. Then the Tsuchikage spoke. "I'll be the one to ask then," she said. "What are we doing about the Akatsuki's demands? Finding and stopping the bombs is only dealing with the symptom, not the disease."

"We do not negotiate with terrorists," the Raikage rumbled.

"Hibiki Otonari is the only source of information we have on the Akatsuki," the Mizukage said. "We can't afford to give him up. How much has the Leaf learned from him?"

Shikamaru sighed and slipped the latest T&I report to Naruto. He took one look at the report and frowned.

"He is being remarkably... tight-lipped," Naruto answered. "Hibiki was trained by Grass in anti-interrogation techniques and is skilled in the defense of his own mind. In addition, he appears to have an additional layer of defense in the form of several mental seals which we have been unable to breach."

"So... you have nothing?" the Tsuchikage pressed.

"Right," Naruto admitted. His cheeks were dusted with just a hint of pink.

"That is unacceptable," the Mizukage said. "Transfer the prisoner to the Mist and we'll have him singing within the week."

"Cloud has the better facility to keep the prisoner contained," the Raikage argued.

Shikamaru quickly headed the argument off by scribbling some words on a sheet of paper.

Naruto cleared his throat. "Technically, the task force has custody of the prisoner," he said. "They asked for the Leaf's assistance, and I've given it freely. I will have a message sent asking if they would like to transfer to Cloud or Mist."

Shikamaru smiled as the Five Kage grumbled and were silenced.

"Another matter," Gaara wheezed. "The Tanikage is throwing a tantrum that you invaded his lands, Naruto. The Land of Rivers is not a member of the Union. He could have easily seen your actions as an act of war. We were very lucky that he has not."

Shikamaru sighed. Politicians and their pissing contests.

"I couldn't have just let Bolt be executed by the Revolution. We didn't know at the time... who he was," Naruto sighed. "What would you have had me do?"

Gaara coughed. "There is a difference between covert operations that leave no trace the Leaf was there, and the Hokage lighting up the night sky and spreading clones up and down the entire country," the Kazekage breathed.

"There wasn't time for that," Naruto protested.

"I know," Gaara smiled sadly. "But, regardless, we still have an angry Tanikage nipping at our heels."

"Why should we care?" the Tsuchikage scoffed. "Any of the Great Five, let alone the Union, could crush the Hidden Valley with ease. The Tanikage won't start a war he knows he will lose."

"Might doesn't make right, Tsuchikage," Gaara chided. "Our rule is a peaceful one. Just because we are stronger doesn't mean we can crush the other nations underfoot. And with the message of the Revolution, many world leaders will see this as proof that they are correct in their belief that the Union are tyrants and oppressors."

The Tsuchikage looked away and muttered something under her breath. Shikamaru smiled. "Good ol' Gaara," he whispered. Naruto smirked.

"A simple explanation and apology should appease the Tanikage and save countless lives," Gaara said before breaking into a fit of coughing. His mic muted itself.

Naruto nodded. "I'll contact him later and set things straight," he agreed.

"Then that's it?" the Mizukage asked after a few seconds. "We just... close down our cities and borders? Wait the bomb threat out?"

Shikamaru leaned forward, resting his forearms on Naruto's desk, and quickly scribbled out more cues.

"We have a plan," Naruto mumbled, his eyes reading what he wrote as Shikamaru's pen danced across the page. Naruto broke into a grin when he finished. "It will take some time to set up but I believe we'll have a solution to the bomb threat within the week."

"... Fine," the Raikage said. "For now, we'll let the task force handle it. If it grows worse, however, Cloud will step in. We won't be bullied into submission by a handful of snot-nosed brats."

"Enough," the Tsuchikage said. "What about Orochimaru? Is he truly dead?"

Shikamaru met eyes with Naruto. He gave him a single nod. "Yes," Naruto answered. It wasn't a lie, technically, because they didn't know if he was truly dead or not. Orochimaru was slippery like that. "His work will be continued, but Orochimaru has been confirmed as deceased."

"How unfortunate," the Tsuchikage said with a tone that said she wasn't saddened at all by Orochimaru's passing. To be honest, Shikamaru wasn't either.

"Are we done, then?" the Mizukage asked.

"No," Gaara stated. Everyone looked to him, even Shikamaru. "Naruto... have you heard from Sasuke?"

Naruto frowned. "No," he answered. "I got a message about a year ago telling me he was safe but nothing else. He said we had two years left at the current rate before the Ōtsutsuki discover the path to our planet."

"That is... worrying," Gaara said.

Naruto favored him with a nervous laugh. "It's Sasuke! He'll be fine," Naruto said.

Shikamaru sure hoped so. If Sasuke were on-world then he was sure the Akatsuki would have never even been formed. For want of a nail, as it were. But, then again, if Sasuke had never left, that meant there would be no Ōtsutsuki. The universe was not such a kind place as to allow him to get a break. Shikamaru lamented his troublesome fate.

Gaara broke into a coughing fit again. Shikamaru frowned. Even he could see that the Kazekage was getting worse and worse. He didn't have much time left.

Naruto was frowning. "Get some rest, Gaara," he said. "I think we're done here. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the Five Kage echoed him.

The monitors went dark. The Hokage's office was painfully silent.

Shikamaru sighed. "I feel like we've crested the hill," he thought aloud. "We've hit the point where life stops giving us things and starts taking them away."

"Tell me about it," Naruto moaned into his hands as he rubbed at his eyes.

Shikamaru smiled. "Get some sleep, Naruto," he said. "I'll hold down the fort while you're gone. It's not healthy, even for you, to work forty-two hours without a break."

Naruto favored him with a small smile as he slipped out the door. "Thanks, Shikamaru," he said.

"No problem," Shikamaru said, after Naruto was gone. He sighed and slipped behind the desk. He groaned when he saw the massive mountain of paperwork that had been delivered that morning.

* * *

His workshop was a mess, Bolt supposed, but he didn't care. He kicked a pile of scrolls out of the way as he weaved through towers of books and leaves of parchment. His arms were full of scrolls pertaining to, what he hoped was, a way for him to tap the power of natural energy.

Bolt would not be denied. He had never failed at anything he had truly put his mind to— _nothing._ He would not allow Sage Mode to be the first thing he could not master. Perhaps it would take him years of training and study, but that was fine. Bolt refused to _lose._ He refused to become the _failure._ Not again. Never again.

His failure was made doubly worse for the simple fact that it should have been _easy_. His father was a Sage. His sister was a Sage. His _grandfather_ was a Sage. The ability to control natural energy was in his blood. So why the fuck couldn't he master it? It infuriated him to no end.

The best place to start was with elemental weaknesses. Why was Fire weak to Water? That was easy. It stole heat from the fuel of the fire when evaporating, thus making it difficult or impossible for the fuel to burn. Why was Lightning weak to Wind? A similar principle, based on physics—air was a natural insulator, and thus, it prevented the conduction of electricity.

So why was his chakra—his Yin and Yang—weak to natural energy? There had to be a _reason_. In the same way that Fire was weak to Water and Lightning was weak to Wind, there had to be a fucking reason. "And for the Sage of Six Paths' hope, it better be a damn good one," Bolt muttered to himself.

Could he safely assume that, prior to his conflict with Orochimaru, he had been able to use natural energy? If so, what, exactly, had Orochimaru done to him that had damaged his ability to use natural energy? Bolt lamented the fact that he couldn't ask the snake—but only for a brief second. That monster needed to die.

His eyes fell on the medical charts Katasuke had printed him. Bolt refused to accept that he was _allergic_ to natural energy. If anyone ever found out, he would be the laughing stock of the ninja world. There had to be a reason, some logic, understood or not, that dictated why his chakra rejected being blended with natural energy.

It was a defensive mechanism. Bolt could accept that. His chakra was trying to defend itself against the "foreign invader" that was mixing with it. So, he reasoned, the solution lie in training his chakra to reconsider its stance on natural energy. To show it that natural energy was not dangerous. But, like training Fire to not be weak against Water, that was easier said than done.

The world had said that about the Heavenly Transmission, though, hadn't it? And look at him now. Lightning Armor: Thunder God Mode—one of the greatest examples of nature manipulation in the history of the ninja world.

This, too, Bolt would surpass. He swore it.

Bolt discarded his scrolls, cleared a spot on the floor, and sat. He rested his hands in his lap, closed his eyes, and breathed deep. "Become one with the Wind," Bolt chanted. He exhaled and then took a deep, calming breath. "Become one with the Wind."

He could remember what it felt like. As he tumbled through the heavens, falling through the Eternal Storm, Bolt could remember having his senses opened in a way that he could never have imagined. So much power, so much chakra, all at the tips of his fingers. If only he could grasp it.

Bolt cleared his mind. He took a deep breath. He meditated. He stretched his senses to their limits, straining against the barriers of his being, trying to reach for that power that he knew was there but couldn't quite see, feel, or touch.

And yet he couldn't sense it.

Bolt steeled his resolve. So long as he didn't quit, he would master natural energy. He was sure of it.

A day passed. Then two. On the third, Bolt began to feel a nervous, acidic energy churn in his belly. He could see it clearly, even now. Meditating on the crags with Suzaku. Weeks passing by in the blink of an eye after day upon day of failure.

On the fourth day, Bolt knew, just like on the crags, he would fail to open his senses.

Bolt stood and screamed furiously, kicking a nearby pile of scrolls, and unleashed an arc of lightning that blackened the far wall of his workshop. His breaths came fast and short as electricity danced through his hair.

Bolt laughed.

Fuck Sage Mode, he couldn't even sense natural energy. How was he supposed to master something he couldn't even work with?

Why was it so easy for his sister? She had... what? Trained for a year? Two? And she came out strong enough to withstand his Thunder God Mode—the product of eight, nearly nine years of genius, hard work, and spilled blood. What was the difference between him and Himawari? Why was she—younger, less talented, weaker of both mind and body—able to accomplish what he had not? Bolt had been forged in the fires of war. His dream had been borne of the blood spilled in the Land of Rain. He had killed hundreds—no, _thousands._ What could his sister have seen, been through, that was even half as defining as that?

Peace, order, and stability.

He _needed_ natural energy to herald an era of those three principles. Nothing else would empower him to such a degree. Nothing else could give him the strength he needed to fight Himawari, a master of Sage Mode, and Sarada, who possessed a Mangekyō with an unknown ability and a Susano'o that could withstand Thunder God Mode. Even Mitsuki—who wasn't even _human_ —could use natural energy.

"So why can't I figure it out!" Bolt screamed, scorching another wall of his workshop with a wave of screaming electricity.

He had opened his senses in the Eternal Storm... was that it? Was he so inept that he couldn't even sense natural energy unless it was flooding his system and killing him? It made sense, in a way. Suzaku had said that the hawks that were weak of body were given an ultimatum: fly or die. If they tamed the power of natural energy then they would live. And if they didn't... Bolt would bet his arm that, below the waves beneath the eye of the Eternal Storm, there would be countless petrified statues of hawks long dead.

Bolt paused. Yes, that made sense. The Eternal Storm was why had had been able to sense natural energy. The purple and black electricity he had seen—Kakashi Hatake and the Raikage had been able to alter their Lightning Release to take on an altered colorization. They must have known how to use natural energy. The Raikage... what had he seen when Darui used his Black Lightning Armor? He had a seal on both his shoulders. If only he could have studied it...

"Bolt," Hikari said. Bolt snapped to attention. He hadn't even heard her slip in. "You need to take a break."

"I can't. Now now," Bolt said. "Not when I'm so close to figuring this out. If I could just—"

"—Bolt," Hikari silenced him. "You've been in here nearly five days. You haven't eaten in five days. Have you even slept? You _need_ a break."

He paused. He had slept. He was pretty sure he did. Once, maybe. "I'm close, Hikari, I can feel it!" Bolt pressed. "I just—once I know why I can't sense natural energy, I can work on training my body to accept it, and then... if I stop now, I'll lose my train of thought."

"You and Tsuchigumo get in these fugue states when you're working," Hikari said. "You don't even notice how much time you spend in your workshops, or the damage you're doing."

She gestured to the wall he had just scorched. A small tongue of fire was licking at a pile of neatly stacked scrolls. Bolt yelped and leapt over a mound of books to rescue them before they could be destroyed. A quick, controlled Water technique extinguished the fire and saved his scrolls. One was a little singed, though. Bolt frowned.

Two arms on either side of him pinned him between Hikari and the wall. Hikari peered at him through the slits of her mask. "You need to take a break," she said. "You wouldn't have risked your precious scrolls if you were in your right mind."

Bolt glanced down. He was probably quick enough to slip out before Hikari could catch him. He just wasn't sure if that would hinder or help his cause. "Alright, I just need a few more hours and then—"

"—Break. Now," Hikari intoned. She leaned ever so slightly closer so that he would have no choice but to physically move her if he wanted to escape.

"This isn't even fair," Bolt murmured.

"Who said I ever fought fairly?" Hikari asked.

Bolt sighed. "I'm just so _close_ ," he protested. "Himawari and my dad mastered Sage Mode so easily. So why can't I?"

"You don't need to be the best at everything, Bolt," Hikari said. "You're very powerful already compared to us mere mortals."

"Not powerful enough to save Hibiki," Bolt countered. He could hear the humor in her tone but couldn't bring himself to laugh.

Hikari sighed. "We'll get him back," she said. "I promise. You don't need Sage Mode for that. You can rescue Hibiki without it."

Bolt made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. She just didn't understand—

"You told me that Sage Mode required... what was it? Inner peace? Have you ever considered that you might not have the disposition for it?" Hikari asked. "You and I, we haven't lived very good lives, Bolt. We struggle, we fight, we survive, and we overcome. It's made us stronger, but it isn't a very harmonious life."

Bolt shut his mouth an audible click. Maybe... maybe Hikari was right. As acidic as the truth was, maybe he simply wasn't destined to learn Sage Mode? And the truth did _burn._ For the first time in his life... he was a failure. There was nothing he could do about it. He had, finally, found the one thing that he couldn't learn, couldn't accomplish. He frowned.

"But," Hikari murmured, leaning closer. "You should be thankful for your struggles. Because without them you would have never stumbled across your strengths. You've done what others _won't_ to achieve what others _don't_. I think, that when you look back on this moment, you'll realize what I already know. You're not failing to learn something good—you're being redirected to master something _better._ "

Bolt held his breath, paused, and considered her words. His struggles had shaped him, true. If he had never fled the Leaf... he would have never visited the Whirlpool, never visited his ancestral clan. He would have never learned fūinjutsu. He would have never joined the Crimson Tide and met Eiji or Hikari. He would have never learned how to use the Lightning Armor. If he hadn't done that... he would have never eventually met Tetsu. Or any of his other friends. Bolt never would have helped bring peace to the Land of Rain. Would have never saved the Land of Wind from the One-Tail.

And what would the alternative have been? He would have been "happy," Bolt assumed, in only the most strictest definition of the word. He would have lazed about the Leaf, content to be only an average ninja, spending his days playing games with Shikadai and wallowing in his misery with Mitsuki. He would have shielded Himawari from their father's continued indifference of them in the face of the Hat. He and Sarada could have acted on their shared childhood crush.

Which future would he had rather chosen? It was a difficult question. One that Bolt couldn't bring himself to answer. Both were attractive in their own ways.

But that was a lie.

He could and did choose.

Bolt chose the path of selflessness—the path of Pain. He was willing to sacrifice his own personal happiness, to endure that pain, in order to bring peace, order, and stability to hundreds of thousands—perhaps, even, _millions_ —of strangers. People he had never met and likely never would. He accepted that he would be vilified by others—worse, by the people he loved—and for his sacrifice to go unknown to those he would save.

But Bolt knew the answer to his question. If he could go back to the beginning of it all, that day of the Chūnin Exams, he would have done the same thing. He would have left. He would have become a rogue ninja.

Bolt accepted the struggle. Like Hikari had said, the struggle had made him stronger. And, just like he had struggled to achieve what he had, he would struggle and surpass even Sage Mode too.

"Alright," Bolt agreed. "Fine. I'll take a break." He sighed. "What's the status on Hibiki?"

Hikari smiled—he could tell even though she wore a mask; it was in her body language—and released him from being pinned to the wall. "Tsuchigumo has been trying to summon him every day at noon. Nothing so far. He's used his puppets to smuggle parts into the cities for the bombs. So far the Union hasn't caught on to how extensive his spy network is. If they knew, there would be an uproar."

"It's been almost a week!" Bolt growled. "Why haven't they released him? How many people have died? Is Tsuchigumo sticking to military targets like I ordered?"

"The death toll is approaching one thousand, and yes, we've stuck to military targets," Hikari answered. "You know as well as I do that the Union doesn't 'negotiate' with organizations like ours."

"It's a simple trade!" Bolt protested. "Hibiki is one man! How many of their people have to die before they accept defeat and release him?"

Hikari shrugged. "Come on," she said. "You can think about it later—after you've eaten and slept."

Tetsu had, apparently, roasted an entire steer at some point during the time he had locked himself in his workshop. Now that Bolt stopped ignoring it, he was hungry. Ravenously so.

Despite his promise to Hikari, he lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, and pored over his inability to use natural energy. His failure stung less after he had the chance to work his mind over it several times.

 _He_ couldn't use natural energy. _He_ couldn't even sense it. _He_ couldn't use Sage Mode.

So _he_ wouldn't.

Bolt smiled and closed his eyes.

The next morning Bolt found himself standing with Yasuo before a large vault door. Yasuo had a hand held to his neck where Bolt knew the seal that prevented him from using Shiki Fūjin again resided.

"The pain will go away in a day or two," Bolt assured him.

Yasuo nodded. "I'm... sorry, about attacking your sister. I didn't know," he said.

"No harm done," Bolt said. It was better to hold his peace and preserve group unity, even though inside the thought of losing his sister caused him literal physical pain.

The vault door began to crack open. Bolt stood straighter, held his head high, and kept his shoulders back. "Take your smoke form," he ordered. Yasuo dissipated until there was nothing left other than a nebulous wisp of pink-red smoke.

Hidan was there, on his knees, clutching the triangular sigil of Jashin between his hands. As the door opened, he looked up. A wide, ear-to-ear smile split his face and a crazed gleam entered his eyes. "Lord Jashin!" Hidan crowed.

Bolt greeted him in the traditional way: a healthy electrocution that left Hidan nothing more than a charred corpse. Behind him, Yasuo drifted back and forth restlessly.

"My Right Hand," Bolt intoned. His chakra contorted within his body as he augmented his voice with Wind Release. Hidan gurgled something as he struggled to move. Charred flesh cracked and oozed. "I have a task for you. Go to the Land of Steam. There you will find the remnants of those faithful to me. Bring them under my rule. And if they resist... kill them."

"Y—Yes! Lord Jashin!" Hidan laughed.

Bolt paused. Then he smiled. "And pay a visit to the Fire Temple on your way. I cannot abide the people worshipping a false deity," he said. "Yasuo will be your partner in this endeavor. Do not kill him. He has proven himself as one of my faithful."

Hidan gleefully shouted a strangled prayer. It sounded close enough to acceptance for Bolt.

He turned and left.

* * *

Hidan, Yasuo decided, was seriously sick in the head. If sanity was a cliff, Hidan had willingly leapt from it, crashed into the ground a broken, mangled mess, climbed back up, and then jumped again.

Insane did not even begin to describe him.

Hidan hummed a haunting hymn and murmured prayers under his breath to his "Lord Jashin" as they crossed the land. Bolt had given him a scythe—a poor weapon to begin with—that looked more ceremonial than utilitarian. It was a large, unwieldy weapon with three wicked, curved blades on one end and a length of chain on the other. The chain tethered the scythe to Hidan with a manacle on his right wrist. Hidan liked to pass the time by swinging the scythe so that the wind hissed along with his hymns.

Yasuo had to remind himself that he was perfectly safe where he was. Inside Hidan, in his smoke form, he could not bleed. If he could not bleed, then Hidan could not ritualistically murder him. Perfectly safe, right?

He was about to find out. Hidan crested a hill, singing merrily, and Yasuo could see the Fire Temple cresting the next hill opposite them. It was a lumbering ornate building of sheer white stone walls and tiles of sparkling jade for the roof. Two statues made of bronze, tens of feet in height, guarded the entrance to the temple. The door was as tall as the statues were and twice as wide. Etched onto them was the ancestral symbol of the Land of Fire; a whirling line that twisted in upon itself until it appeared a vague ball of fire.

Hidan laughed. "Non-believers! Blasphemers! Today you die!"

Then he began to sprint through the forest, leaping through trees and over boulders, weaving his way up the mountainside. Not once did he slow or tire. That was Hidan's strength, Yasuo supposed. He wasn't particularly skilled or powerful, but he had plenty of chakra to spare and an immortal body that never hungered, never thirsted, and never tired.

Hidan ran right up to the doors and began hacking at them with his scythe. He laughed madly and cried out in ecstasy. Yasuo sighed and momentarily took control of the man's arms. He augmented their strength with his own chakra and the doors slowly opened just enough for the two of them to slip inside.

Yasuo expected there to be countless monks and initiates roaming the courtyard. There wasn't. The place was as empty as a graveyard. The Fire Temple was the largest and most powerful of the five ninja temples. That it was empty was odd. Great gardens of sand and large boulders sat on either side of a stone walkway that led to a wide set of stairs that could have allowed fifty men to talk up it side-by-side. At the very fore of the courtyard a single monk sat in meditation before the stairs.

Hidan stalked forward with a gleeful cry under his breath. He clenched and unclenched the fist that held his scythe. Yasuo commanded his puppets hiding in the folds of Hidan's Akatsuki robes to fall and flee into the sand garden. He could feel the breath of smoke he had stored inside each that allowed him to control them.

"I knew you would come," the monk said when they were close enough to hear.

Yasuo couldn't tell how old he was. Perhaps in his late forties or early fifties. He was bald—shaven, probably—and wore a grisly scar that stretched from his right temple, around his skull, and ended at the base of his spine. Despite his age, Yasuo could tell he was in the physical prime of his life.

Yasuo also knew, from the bingo book, that his name was Sentoki. The head abbot of the ninja temples. He was worth seventy-two million ryō dead or alive. Not a bad payday. The only problem was that no one had claimed the bounty. After the first ten bounty hunters had turned up dead—little more than bloody, pulpy rags—people had stopped trying. They didn't call him Sentoki of the Thousand Fists for nothing.

Sentoki opened his eyes and stood. There was something resigned about them; hard and cold. "I knew you would come," he said, again. "And this time, I will destroy you for good. You will not desecrate the Fire Temple again."

"Blasphemers! False idols! Heretics!" Hidan howled. He was practically salivating. "Lord Jashin commands your death! We'll experience true agony together, heathen!"

Hidan charged forward, cackling madly, with his scythe raised.

Sentoki brought his hands together, clasped before him as if praying, and was wreathed in a golden glow. Yasuo watched, through Hidan's eyes, as the world seemed to ripple. As if he was staring at it through a thin sheen of water. And through that ripple, the golden glow took the shape of a titanic golden woman dressed in ornate robes. She sat upon a lotus and from the folds of her robes came countless arms and fists.

Hidan sprinted headlong into the danger without so much as a twitch of hesitation. Sentoki brought one hand down to his side and then thrust it forward. The air seemed to ripple with golden light as a palm, easily as tall and twice as wide as Hidan himself was, slammed into them. Hidan careened through the air and slammed into a boulder, shattering it, before coming to a rest lying face down in the sand garden.

It didn't keep him down for long though. Yasuo was thankful that Hidan had been augmented when he was put back together. He was hoping he wouldn't have to stitch the immortal back together with his chakra threads. That was something he could live without doing.

Hidan charged Sentoki again. This time, a golden palm slammed into them from above, crushing them, before a second golden fist struck them while they were down. Hidan's body sailed through the air and only came to a rest when they struck the bronze door of the temple. An audible ring echoed through the Fire Temple.

Hidan rose, no worse for wear, and charged Sentoki again. Yasuo sighed, exerting only a minor degree of control, and guided Hidan to actually dodge the next golden palm as it threatened to flatten their shared body. Hidan took the hint and began to dodge and weave.

It didn't help, though.

They would dodge on palm, then a second, only for a third and fourth to be hemming them in. A fifth and sixth would crush or otherwise brutalize their shared body. Sentoki of the Thousand Fists was becoming less of a title and more of a reality. All the while, Sentoki did not take a single step from where he stood.

Yasuo guided his miniature puppets forward, circling around Sentoki to hide in his blind spot. The smoke in them worked like steam. It powered the constructs. Gears, springs, and pistons firing as they inched forward, hidden by the sand. The smallest of his creations, barely larger than a caterpillar, opened its maw. A poisoned needle sailed from its throat. Yasuo guided it towards the exposed skin the ninja monk's robes didn't cover.

Sentoki _dodged._

Yasuo couldn't believe it. He had seen a lot of things in his time as a mercenary and a bounty hunter. But he had rarely seen a man dodge an attack without seeing it coming. Without sensing it coming.

Hidan charged forward, swinging his scythe madly. He attempted to bat away one of the giant golden palms but only succeeded in breaking one of the blades of his weapon. Another golden fist narrowly missed them only for a third to crush Hidan into the ground. It dragged them across the stone and sand.

Yasuo directed another of his miniature puppets into position. He was more careful this time. Slower. More cautious. He would place the puppet between the wavy patterns of sand, hidden between two boulders. Impossible to see without a dōjutsu—and perhaps not even then.

Yasuo fired another poisoned needle at the ninja monk.

Sentoki dodged _again._

This time, there was a slight widening of the eyes as he recovered. As if the head abbot had moved not on instinct, or even purpose. He was almost... surprised. That surprise quickly vanished as Sentoki identified his puppet and crushed it. Yasuo had seen a lot of men with abnormal response times and lightning-quick reflexes, but what Sentoki did took the cake. Either he had the best instincts every bred in a human, or he could see the needles coming.

"My faith shields and guides me," Sentoki chanted.

A golden palm slammed into Hidan from the front. Then another from behind. It sent them skyward. A third palm appeared from the side, batted them away, only for a fourth to grind them into the ground from above.

"You do not _understand_ as I do," Sentoki chanted.

Yasuo began to maneuver more puppets into position. Hidan blindly charged into the fray without care. He was screaming something incoherently, madly. Yasuo ignored him. So long as his body held, they would be fine. Two golden palms crushed Hidan between them with a clap of thunder. As the hands released them a third came from above and struck them down. Its knuckles grinded against immortal flesh and unyielding stone beneath them.

"So long as you do not understand, you may never strike me," Sentoki chanted.

Yasuo commanded his puppets to attack as one. Three shot poisoned needles at the head abbot. The two that had already fired their payload inched forward and attempted to bite him. A sixth lobbed a pellet that erupted into a cloud of noxious, poisonous gas.

Sentoki dodged them all.

A single golden palm swept away and crushed his creations.

A barrage of countless golden palms crushed Hidan. Hammered him into the stone like a nail. For the first time, Hidan was actually under stress. Yasuo could feel their body giving way under the constant assault.

Then the attack ceased.

Hidan crawled from the crater they had been crushed in, bloodied and bruised, cackling madly all the while. Sentoki stood before him, never having taken a single step, his hands clasped before him in prayer. He was wreathed in a golden light that bathed all around him in its glory.

Gold faded to a muddy, angry red. Then the Fire Temple was bathed in a fiery light like an old painting of Naraka. The beautiful golden woman, half corporeal and incorporeal, became more clear. As if she took another step into the physical world. Only, she wasn't beautiful. Not anymore. She was an angry, blood-red color and her face was twisted into a visage of rage. She grew and grew, becoming taller and taller, until her body towered above even the highest walls of the temple. Her arms multiplied, becoming more numerous, until Yasuo couldn't count them.

"Hidan," Yasuo said, taking control of their mouth. "We need to run. Now."

This was why no one had collected Sentoki of the Thousand Fists' bounty. Yasuo had a feeling they were about to learn why, exactly, he was called the "Thousand Fists." Hidan screamed a strangled battle cry and dashed forward with his scythe at his side. Yasuo internally sighed, took control of their body, turned tail, and fled.

"Welcoming Approach," Sentoki intoned. Yasuo could hear the words as clearly as if the head abbot had whispered them in his ear. "Thousand Fists of the Bodhisattva."

Yasuo turned, ignoring Hidan's internal raging, and his vision swam with the sight of one thousand blood-red fists descending upon him. They were so numerous that they blocked sight of all else; no Fire Temple, no sky, and no sun. There was only the fists and the looming, angry visage of the being Sentoki had called upon.

Not even Hidan, augmented by whatever "science" that had put him back together, could withstand the assault. There was no dodging, no blocking, only unending destruction. At some point, their lungs must have been punctured. Yasuo felt his smoke body spill from Hidan. He focused on keeping most of the smoke inside so that he could control Hidan. If there was anything left of him.

There was. A mangled, broken, and bloodied pile of pulpy flesh, but there was. The fists stopped pounding them and Yasuo used a combination of smoke and chakra threads to move their body. Luckily, Sentoki's attack had obliterated half the courtyard and more than one wall of the Fire Temple. It was fairly easy to slip out into the forest. There, Yasuo focused on making them disappear.

" _No!"_ Hidan howled. _"Lord Jashin! Lord Jashin commands that I bring agony upon these heathens!"_

"Yeah, yeah," Yasuo humored him. "Let's just get to the Land of Steam, patch you up, and get on with our real mission."

Bolt probably wouldn't be happy that they had failed to do any real damage to the Fire Temple.

Yasuo was going to blame it on Hidan.

* * *

Mitsuki trailed after his brother as they stalked through the halls of their home. And it was, really, their home. Bolt was right about that at least. He belonged with his brothers, with his father, and he was even warming up to Jūgo and Karin.

And now they were dead.

It was only by luck that Suigetsu survived. Bolt, his best and perhaps only true friend, had killed or engineered the deaths of everyone he had grown to care for. Mitsuki didn't know how to feel. He was numb. He expected the rush of emotions he felt when Bolt attacked, but now... nothing. It was more distressing than he had thought.

"Mitsuki," Log said. He looked up. "It'll be alright," his brother assured him.

Mitsuki nodded and wiped at his eyes. He didn't feel like it would be alright. He had lost his father. Whatever warped relationship they had, Mitsuki felt like there was some twisted affection between the two of them. Jūgo, violent and aggressive, yet calm and friendly with animals. Karin, loudmouthed and hot-tempered, but caring all the same. And, though he was not dead... Mitsuki could not see any trace of his once-friend in the person that Bolt had became.

If Log died... he would be truly alone.

"Mitsuki," Log called, again. He looked up. "Don't be sad, little brother. Our father is smarter than you think. He has prepared for everything— _for everything._ Even this."

"I... I don't understand," Mitsuki said.

Log smirked. "Probably for the best," he said. "The less people that know, the better. It's a good thing the blond brat didn't search the base. If he did, well, we might've been in some real trouble."

"What—what do you mean?" Mitsuki asked. Hope blossomed in his chest.

Log led him deeper into the mountain. "Our father knows of—or he thinks he does—every technique that could possibly kill his immortal body," his brother said. He lit a cigarette and took a long, deep breath. "Shiki Fūjin was one such technique. Short of complete cellular obliteration, Orochimaru can regenerate from any attack. So long as even a single cell lives, so does he. It would take something like a Tailed Beast Bomb to finish him off for good. And, well, not even then..."

"What are you trying to say?" Mitsuki asked. "Our... our father is alive?"

"In a manner of speaking," Log breathed, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

The two of them entered a dark room that Mitsuki had never been in before. Suigetsu was there, bandaged from head to toe, looking like he was a walking corpse. "You should really be resting," Log commented, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Yeah, probably," Suigetsu drawled.

Log shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said.

His brother moved to the far end of the room and pushed a desk back to reveal a slab of stone scarred with inky, swirling designs—a seal. Log bit his thumb and smeared his blood across the seal. An acrid wisp of smoke spat forth a single object: a mask. It appeared to depict some kind of spirit or demon. Its face was twisted into a grotesque smile that bared a maw of demonic fangs. Atop its head sat two wicked curved horns.

"This," Log told him. "Is a death mask of the Uzumaki clan. It is the sole counter to their Shiki Fūjin and one of our greatest secret possessions. If the Uzumaki clan, or, now, the Akatsuki, I suppose, learned we had this, they would attack us without hesitation."

"So you're gonna do it, huh?" Suigetsu asked.

"Do what?" Mitsuki asked. His brother looked resigned.

"He's gonna sacrifice himself to release Lord Orochimaru's soul from the belly of Death," Suigetsu drawled.

"What!" Mitsuki snapped. "I—You..."

Hope warred with sorrow. He would have to trade his brother for his father. Was that a fair trade? Was that a trade he was willing to make? Mitsuki... he couldn't make that trade. Both of them were of equal importance. He could never make that choice. Mitsuki didn't know what to say.

"This is the way it has to be, Mitsuki," Log said softly. "You're more powerful than I am and far younger. It wouldn't be right. None of the other clones have advanced far enough to develop the complex consciousness needed for the technique."

"But I—" Mitsuki choked out. "—I can't lose you to!"

Log placed the mask on his face. "Don't worry, little brother," he said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot.

Before Mitsuki could even blink, an unearthly, otherworldly wind blew. An incorporeal specter of a warped, twisted man appeared behind Log. His brother, faster than Mitsuki had thought possible, withdrew a dagger and cut his belly from left to right.

"Log, no!" Mitsuki yelped, darting forward. A tendril of water snaked around his ankle and he fell to the ground. He scratched at the floor in a futile attempt to claw his way to his brother but Suigetsu wouldn't let him go.

"Death" had its belly cleaved open. From it, two blue-white spirits escaped. Log fell to his knees and the spirits lingered open. Vaguely, Mitsuki thought, they resembled Karin and a much younger, less bestial Orochimaru.

Then the spirits dissipated—but they weren't alone. Death loomed over his brother as his lifeblood spilled from his belly. The deity seemed to sneer down at them. As if they were insects. Mitsuki shuddered as its pitch black eyes rested on him. He didn't care. He ran to his brother's side. "Log!" Mitsuki cried.

"It'll be fine," Log slurred. "You'll see. You and our father... the work you're doing, it'll save millions. Don't give up hope, Mitsuki." His brother's eyes drifted to Suigetsu. "The next part... is up to you."

"I got it," Suigetsu said softly.

Mitsuki watched as the light left his brother's eyes. When he died, Death's visage twisted into a scowl of disgust. Then it, too, faded.

Mitsuki sobbed.

"Hey," Suigetsu said softly, hobbling over to him. "Don't worry about it, kid. Maybe... maybe Lord Orochimaru can save him?"

Mitsuki could see the thinly veiled lie for what it was.

"Look, I—" Suigetsu hesitated. "—I gotta go grab someone. Then I'll be right back. Don't do anything stupid, alright?"

Mitsuki only distantly heard him.

In his hands, his brother's body began to cool.

Suigetsu returned with a nervous looking ninja with a battered Sound headband. The man looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there as his eyes found Log. "Don't worry about it," Suigetsu told him. "You'll be fine."

Suigetsu wove seven hand signs and slapped the palm of his hand to the back of the Sound ninja's neck. "Evil Releasing Method!" Suigetsu barked.

The Sound ninja fell to his knees with a pained cry. His shirt began to move and bulge as something beneath his flesh blossomed and swelled. His screams echoed off the walls of the cavernous room. Mitsuki briefly looked away from his brother. Something large and sinuous, made of pale flesh, rose from the back of the man's neck. It looked like... a vague, primitive snake. It parted its maw and spat forth a lanky body with a head of inky black hair.

The Sound ninja fell unconscious as pain wracked his body. The corpse that the snake had vomited began to twitch and rise. "Well," a dark, gravelly voice remarked. "That was certainly as interesting as I had hoped."

He looked different, Mitsuki thought. More masculine, with a stronger jaw and higher cheekbones. But it was still his father—still Orochimaru. He was alive. His father gazed down at Log's still body. "Thank you, my son," he murmured. "Your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Orochimaru placed a hand on his head and tousled his hair. Mitsuki wiped at his eyes.

"Come, Suigetsu!" Orochimaru barked. "Where is my body? And get the Hokage on the line."

"Er, why?" Suigetsu asked, hobbling after him. He took the unconscious Sound ninja with him. Mitsuki watched them go.

His father favored them both with a dark laugh. "Because I know how we can trap his troublesome brat," Orochimaru hissed.

Mitsuki stayed with Log for... he didn't know how long. When he had cried all the tears he had, Mitsuki gingerly reached for his brother's pocket. There, he found a pack of cigarettes and an old, worn lighter. If it was good enough for Log, then it was good enough for him. He placed the butt of the cigarette in his mouth and lit up. Smoke welled in his mouth and burned his lungs as he breathed it in. Mitsuki broke into a coughing fit. It felt like he was hacking up a lung.

"Goodbye, brother," Mitsuki murmured as he stood. Two men dressed in white robes took his brother's body when he had finished mourning. Mitsuki didn't remember when they had arrived.

He took a deep breath and went to find his father. If there was a plan brewing to put a stop to Bolt...

Mitsuki wanted in.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Another one.

 **Reader input requested —** How is the pacing? What non-war content would you like to see? On the horizon, we chiefly have Kagami and Kagari vs. the Two-Tails brewing, as well as Bolt vs. Darui, round two. I want to space out each of the big fights, so to speak, so it's not constant struggle after constant struggle. I've got quite a few ideas: various omakes, such as what the Akatsuki was doing with their lives before they met Bolt; a Sasuke interlude off-world; a Leaf-centric interlude dealing with the aftermath of the Akatsuki; the dreaded training arc/chapter. Pick and choose or suggest your own!

Word of God on Sage Mode and natural energy — Bolt doesn't have the disposition, mentally and emotionally, for Sage Mode. Even if Orochimaru had not crippled his ability to use natural energy, Bolt would have never achieved it. The precise reason behind why Bolt can't use natural energy _without_ SM (they are not mutually exclusive) is a combination of his body rejecting Jūgo's tissue in the Cursed Seal and the link between natural energy and the forced transformation aspect of Jūgo's clan. _That_ is what his body is reacting to when he taps natural energy, not natural energy itself.

It's kind of scary how powerful Orochimaru is. He's biologically immortal; time will never take him. He's knowledgeable enough that few people could ever beat him in a fight. Of those that even could, if he is hit by an attack, you've got to completely destroy ALL of him, down to the last cell, to kill him. And then, on top of all that shit, he's got a technique to anchor his chakra in the living world through his Cursed Seals that his followers can use to revive him. Voldemort-tier shit is what that is. When Naruto and Sasuke die of old age, it would be interesting to see what he would do. Orochimaru could very easily conquer the world.

Some of you will no doubt be asking _why_ I chose for Orochimaru to not truly die last chapter, and, well... you'll have to wait and see, won't you?


	77. Chapter 77

"Sarada?" Shikadai asked. Her back straightened and her head snapped up. The arm that she was using to brace her temple against fell to her lap.

"Yeah?" Sarada answered.

"Are you alright? You seem..." Shikadai shrugged. She had been off since their victory over the Akatsuki.

"Yeah," Sarada said. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all."

Shikadai nodded. He didn't quite believe her but he wasn't going to pry. He tilted his head and directed her attention to Kohaku, who was explaining some esoteric fūinjutsu babble to the task force.

"Right. So, see here?" Kohaku asked. He gestured at a photograph of pale skin marred by a whirling, inky black seal. From it spilled a babbling brook of wavy characters. "This was the tracking seal that Bolt placed on Himawari and Sarada shortly before the capture of the One-Tail."

A new photograph. This time, of a jumbled mess of words and pictures that were scribbled on a scroll. "This is mangled corpse of the anti-summoning barrier I used during the battle. The foreign script is highlighted in red," Kohaku said.

Shikadai wasn't seeing what Kohaku was trying to explain.

The future Uzukage cleared his throat. "What I'm getting at, here," Kohaku explained. "Is that there has been a divergence in the language. It's getting farther and farther from the source material—the Uzumaki clan's sealing language—every year. I think, in perhaps five or ten years, it will be a completely new language."

"How is this important, again?" Yurui drawled. He sounded half asleep.

"Because," Kohaku pressed. A new photograph appeared on the screen. " _This_ is one of the few pieces of shrapnel we've recovered from the bombs. You can see the charred metal is slightly darker where the fūinjutsu ink is present. From the previous examples, I think I can reverse engineer a seal that deactivates the bombs. All we have to do is find them before they detonate."

"Well," Shikadai murmured. "If you think you can do it, let's give it a shot."

He didn't really understand fūinjutsu and was doubly glad that Kohaku was on loan to them from Whirlpool. Considering that it was one of Bolt's greatest strengths, they would need a counter to it eventually. One great fūinjutsu master against another.

Shikadai turned to Sarada. She was staring, squinting, at the screen. "Sarada?" Shikadai said. She started and looked at him. "Can you, uh, use your Sharingan to see what city will be bombed next? If you're feeling up to it?"

Sarada paused and he could see her consider it. But only for a moment. "No," she answered resolutely. "My power doesn't work like that. Sorry."

Shikadai, with his rough understanding, thought it _was_ , actually, how her power worked. But he let it go. Something was obviously eating at her. He sighed and hoped he wouldn't have to have a talk with Sarada right after he had finally gotten Himawari out of her depression. That was not part of his job description.

"Alright. Let's keep a watchful eye out. Coordinate with the ANBU and see if we can't find a lead. Dismissed," Shikadai said.

The task force quickly fled the room and returned to their day-to-day duties; plotting, training, and being ever prepared to mobilize at a moment's notice. Shikadai waited until everyone had left before he caught Himawari. "Hey, is everything alright with Sarada? You know her better than I do. She just seems..." Shikadai shrugged.

Himawari frowned. "I'll talk to her," she assured him before chasing after Sarada.

Shikadai sighed. "Troublesome," he muttered.

* * *

Sarada meandered through the trees along a rough path hewn from the underbrush by deer and other small animals. The Nara park was always calming in a way. Not too far from her house and easy to hide from others. The deer weren't as disturbing as they were in the other parts of the Nara forest. There was no shine of intelligence in their beady black eyes, here.

Her vision clouded, just once, on her way to her usual spot. Sarada latched onto a nearby tree and clutched at it as if her life depended on it. Her heart hammered in her chest and every instinct she had pushed her body to fight or flee. With a shaky hand, Sarada withdrew her old glasses and placed them on her nose. Her vision wasn't any clearer—the deterioration of her eyesight wasn't physical; it was in her chakra—but it made her feel better.

Her fit came and went. Sarada breathed a sigh of relief and once more began her trek. As she moved deeper into the forest, she passed a small pond. A pier jutted out from the banks. It made a nice spot to sit and watch the sunset. Surprisingly, it was occupied. Tenten sat at the edge of the pier, her head hanging, looking forlorn.

Sarada felt sympathy for the woman. She would never be a ninja again. Her... her arm, for someone who specialized in ninja tools, having one of their organic arms destroyed was a mortal blow. She could replace it with a prosthetic and learn puppeteering to control it, but it would never be as strong or as fast as her own flesh and blood.

At the thought of who had taken her arm, Sarada's eyes ached—as if she needed a reminder. Bolt was rarely far from her thoughts these days. She worked with the task force by day, and by night, she closed her eyes and dreamed of all the things that had been and all the things that could be. All the good that Bolt could have done. All the atrocities he could still commit. Sarada couldn't escape him. Even when she couldn't sleep, when she pushed her thoughts of him away, a small dark voice in the far corner of her mind whispered his name to her.

Sarada made it to her sanctum and collapsed against the trunk of a tree. She took a deep, gasping breath, held it, and then released. She felt a little better.

Was this what her father had meant when he warned her of the power of the Mangekyō? To be so consumed by the person who spurred the change in her eyes that she couldn't find a moment's respite from his memory? Did her father feel that way about her uncle Itachi? If so... Sarada could understand, now, why so many of her clansmen had gone mad. This emotional torture she endured... it could break anyone.

Sarada refused to break.

"Sarada?" Himawari called.

Her head snapped up, breath catching in her chest, as Himawari wandered into the clearing.

"Hi?" Himawari favored her with a small smile.

"Hey," Sarada greeted her with her own smile. Truthfully, she found it more and more taxing to be around Himawari. Her eyes, the scars on her cheeks... it all reminded Sarada of someone else.

Himawari sat down next to her. Sarada could only barely see her friend in her peripheral vision. For that, she was grateful. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" Himawari asked. "You're... well, you're my best friend. I can tell when something's wrong."

What could she say?

" _I can't even go a minute without thinking about your brother. I don't like hanging out with you anymore because you remind me of him. Oh, and yeah, I'm going blind. And every time I_ do _think about Bolt, I'm tempted to use my Mangekyō and go even_ more _blind."_

Yeah, that would go over real well.

Sarada sucked in a breath and released a sigh. "I'm just... tired," she answered vaguely.

Himawari frowned. "Tired of fighting?"

Sarada supposed that was one way of looking at it. "Yeah," she answered.

"Me too," Himawari admitted.

She didn't even know the half of it. It had been... so tempting. So tempting to just accept that offer Bolt made. Say "yes," join his Akatsuki, and silence that obsessive urge that plagued her since the day she awakened her Mangekyō. It would have been so very easy.

She had foreseen it.

If she turned on the task force, she and Bolt were powerful enough to defeat them all. Betrayal from within... it would crush the task force. But she hadn't, and she won't, Sarada told herself. Precognition was as much a curse as it was a gift. To know every possible interaction she would have with a person, to know every single outcome of every meeting. She hated it, sometimes.

"Do you think Bolt can redeem himself? Himawari asked after a short but comfortable silence.

"I don't know," Sarada mumbled. "I can't see that far."

Himawari looked at her funny. "I meant, what do you _think,_ " she clarified.

Sarada felt her cheeks and ears grow warm. She was less in her right mind than she thought she was. "I think..." Sarada paused. "I don't know. He could. If we let him, maybe. Bolt, he..."

In her mind, Sarada replayed all the conversations she could have had with Bolt. All the waxing philosophical debates. All the angry shouting. All the disgust with how the world had turned rotten. How much the world had broken him on the inside.

"... But no, probably not," Sarada answered.

Himawari made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. She looked hurt.

They didn't talk after that.

Himawari left eventually.

Sarada remained there, huddled in her sanctum of isolation, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon. The moon rose and the sky darkened. A chill made goosebumps ripple across her skin.

And, just this once, Sarada gave in to the voice. Tears of blood welled in her right eye and Sarada saw a future where she left the Leaf that very night and went in search of the one person that made her head feel like it was screwed on right.

And it was so very, very tempting.

* * *

The air was thick with the stench of a sweet, pungent scent. Lightning danced between his fingers and arced between his palms. Bolt poured more and more chakra into the technique. The sheer luminance of the electricity was blinding. He tried to increase its power in every definition of the word. The grounded metal mesh around him was glowing a brilliant cherry-red color as it continued to resist the power his Lightning Release. It was the only thing shielding their base and its equipment from being fried by the waves he was generating.

When the cage's metal began to droop and melt, Bolt cancelled the technique.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. He couldn't sense the overwhelming power in the lightning like he did when he fought Kakashi or the Raikage. There had to be more. Something he was missing. Some higher form of Lightning Release that was yet undiscovered.

He was missing something.

Bolt slipped out of the molten contraption that was now little more than slag. He made a note of his findings, filing it away under the other numerous tests, and moved to the next scroll. There was, perhaps, merit in a Strength of a Hundred-style seal that would allow him to store the necessary quantity of chakra to create a true force of nature.

Bolt dismissed the idea for the same reason he hadn't yet given himself the same seal he gifted Hikari: it was flawed. He would need years to store up the needed quantity of chakra. Years saving only to spend it all in a single moment. It was inefficient.

He needed inhuman quantities of chakra at the snap of his fingers.

There was merit in chakra absorption techniques and seals. Immoral, true, but useful. He could sacrifice his followers at the altar of power in order to gain the strength needed to oppose the Union. The notion left a bad taste in his mouth. Bolt was supposed to be a leader. Someone the people could rally behind. Someone they would willingly rise up to defend. He couldn't be that person if it became known he sacrificed his followers for a quick boost of chakra.

Bolt sifted through his scrolls, reaching for the bottom of the pile, where the scroll detailing how the Uzukage thought Orochimaru's Cursed Seal functioned. A three-pronged cocktail of power; unidentified biological enzymes which allowed rapid, controlled cellular mutations, a node of Orochimaru's own chakra, and a healthy dose of natural energy.

It all came back to natural energy.

Bolt had a dozen half-formed ideas about how he could go about harnessing natural energy. He wasn't confident any of them would bear fruit.

With a sigh, he climbed into the next cage and attempted to generate a more powerful Lightning Release once more. After ten minutes, he was running on empty and had managed to create nothing more powerful than he normally did at maximum power.

His experience in the Eternal Storm haunted him. Bolt could feel the power brimming there. He almost— _almost_ —regretted severing his contract with the hawks. It was necessary, though, because he couldn't afford to be sidetracked by having his master attempt to summon him. Not after what he had done. He could exploit his father's weakness, his fondness for him, but Sasuke... Sasuke would crush him.

Bolt sighed and focused on staring a hole through the diagram of Orochimaru's Cursed Seal of Heaven.

What about splitting the task? One body to collect natural energy, the other to use it? Konohamaru had said that, in the beginning, he had used a clone to provide the shape manipulation of the Rasengan while the original provided the chakra. Looking right and left at the same time, as his teacher had explained it.

If he couldn't use natural energy, why not find another him that could?

Bolt dismissed the idea entirely. His clone would suffer from the same defect he himself did. And without the Universal Healer, creating tangible, disposable physical bodies was now out of the question. Could he have Tsuchigumo and Katasuke create a real clone of himself? Work out the genetic kinks and reverse engineer a fix on his original body?

Bolt wasn't quite ready to walk that path. That led to becoming like Orochimaru. He shuddered.

What he really needed was a way to neither look left nor right but to know what was in both directions without having to look in the first place. What he needed was a way to tap natural energy without being able to sense or manipulate it. Bolt didn't care about how or why he had that power, only that he did. What he needed was a way to transform natural energy into a usable form, like plants that used photosynthesis to—

—it was so fucking simple Bolt nearly had an aneurysm.

His howl of victory, he was sure, could be heard throughout the entire mountain.

Bolt swept aside all the other scrolls except for the Uzukage's treatise on Orochimaru's work. He grabbed a book of empty parchment and quickly began to scribble down ideas and diagrams of half-formed seals in his head. Bolt could barely read his handwriting with how badly his hands were shaking.

Because it was so extraordinarily simple.

The notion that he was "allergic"—Bolt resisted the urge to find and throttle Katasuke—to natural energy was preposterous. Natural energy was omnipresent. It was in the air, the water, and the rocks. It was in the grass, the flowers, and the trees. Every living thing produced or was connected to natural energy. If he had such a negative reaction to natural energy, he would have died the very moment he took his first breath, or ate his first meal, or drank a cup of water.

The problem arose when he tried to mix natural energy and his own chakra to create natural chakra. His body couldn't process natural _chakra—_ not natural _energy_. There was a distinct difference between the two.

The root of all energy was the sun. But humans couldn't get their energy from the sun. The sun fed the plants, the plants fed the animals, and the animals fed man. In the end, humans got the energy they needed.

So, too, could Bolt get his natural energy.

He just needed it to be in an easily edible form.

One that he was intimately acquainted with.

Bolt paused in his frantic writing. Before he even began his work, he needed to test his theory.

* * *

Right fist forward, left foot back. Left fist forward, right foot back.

Himawari took a deep breath. She worked her frustrations over on the training dummy. Years and years worth of Gentle Fist stances that were forever etched into her mind. She went through each and every one. It was skill work, not strength work. She made sure each form was absolutely perfect in a way that real combat didn't allow. All smooth, languid motions and slow, precise strikes.

The other Hyūga clansmen left her alone. Gym etiquette. They were all there for one thing and one thing only. Himawari was thankful for that. She didn't feel much like talking. Really, her whole world had shrunk over the years. She really only talked to her brother, the toads, and the people involved in the task force. Himawari wasn't sure she knew how to interact with normal people anymore.

There was something troubling Sarada. Himawari knew it. She just didn't know what. It bothered her more than she liked to admit that Sarada wouldn't tell her what she was dealing with. Himawari slammed her fist into the training dummy with a grunt.

She must have spent more time training than she realized. When she ended her last form, the room was dark and empty, save for one person. Her grandfather clapped and gave her a nod of approval.

"Well done, Himawari," he complimented her.

"Thank you, grandfather," she bowed. The Hyūga were always so formal.

Hiashi nodded. "Walk with me," he prompted.

Himawari fell in behind her grandfather. He wasn't slow. He took his time, that's all. He led her deeper into the Hyūga estate, through the main house, and into the gardens. Gold and orange fish as large as her forearm swam in a large pond.

"I'm an old man, Himawari," her grandfather said. He wasn't that old. He was... nearly seventy, she thought. "When you get to be my age, you start thinking about the next generation. About the legacy you'll leave behind."

Himawari nodded in understanding. Hiashi sat on a bench that gave them a view of the moon's reflection in the pond. She sat down beside him.

"It's been that way with every head of our clan for generations upon generations," he said. "We look for a strong successor to take up the mantle of the next leader of the clan. We ensure the marriage between the next leader and their spouse is a good match, so that the next generation is even stronger than the one before it."

Himawari frowned.

"For a long time," Hiashi sighed. "We have failed. I failed. My father before me failed. And his father before him. Our Hyūga blood has been thinning for as long as we can remember. We've kept the blood as pure as we could, but each clan leader has been weaker than the last. That all changed when your brother was born."

Her grandfather laughed. "In truth, I had no hand in the match between your mother and father. I chose your aunt Hanabi to be the next head of the clan. Then... then things changed. For the better, but they changed. Your uncle Neji changed the clan. When he died, I thought... that would be the end of our blood's purity. That we would become as diluted as the other clans of the Leaf," he said.

Himawari sat quietly. She didn't know why her grandfather was telling her this, but she knew it was important.

"That all changed when Bolt was young. It was clear as day he was destined for great things. He was watching our clansmen train and stumbling through the Gentle Fist stances almost since before he could walk. And then we were blessed, again, with you. As the two of you got older, Bolt proved he was more and more talented. He was fiercely protective of you—a good trait in a clan leader," her grandfather sighed. "And for the longest time, I thought he would be the one to return our clan to greatness."

He was quiet for a long time. "And?" Himawari eventually asked.

"And, now," her grandfather wearily said. "Now I see that I was wrong. You have become a powerful and wise young woman, Himawari. For as great as your brother was—is, perhaps—I believe you can surpass him."

Pride blossomed in her chest. Himawari wasn't used to people thinking she was as good as—let alone _better than_ —Bolt.

"I wish to entrust the future of our clan to you, my granddaughter," he said. "When I die, you will take up the mantle as head of the Hyūga clan. Do you accept?"

Her breath caught in her throat. Himawari swallowed. She had always known that leadership of the clan could have been in her future. But to have it stated in no uncertain terms... she had never dared dream that she would be chosen. Bolt was always her better. Even when she awakened her Byakugan and advanced in her mastery of the Gentle Fist, Bolt was still a better ninja than her. The position as head of the clan was always supposed to fall to him.

Now, though... she shakily nodded her head. "Yes," Himawari breathed.

"Good," her grandfather smiled. "Come."

He stood and led her to a small wooden bridge that led to an island in the center of the pond. Built atop the island was a small shrine surrounded by beautiful white and purple flowers. They stepped inside. It was a clean, sparsely decorated shrine. White-gray, featureless stone. In the center was a small pedestal.

Himawari watched, enthralled, as her grandfather quickly attacked the pedestal with the Gentle Fist. She twitched as the ground rumbled beneath her feet. A stairway unfolded around the pedestal and led down into the darkness. Her grandfather calmly strode into the shadow and Himawari dashed after him.

There were no lights. Not that she—or any Hyūga—needed them. Her Byakugan was as good as any torch. Himawari did, however, notice that she was unable to see anything outside of the shrine.

"It is protected from sight," her grandfather spoke up. "Only the clan head may enter. The secret is passed verbally from one generation to the next."

Her heart raced. The stairs ended and the two of them entered a large room. The walls and floor were too smooth to be natural. At the far end of the room was a towering round door of silver-white metal.

"For generations, we have been trying to open this door," her grandfather said. "The last time a Hyūga entered was before the time of Hashirama. The contents of the vault, however, have been passed down verbally from one clan head to the next for as long as we can remember."

"What's inside?" Himawari couldn't stop herself from asking.

Her grandfather seemed to smile. "The lost secrets of the Hyūga clan. Techniques not used since our blood was young. Techniques that could help you put a stop to your brother," he said. There was an undertone of sadness and darkness in equal measure.

"It is said, that when our clan was young, we were divided. Hyūga warred against Hyūga. We separated ourselves into warring tribes. And we fought and killed each other for hundreds of years," he said. "Until one day, a man rose. He was the strongest Hyūga ever born. It was him that struck down the warring tribes and united us as one people, one clan. He who created the Gentle Fist. It was what brought him victory in the war of unification."

Himawari nodded as they came to stand before the vault. The silver-white metal glowed with an unearthly inner light.

"In the beginning, the Gentle Fist was not a tool of incapacitation. It was one of slaughter. You've seen it, haven't you? The way your brother fights. He attacks not the chakra points, but the organs. The lungs. The heart. The brain. Such was the way the early Hyūga fought," her grandfather said. "But it was not what the Hyūga became feared for. No, it was something much more frightening than that."

Himawari couldn't think of anything more frightening than fighting someone that could pop your heart with a casual touch.

"The Uniter of our clan possessed such a mastery of the Gentle Fist that he was able to unite tens of warring clans of our people when we were much stronger than we are today. Do you know how?" Hiashi asked.

Himawari shook her head.

"It was not easy," her grandfather said. "Even after unification, we still fought. We fought and fought until the clan was once more on the brink of war. Then the Uniter struck. All those who fought, he struck down. They did not rise once more, but they were not dead. Do you know what he did to them?"

Himawari shook her head.

"It is said... that the Uniter's mastery of the Gentle Fist was so great and terrible, he could strip a person of their chakra— _permanently_."

She held her breath.

"Those that the Uniter struck down were laid low in the worst of ways. They were weaker in body than even the untrained men and women who were not born ninja in the first place. This is what I wish for you to learn inside the vault. This... is what I want you to use to bring peace to the Hyūga clan—to the world," her grandfather said sadly.

"Watch closely, Himawari," he said.

Her grandfather lashed out and struck the vault door with flowing Gentle Fist strikes. There was a pattern. Himawari memorized it. Still, the door did not budge. Her grandfather took a deep breath, straightened his robes, and gestured for her to step forward.

Himawari didn't need to be told twice.

She repeated the attack.

The door swung open.

* * *

The mountain trembled.

Hikari had grown accustomed to it.

Whatever Bolt was attempting to do, she knew it was going to be... drastic. Drastic was the word, perhaps. Radical, too, or even extreme. _Momentous_. That was the word Hikari decided on.

"The boss still at it?" Kagari asked her.

Hikari dodged a spout of molten rock and returned fire with a lance of water. Kagari managed to superheat her Lava Release so that water only slowed it down, not stopped it altogether. She was getting better.

"Yes," Hikari answered. "I assume he is."

"Huh," Kagari said. She spat a wave of lava forth. "Thought you would know."

Hikari used a two-prong attack of water followed by a powerful punch that unleashed a concussive blast of force. The wave of lava was split and turned aside.

She probably _could_ have figured out what Bolt was working on, or pressured him into telling her, but he had locked himself in one of the labs along with Tsuchigumo in the lower levels of the mountain. Neither of the two men had emerged once since they entered nearly a month and a half ago. Bolt told her that she was in charge and that they were only to be disturbed if Hibiki was released—of which, the duty of attempting to summon him had fallen to her.

It irritated Hikari that she wasn't allowed to know what they were working on. It was something big, she knew it. Two great masters of fūinjutsu working together in concert for over a month? Like she said, _momentous._ Bolt bounced ideas off Tsuchigumo, and Tsuchigumo bounced ideas off Bolt. They improved on each other's designs, improvised, and produced something better than either could create on their own.

Hikari knew Bolt was most likely working on something relating to his inability to use natural energy. Tsuchigumo, though? Hikari didn't have the faintest idea. More puppets? Expanded chakra thread web?

The mountain trembled, again, and did not stop for several long seconds. Hikari and Kagari were forced to halt their spar. An instant later, the mountain didn't just tremble—it shuddered. The floor beneath their feet, Hikari swore, fell ever so slightly.

Tetsu was loping out of the sparring arena with long strides to investigate the source of the unusually destructive tremors. Kagami, whom he had been training, was running after him. "Hey! Wait for me!" Kagami yelped.

"Well," Kagari sighed. "Should we go see what the boys are up to?"

Hikari nodded. Kagari took off at a run to catch up with her sister. Hikari followed the three of them at a much more sedate pace. Chances were, Bolt and Tsuchigumo would still be barricaded in their workshop.

It quickly became apparent, however, that they were not. Puppets shambled up and down the halls, carrying armfuls of scrolls as thick and as long as one of her legs. Hikari watched as a team of puppets carried a scroll that she could have walked through, had it been hollow, without having to bend at the knees. It was at least twenty feet in length.

Now she was curious.

Hikari turned the corner and the hallway rose up into a large cavern. At one end, the circular stone door that sealed the largest of the laboratory rooms—which had been locked—was now open.

"Woah!" Kagami and Kagari sang.

Hikari slipped inside.

Her heart did a funny little spasm in her chest. She thought, at first, that Bolt had been horribly burned. Hikari calmed once she saw that the "burns" were really just miles and miles of inky tendrils marring his pale skin.

The next thing she noticed was the crevice that she was absolutely sure had not been there the last time she had visited the lab. It was not very wide, only a handful of feet, but it was unfathomably deep. The bright, sterile lights that lit the room barely illuminated its depth. Shadows yawned on and on, deeper and deeper, until there was only the darkness. Kagami and Kagari took a fistful of pebbles and threw them into the abyss. Like children, they cocked their heads and waited for the sound of stone striking stone.

"My Lord," Tetsu bowed.

Hikari startled as another thirty puppets began to lug another of the titanic scrolls from the room. She hadn't even noticed them. Though the far end of the lab was destroyed by the crevice, the end near the door where they had entered was littered with scrolls of varying sizes. Tsuchigumo was directing his puppet army with great care as they removed them one-by-one.

Bolt smiled at them. "Tetsu! Hikari!"

Up close, she could see the ink he had, she assumed, tattooed on his body. It was a strange pattern. It reminded Hikari of dead, bare tree limbs. Forever branching, and each branch branching even further, and so on and so forth for countless thousands of times. She traced the pattern back to its origin, a patch of angry red-pink skin just over his heart. There, the ink began in a tri-pronged, triangular seal.

It looked like painted lightning.

"Good. You're all here," Bolt said with a breathy sigh. The ink began to glow an angry, red-orange color. Like molten metal. It retreated, coiling upon itself like a snake, until only the original seal tattooed above his heart remained.

Hikari bristled as he shrugged on a shirt. He favored her with a small, knowing smirk.

"Kagami! Kagari! Stop playing around!" Bolt barked.

Both sisters abandoned trying to measure the depth of the crevice with sound and joined their impromptu gathering near the door. "Hey, boss! Nice ink!" Kagami chirped. "What made the big hole?"

Bolt ignored them. "Tsuchigumo and I have finished preparations. The Akatsuki has bided its time long enough. The Union is ready to fall and all it needs is a little _push_ ," he said.

With a wave of his hand, Bolt produced a scroll. It winked into existence with not a wisp of acrid smoke. He passed it to the Kagami and Kagari. "This is the last known location of the Two-Tails," Bolt said. "Tetsu will accompany you, with the Amber Purifying Pot, and assist in its capture."

Kagami snatched the scroll with an audible moan of anticipation. She and her sister unfurled it and quickly began to fight over who got to hold the scroll.

"Hikari and I," Bolt continued. "Will destroy the Hidden Cloud."

Hikari shuddered. The familiar acidic warmth of hate pooled in her stomach as she thought of the place that had taken her father in all but blood.

"And they say romance is dead," Kagami and Kagari giggled.

Hikari shot them a disapproving glare. "What is Tsuchigumo going to be doing during all of this?" she asked.

"He'll be coordinating our attacks and organizing our retreat," Bolt explained. "And another task, one of lesser importance but vital all the same."

Hikari nodded. There was something wry and dark about the way he said that last part.

"Do not fail me," Bolt said, speaking to all of them. "If we are successful, this will be the deathblow that destroys the Union."

He smiled. "And the best part? They don't even know it."

* * *

Shikadai glanced over the assembled task force. He sighed. "We've got a bit of a problem," he announced.

With a wave of his hand, the video began to play. On the screen, Shikadai knew, Bolt would appear. Dressed in an obscuring, featureless white mask and the robes of the Akatsuki, but their childhood friend all the same.

" _It seems the Union has not taken my demands seriously," Pain intoned. "Therefore, I have no choice but to raise the stakes. In one week, I will attack the Hidden Sand and assassinate the Kazekage. Stop me if you can."_

That was it. Short and to the point. Threat delivered. Shinki and his team bristled angrily.

"We have to stop him!" Shinki demanded.

Shikadai sighed. "We do," he agreed. "But it's not that simple. This could very well be a ploy to get us to focus on defending the Sand while the Akatsuki attacks another target."

"Or," Sarada spoke up. She cleared her throat. "Or, that could be exactly what he wants us to think. Bolt wants us to believe he's not that arrogant to announce when and where he will attack. That will make it all the easier for him to destroy the Sand."

"The Hidden Sand would be a good target," Himawari said. "They are the Leaf's closest ally financially and militarily. The Hokage and Kazekage are good friends." She looked at him. "And... your mother," she added softly.

Shikadai nodded. He—and their entire family—knew what was at stake.

Just then, the door slammed open. Shikadai twitched involuntarily and turned. He found an ashen-faced clerk—a messenger—with his back against the wall. Literally everyone in the room was armed, in one way or another, and had drawn their weapons. "Knock, next time," Shikadai chided him. "What's the message?"

Shikadai could see the messenger's throat bob as he swallowed. "It's... the Wind Lord, sir," the messenger managed to choke out. "He's been assassinated! A bomb."

Shikadai closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. "Troublesome," he swore.

* * *

"Naruto, calm down," Gaara sighed.

"I can't calm down!" Naruto snapped. He paced nervously around the room, tongues of orange-yellow chakra licking at his ceremonial Kage robe.

"I'm the one he's after, not you," Gaara pointed out.

"Yes! Yes, that is exactly the problem! My son just announced, to the entire world, that he was going to murder my best friend!" Naruto exclaimed.

"Naruto, I literally have the entire ninja corps on high alert. No one has entered or left the Sand in the past week. You—the strongest person on the planet—have a clone in my office, and you are pacing a hole through my floor," Gaara chided.

Naruto paused, looking abashed, and looked away.

"Naruto?" Gaara pressed. "Naruto! You are a clone, aren't you? Please do not tell me you are actually here. Please."

He didn't respond. Gaara groaned. "Naruto! You can't be serious," he sighed. "Leave! Go back to the Leaf. Now."

"It's fine!" Naruto exclaimed with feigned casualness. "I have a clone wearing the Hat. No one will ever notice I'm gone."

"Naruto..." Gaara closed his eyes. "I am in literally no danger here—with or without you. Go home."

"How are you so relaxed?" Naruto demanded. "This is a credible threat on your life and you're just—just sitting there! Signing those stupid papers! I can't leave you defenseless."

Gaara rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands and groaned.

"The Wind Lord was assassinated only hours after that video!" Naruto protested. "And he had all the protection he had at his disposal, too! You see! You're in no danger _with me here!_ If I go home, you're in danger. I'm not going to lose you. Not... not yet."

Gaara sighed. He hated that Naruto was so aware of how ill he was. And Gaara hated it even more how he couldn't find it in himself to deny Naruto a little more of his quickly dwindling time. "Fine," he acquiesced. "Then sit down and stop fidgeting. I have work to do."

Naruto sat down opposite him and smiled.

* * *

Bolt sat and watched as the storm brewed. Dark black-gray clouds loomed over the city below him. Every so often a crack of thunder would echo from the heavens. The wind was howling so badly that the rain came down sideways hard enough to sting.

The Union had finally shifted enough of their forces to watch and defend the Sand.

And now, Cloud was ready to fall.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Bolt vs. Darui! Round 2: fight!

We've passed 200k hits! Yay! That, and the new year, is why I've been pumping out chapters. This will probably be the last one before I go back to my regular upload schedule.

So it occurred to me that we haven't had a real good peek into Sarada's mind. The common mental illness associated with the awakening of a Mangekyō is only compounded, in her case, because of Omoikane. Sarada has the power at her disposal to torture herself in all the best and worst ways.

It's fun to think on the origins of each of the distinct clans, whether they have a bloodline or not. It's not just the Uchiha and the Senju that deserve a backstory, Kishimoto!

Bolt's unnamed seal is a Lichtenberg figure. It's actually pretty interesting. Look up videos of electrical treeing if you want to see them in action. People can and do get real scars in the pattern of electricity if struck by lightning. As for what the seal does, exactly, well... you'll find out soon.


	78. Chapter 78

The Valley of Clouds and Lightning was an eerie place, Tetsu decided. There was something otherworldly afoot. It was in the way the waters were too still and calm, the way the wind howled as if in pain, and the way the mountains stretched for the sky like a drowning man for air. Not even the birds dared fly over the valley.

Perhaps it made sense when one considered what sort of monstrosity they were hunting. According to his Lord, the Two-Tails lingered somewhere amongst the cave system that sprawled the valley. The three of them warily entered another cave—the eighteenth that day—to search it for any sign of the Two-Tails. As before, it was empty and barren.

Exiting the cave several hours later, Tetsu began the climb to ascend the mountain and enter into the next valley. When he reached its apex, he felt a presence in the air. Below him, sprawling for miles, were old ruins of what was once a large complex of buildings, walls, and fences. A hospital, perhaps, or a prison. Either way, the complex had long since been abandoned and destroyed. The largest building had collapsed in on itself on one side. The walls and fences surrounding it had either been eroded or otherwise destroyed in the same way that the buildings had.

"That is creepy as fuck," Kagari muttered under her breath, standing beside him.

Tetsu withdrew the Seversword, now fully regenerated after being snapped by his Lord's sister, from the first of seven seals on his right arm. He began a slow, measured descent into the valley and the ruins nestled within. Kagami and Kagari scampered down after him. The same perverse feeling permeated the air. It only grew stronger as Tetsu drew nearer and nearer to the ruins. It was as if the air was just a little too warm to be comfortable. Stifling, almost.

Upon exploring the ruins, their purpose became more clear. It was equal parts hospital and prison with floors of cells and medical equipment. "Looks like an old internment camp from the Third War," Kagami remarked.

"Indeed," Tetsu agreed, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.

The brick and mortar was charred and blackened in some places. Glass melted into lazy waves of blue-clear puddles. Eventually, they came upon a destroyed floor that showed water running beneath it. An old sewer, perhaps, or the prison's source of water. And, from it, Tetsu felt the air rush back and forth with an uncomfortable warmth.

"Our foe lies beneath us," Tetsu cautioned his two charges. "Prepare yourselves."

Tetsu dropped down into the sewers. The water came up his his shins, tall as he was, and he was forced to bend at the knees in order to avoid hitting his head on the masonry. Kagami and Kagari followed him with a muttered curse as their shoes and robes were soaked. Tetsu frowned at the lack of room with which to swing a sword. If the Two-Tails was indeed in the sewers, there must be a larger antechamber for it to dwell within. There, Tetsu decided, they would fight.

The air and water became warmer and warmer the further they wandered. It was as ominous as it was helpful. The beast had given them a guide to its location with the sheer heat it radiated. The ceiling eventually rose, more and more, as they continued forward. Eventually, Tetsu could stand with ease.

It was when he saw the warm orange-yellow glow of light at the end of the tunnel did he tense and grip the hilt of his sword tightly. Visions of his previous clash with a Tailed Beast—the monstrous One-Tail—flashed through his mind. Even Kagami and Kagari, usually so carefree and chatty, had grown quiet and solemn.

Tetsu creeped forward, as silent as the grave, and entered a large antechamber. It was aflame with orange-red fire that seemingly burned stone as easily as normal fire did wood. The masonry drooped from the ceiling and tunnel entrance in waves like wax. There was an odd pattern to it, as if the liquid rock had been melted and then shaped into a new form and allowed to cool. At the far end of the chamber sat their prey.

The Two-Tails was as monstrous as its brethren. It dwarfed Tetsu, a mountain of a man, many tens of times over. It was a pale, demonic imitation of a cat; a thin, bony body wreathed in blue-black fire that hid its frame. The flames danced upon its skin, and every so often, revealed an expanse of leathery pink-red flesh. Its two tails danced with each other, sliding over themselves and releasing tongues of blue fire.

Tetsu steeled himself and banished his fear. He looked down from the monster's tails and saw that it had cracked its eyes open. They were heterochromatic; one an emerald green, the other, a yellow topaz. The slitted eyes were more demonic than bestial and they bored into his very spirit.

Tetsu brandished his sword and stepped from the water and into the beast's den.

"Fuck. Shit. Fuck," Kagami swore behind him.

The Two-Tails rose from its perch, the stone beneath it glowing a cherry-red color, and stretched. It yawned, baring a maw of wicked fangs, and scratched its claws on the stone that created long, thin gouges in it.

Tetsu channeled chakra into his Seversword. He strengthened it, honed it, and prayed it would hold against the Tailed Beast where it had snapped against the might of Sage Mode.

The Two-Tails yowled and pounced. It was deceptively quick and agile, crossing the distance in the space between one breath and the next. Tetsu brought his sword up, glowing with chakra, and blocked a lightning-fast swipe of a paw as the Two-Tails swatted at him. The blade, thankfully, held, saving him from being eviscerated by claws that were as long as he was tall, but hurled him into a wall.

Kagami and Kagari quickly overcame their fear and began their attack. They cackled madly, charging forward, heedless of their safety. Kagari spat forth a wave of molten rock that cascaded over itself and rose to touch the ceiling of the antechamber. Kagari, meanwhile, snapped her fingers with abandon and unleashed booming explosions upon the Two-Tails.

The Two-Tails dove through the lava, into the explosions, and hissed its fury at the two sisters. Tetsu was on his feet, moving, and putting himself between them and the angry Tailed Beast. He prevented the monster from disemboweling his allies with a powerful Flash that held the Two-Tails at bay for but a moment. Tetsu sent another another Flash, and then a second, careening towards the Tailed Beast. It hissed angrily, weathering the first and swatting away the second.

With a yowl, the Two-Tails reared back, parting its maw, and breathed a roaring stream of fire upon the three of them. Kagami and Kagari stepped forward, weaving signs, and slammed their palms to the ground. An earthen barrier, domed and arched, erupted from the ground to shield them. Tetsu shielded his face and upper body with the flat of his sword as the heat assaulted him and the flames broke upon the earthen shield. The stone quickly began to glow; first red, then orange, and finally yellow.

When it began to melt in lazy waves, Tetsu knew he had to act. He stepped forward, putting himself between the melting wall and the two sisters, and channeled chakra into his Seversword. Chakra danced across the metal and licked at the air with tongues of white-blue energy. Tetsu set his chakra ablaze, a fiery inferno fit to match their foe's intensity.

"Move!" Tetsu barked. The two women scrambled to the sides as he unleashed a fiery Flash that obliterated their earthen shield and warred against the inferno of the Two-Tails. The two Fire Release techniques clashed with an audible roar as they devoured the air.

Tetsu disengaged, feeling the heat begin to cook his skin, and retreated. Kagami covered him with rapid snaps of her fingers that unleashed explosive blasts upon the Two-Tails. The Tailed Beast reared up on its hind legs, roared, and shook its maw side-to-side. Fire consumed the antechamber as the Two-Tails set everything ablaze. Tetsu held his breath as thick clouds of smoke rolled over the battlefield.

Kagami and Kagari were running past him, coughing their lungs out, and screaming profanities. The Two-Tails saw them scurrying away, like rats, and pounced. Tetsu brought up the Seversword, glowing white-blue with chakra, and met the Tailed Beast in its charge. Clawed paw clashed against cold chakra steel. Tetsu grunted under the strength of the Two-Tails as he fended it off. It was as if he was attempting to carry a mountain on his back.

The two sisters found their breath and dived head-first back into the battle. Tetsu batted away another swipe of the beast's paw as Kagari spat a wave of cloying vulcanized rubber at them. It made for a much more effective defense than molten stone did. The Two-Tails could not break it through strength alone and the rubber held a flame quite easily. With something to burn, the fire did not spread as much as it had.

The Two-Tails growled at them, hissed, and reared up on three legs. With its free limb, it swatted at them with lightning-fast slashes of claws. Tetsu managed to hold his own, ducking and weaving and dodging while attempting to get a slash or two in with his sword. The blue-black fire that coated the Two-Tails like fur was blisteringly hot. Each time he withdrew his sword, the blade glowed red.

A Tailed Beast's hide was thick and durable. Beneath it, coiled muscle as thick as a man was tall was hidden. It was nearly impossible to deal a truly wounding blow against them—the One, Two, and Six-Tails most of all, according to his Lord, due to their bodies unique attributes. In the Two-Tails' case, its fiery fur.

Tetsu unleashed a crescent wave of chakra upon the beast as Kagari caused explosions to blossom to life beneath its feet. The Two-Tails yowled, leapt, and pushed off the antechamber wall with its hind legs. It pounced on them, furious, hissing its fury. With a quick slight of hand, Tetsu traded the Seversword to his left hand. He batted away the Two-Tails, slapping it in the maw with the flat of his blade. With his right hand, he drew one of the two swords at his waist. With his iaidō, Tetsu drew a sword, augmented it with his chakra, and slashed at the Tailed Beast in a blink of the eye.

The Two-Tails mewled like a newborn babe and slinked away, favoring its left flank. Tetsu frowned, regarding his sword, which was now little more than a hilt with a blade of melted slag. He discarded it, gripping the hilt of the Seversword with both hands.

Kagami and Kagari found their second wind. The younger sister spat great arcing waves of corrosive quicklime into the air and rained the acid down upon the Two-Tails. The Tailed Beast hissed angrily, loping back and forth in a crude evasive manner. Its sheer bulk did not allow for it to dodge much of the Lava Release technique. Kagami, for once, was on the defense. Her explosions did little to the Two-Tails, save for disorient it, so disorient it she did with quick, rapid bursts of her Explosion Release.

For all the pain they dealt the Tailed Beast, Tetsu saw that they were doing little lasting damage. But they were cornering the Two-Tails—and that, his Lord had warned him, was when the beast would be most dangerous. "Lure it out!" Tetsu barked. He backed away, unleashing a parting Flash, and heading for the sewer tunnel.

They weren't listening.

Kagami and Kagari continued their assault, pressing their perceived "advantage." Kagami cackled madly as she unleashed explosive spark after explosive spark. Tetsu swore under his breath, cursing their madness, and wading back through the water towards the underground battlefield.

He came to a stop as the Two-Tails curled into a ball near the far end of the antechamber. It raised its head, neck extended, ears flat, and maw parted. Red-black and white-blue spheres of bubbly chakra began to blossom into existence and coalesce before its fanged maw. Tetsu drew his second and last sword, chakra arcing along its blade, and thrust it forward. He used his people's Saber technique to create an extending blade of chakra that crossed the distance between one breath and the next. The tip of the blade rammed the mass of dark, purple-black chakra.

It did nothing.

The Tailed Beast's attack was too powerful, its chakra too dense, to be destroyed by any attack Tetsu could bring to bear. He sheathed his sword, darted forward, both hands gripping the hilt of the Seversword. Kagami and Kagari continued their attack, heedless of the danger, raining down explosions and gouts of corrosive quicklime. Tetsu came to a stop below the Two-Tails and his boots began to melt due to the intense heat. The Tailed Beast roared, lunged forward, and unleashed its attack. Tetsu grunted, tensed, and swung his sword as he unleashed a mighty Flash.

The Flash struck the Two-Tails in the neck as it unleashed its payload. The sphere of black-purple chakra was knocked off course. Instead of obliterating Kagami and Kagari, it went wide, striking the far wall near the base of the ceiling.

The world was painted white as an explosion rocked the mountain. A thunderous crack pierced the air as stone was rended asunder. Heat, pure and unadulterated, unlike the fire, assailed him. Tetsu shut his eyes painfully tight in an attempt to spare his eyesight. Tetsu forced his eyes open as he heard the Two-Tails roar victoriously and bits of stone and dust fell atop him.

The mountain complex had been cleaved open, obliterated, like a volcano had erupted. Water rushed in, extinguishing fire and obscuring the now much larger battlefield with a cloud of steam. Stray rays of light pierced the fog of war and illuminated the prowling Tailed Beast. Kagami and Kagari were nowhere to be seen. Tetsu brandished his sword and began to mirror the Two-Tails. They circled each other like two apex predators. The Tailed Beast growled lowly at him, a gravely, rumbling sound. Its claws gouged stone with visible sparks as it stalked him.

Beast leapt at man.

Tetsu struck the Two-Tails in the maw with the Seversword, spinning away as the beast swiped at him with its claws. A Flash to the eyes had the Tailed Beast mewling in pain, blinding lashing out. Tetsu slashed at its nose, his sword finally finding purchase and drawing... not blood, but something similar, he supposed. A dark, blue-purple liquid that rapidly evaporated. Liquid chakra, perhaps?

An explosion erupted, obliterating the Two-Tails' flank. Kagami stood atop a mound of rubble, laughing gleefully. She was bloodied and bruised, her Akatsuki robes torn, but otherwise unharmed. Kagari was climbing over the rubble to join her sister, worse for wear and breathing hard.

The Two-Tails rounded on them with a furious roar and pounced. Both sisters scrambled down the rubble, tumbling, as the Tailed Beast swiped at them. Tetsu gave chase. The Two-Tails focused on Kagari, hissing and stalking forward. It slammed one of its fiery tails into Kagami. She was slammed into a portion of the chamber that remained standing. Kagami slid to the floor, limp, and did not rise.

"Kagami!" Kagari cried in alarm.

The Two-Tails yowled and leapt, both paws surging forward to maim its prey. Tetsu put himself between Kagari and the angry Tailed Beast. He unleashed a fiery Flash that kept the Two-Tails at bay for but a moment before it retaliated with a cascading wave of its own fire.

"Focus!" Tetsu barked. His Lord had utmost faith in their abilities. Tetsu could not bear the shame of failure.

Kagari returned to her senses, angered, and leapt into the fray with a renewed vigor. She unleashed alternating gouts of magma and corrosive quicklime that forced the Two-Tails to endure pain or dodge. Tetsu mercilessly took advantage by slashing at the Tailed Beast whenever opportunity allowed.

Tetsu prayed that the Two-Tails was growing weaker. His Lord had been very specific—however powerful the Amber Purifying Pot was, it was greater than a Tailed Beast at full strength. They would have to weaken the Two-Tails enough so that it could be sealed. Tetsu did not foresee that the three—now two—of them would last much longer. He had absolute faith in his own ability but defeating a Tailed Beast in single combat was a feat Tetsu did not think he could accomplish.

Kagari shielded her unconscious sister with a thick gout of vulcanized rubber. Tetsu covered her with a Flash and several slashes at the Two-Tails' snout. Kagari resumed her assault once her sister was safe, lashing out at the Tailed Beast with more quicklime. The Two-Tails roared, breathing a stream of liquid fire at them. Tetsu deflected it with a powerful Flash. Then the beast pounced. It leapt over Tetsu, putting itself between him and Kagari.

Tetsu heard Kagari cry out in alarm. Then her screams of agony came. Tetsu uttered a wordless curse and came to her defense. The Two-Tails had the poor woman in its maw, shaking her like a lifeless doll.

"—Kagari!" Kagami slurred as consciousness returned to her.

Tetsu ignored the elder Akiyama sister as he rushed to the aid of the younger. He leapt over the Two-Tails and drew his sword. As he landed before the Two-Tails, he tensed, then leapt again, crossing the distance between himself and the Tailed Beast. His Akatsuki robe caught fire as he landed on the monster's snout. Before the Two-Tails could react, Tetsu thrust his sword up the beast's nose and used the Saber technique to lengthen the blade. It pierced the black spongy flesh easily and the Two-Tails howled in agony. It dropped Kagari, who was bleeding and moaning pitifully in pain.

Kagami howled in fury and unleashed a barrage of explosions upon the Tailed Beast more powerful than any Tetsu had seen her create before. "Puppeteer!" Tetsu roared. "Take the girl!"

He knew, somewhere, Tsuchigumo had his puppets watching them. Without Hibiki, they were forced to rely on the puppeteer for communication and summonings. In a wisp of acrid smoke, Kagari disappeared. Tetsu loped across the battlefield to engage the Tailed Beast that was now circling Kagami. He unleashed a Flash that gouged at the Two-Tails hind legs at the same moment Kagami attacked with an Explosion Release technique that caused the ground to tremble with its strength.

The Two-Tails fled. It loped across the battlefield, leaping from boulders and mounds of rubble, until it reached its destroyed lair once more. Tetsu gave chase, Kagami behind him as she shouted profanities and promises of pain. The Tailed Beast turned, then, and glared at them with bestial eyes of fury. Its maw parted as red-black and blue-white bubbles of chakra blossomed to life before it once more.

Tetsu slowed his mad dash ever so slightly as he turned to address his sister-in-arms. He shared a single nod with her as he met her eyes. They had trained, planned, for exactly this scenario. Now that her bloodlust was not clouding her judgement, Kagami would be much more effective in battle. She returned his nod, creating an Earth Release clone, and sprinting forward. Tetsu slid to a halt, hands gripping his Seversword tightly, and unleashed a quick Flash, then another, in an attempt to distract the Two-Tails.

Tetsu waded forward, the Tailed Beast's slitted eyes on him, as Kagami quickly crossed the distance between herself and the Two-Tails. Tetsu unleashed an additional Flash before he sprinted forward and leapt at the Tailed Beast from above. The Two-Tails hissed and raised its head, maw parted, a sphere of black-purple chakra pulsing with energy.

Time slowed. The possibility that he may fail entered Tetsu's mind as he sailed through the air. The Two-Tails could kill him right here, right now. It would be an honorable death, one in service of his Lord, but he did not think that Kagami would go on to defeat the Tailed Beast by herself. They, as a team, would fail. And Tetsu could not allow that to pass.

Kagami cowered in the shadow of the Two-Tails as she stood beneath it. She raised her hands, aflame with blue-white chakra, unleashed an arc of explosive lightning. Tetsu crashed down upon the Tailed Beast, Seversword unleashing a powerful Flash atop the beast's skull.

Tetsu saw the Two-Tails' maw be forced shut by the explosion from below and his attack from above.

The world was white for an instant before it grew dark.

Tetsu gasped as he awoke. His hands began to search for the hilt of his sword blindly. All around him was fire. He coughed, sputtering as his lungs protested the smoke. Tetsu breathed a sigh of relief as he found the hilt of the Seversword and not much else. The blade had been warped and destroyed beyond recognition. With a quick application of his Saber technique, Tetsu constructed a makeshift blade of chakra for the sword. He waved it before him, unleashing a wave of fire that cleared a path.

The Two-Tails lay on its side some distance from him. Tetsu could see the rise and fall of its chest as it labored to breathe.

Victory.

It was sweet. The sweetest Tetsu had savored in some time. He stored the Seversword back in its seal and withdrew the Amber Purifying Pot from its own storage seal. The Two-Tails glared at him with hateful, lidded eyes. Tetsu placed the massive artifact, nearly as tall as he himself was, on the ground and removed its lid. He took a step forward and formed a single sign—a modified Ram sign, right hand with index and middle fingers extended and ring and little finger curled, his left hand mirroring his right but with its extended fingers touching the palm of his right hand.

The Two-Tails growled for an instant before it stretched and melted and flowed into the Amber Purifying Pot. Tetsu quickly replaced the lid. He took a step back, afraid that at any moment the Two-Tails would break free from its prison and resume their battle.

It did not.

A gasp broke the silence. Tetsu turned and saw Kagami crawl out of the face of a boulder of stone. She took one look at him, the artifact, and then cheered. "Let's get the fuck out of here," Kagami hissed, holding her arms to her ribs.

Tetsu nodded. He hefted the Amber Purifying Pot onto his back, not trusting his storage seal to contain both it and the Tailed Beast within, and called out to the puppeteer.

They were whisked away in a wisp of smoke.

* * *

Bolt held his arms aloft, hands outstretched and fingers splayed, and allowed his flesh to become lightning. The effect was immediate as he cast unseen waves of electromagnetism across the city below him. There were cries of surprise and dismay as power to the city ceased, block-by-block, until the only thing illuminating the Hidden Cloud were the sparse rays of the sun piercing the dark clouds above them.

Of all his discoveries, Bolt was most pleasantly surprised by that aspect of his power the most.

Satisfied that Cloud would not recover its power before the attack was over—and thus, be able to call for aid from the Union—he lowered his arms. "I will confront the Raikage," Bolt told Hikari. "Once the fighting begins in earnest, begin your attack. Use your full strength. Leave nothing standing."

Bolt leapt from the crags and skidded down the mountainside. Slipping through their sensing barrier was child's play. The Leaf had a much more advanced system by comparison. It was an embarrassment, honestly, because Cloud was a much more militaristic city when compared to the Leaf.

It made what he was about to do far easier.

The first guard he encountered physically recoiled as he saw him. Bolt dashed forward and cut his throat open. An arc of electricity danced from his fingertips to his elbow. As the guard lay dying, drowning in his own blood, Bolt strolled through the gates of the city.

Unlike the Leaf, Cloud was nothing. It meant nothing. There was no great enemy to prove himself against. No resources to be stolen. There was no statement to be made. Attacking the Leaf had been a statement to the world—the Akatsuki is here.

What Bolt planned to do to Cloud would be a statement of a different manner.

These people meant nothing. They were less than nothing. They stood in his way. They stood in the way of a future of peace, order, and stability for the world. And, most grievous of all, they had hurt someone that he held very dear. And for that he would destroy them.

A squadron of Cloud ninja, dressed in their white uniforms and armed with swords, turned the corner and walked down the street. They saw him, stopped walking, stopped talking, and stared in disbelief.

Bolt cut them to ribbons. Left them broken and dead. It wasn't even a challenge. He could burst hearts with a featherlight touch. Fry brains with a thought and an electric current. He was simply faster, stronger, and more experienced than jōnin who had never even been on a true battlefield.

Eight years—no, nine, he was twenty-one, now—and Bolt had honed his skills to a deathly edge.

Alarms rang through the city. A high-pitched wailing created by a Wind Release technique that carried its scream on the wind. It seemed that the sheep had discovered that a wolf was amongst their midst. Two large men with bronzed skin and bleached hair charged him. Lightning danced across their skin, blue-white, with barely a perceptible glow. A paltry imitation of the Lightning Armor he had mastered. Bolt couldn't fault them, though. Not really. His Byakugan told him why. They could barely control even seventy-five of their chakra points. Their armor was so inelegant, unbalanced, that its augmentation properties were diminished.

They were nothing compared to him.

His hand wreathed in lightning, Bolt stepped to the side and dodged the first man only to ram his fist through the second's chest. The first turned and met the same fate. Both dispatched, Bolt carried on.

They came at him with numbers next. Entire squadrons of jōnin. For that, Bolt called on his own Lightning Armor. They rushed him, all at once, swinging their swords in the unique Cloud-style of swordsmanship. A few dabbled in the use of Lightning Armor but none were as skilled as he. Bolt systematically dismantled them, one-by-one, cutting throats, piercing hearts, and scrambling brains.

Bolt kept moving, kept attacking, as more and more came at him. Three jōnin and seven chūnin. A handful of men and women who wore veils of white cloth; Cloud ANBU. An unlucky group of genin, six strong, tried to take him. They couldn't have been older than thirteen. They died like all the others.

Bolt shied away from a lightning-quick slash of a sword. He was forced to slap away another slash and then take a step back as a third Cloud ninja attempted to cut his throat with an oddly curved blade.

He recognized them. The two blondes, the ones who attacked him the night of the Crimson Tide's destruction, and the white-haired bodyguard he had seen during the attack on Cloud. They were among the strongest that the village had to offer: Samui, Atsui, and Omoi. In particular, Bolt eyed the pair of swords Omoi wielded. They were odd things. They were no curved swords, instead they possessed a straight, double-edged blade. At the base and tip of the sword, two "fangs" jutted from the blade.

Bolt quirked his lips. "The Thunderswords," he said, even as lightning danced up and down their blades. "One of the Seven. It seems you'll have the honor of being one of the few people I _don't_ kill today."

"Why's that?" Omoi mumbled as he brandished his swords.

"You'll find out soon, I'm sure," Bolt replied with a small smile.

He lunged forward, crossing the distance, and thrust a palm at Samui's chest. The woman lashed out with a slash to meet his fist. Bolt had the honor of experiencing a very odd phenomena; his Lightning Armor around his arm, from the tips of his fingers to his elbow, ceased. His bioelectric aura was being sapped by the Thunderswords, he saw, as the electrical current redirected itself to focus on the two swords.

With a push, Bolt expelled chakra from the chakra points on his arm. The nebulous cloud of expelled chakra acted as a cushion, shielding him from Samui's cleave, and allowed him to slap the sword away. He kicked Atsui in the ribs, batting the blond away, and turned to focus on Omoi. The Thunderswords were going to prove themselves an inconvenience. They had to be dealt with. But Bolt wouldn't kill Omoi or take his Thunderswords—that honor belonged to Tetsu.

Bolt thrust his hand—still bereft of his armor—at Omoi. He pushed his chakra forward with an explosive, concussive blast of Wind chakra. The white-haired man brought up both Thunderswords, crossed them, and used them as a guard. Omoi was still sent backwards, his boots kicking up dust, until he was far enough away that Bolt deemed it safe to use his armor.

Atsui tried to take his head, sword trailing fire, but was too slow. Bolt brought his fist down in a chop on the flat of the blade that shattered the sword. These people, they were nothing compared to Tetsu. Bolt lashed out with a low-kick that, augmented by his armor, struck the side of Atsui's knee before he could even react. The sound of crunching bone echoed in his ears. It was followed by a scream of pain from Atsui and a cry of alarm from his sister Samui.

Samui was a good sister, Bolt thought, as she put herself between him and her brother. It was something he would have done, once upon a time. She raised her sword to fend him off. Bolt raised his arm to cut her down. He stopped as his Lightning Armor vanished entirely.

Omoi had returned, swords in hand, and was rapidly leeching his armor's chakra. Bolt sighed, taking several long paces back and avoiding Samui as she tried to cut him to ribbons, before Omoi thrust both Thunderswords forward and unleashed a wave of screaming electricity. Bolt weathered it, taking the chakra in, because apparently he hadn't gotten the memo. Lightning Release was counter-intuitive when fighting him.

Bolt held both hands aloft, cupped, whirring chakra coalescing in his palms. One Rasengan he hurled at Omoi. The white-haired man was forced to stop, leap, and roll away to dodge. The attack continued, unseen, until it struck a building—a small shop, of some kind—and exploded. The other, Bolt glanced around, and found a large tower. An apartment building, he thought. With a wave of his hand, he hurled the second Rasengan.

"No!" Samui yelped and lunged forward.

His Rasengan struck the building low, knocking its supports out from under it, and sending the whole structure tumbling down. There were high-pitched screams of terror. A few people, even, leapt from the upper floors. They careened through the windows, scrambled through the air for a few moments, before falling to their deaths. They landed with an echoing, solid crunch.

Bolt dodged each swing of Samui's blade as she furiously hacked at him. If they wanted to deny him his Lightning Armor, fine, then he would simply sow destruction in other ways. It didn't matter to him. He cupped his hand and hurled another Rasengan at another building. This time, Omoi put himself between the building and his attack. His Thunderswords came up, wreathed in lightning, and cut his Rasengan to pieces. Bolt could feel the swords resonating with electricity.

With a thought, his Lightning Armor roared to life. Samui was put on the defensive. It took everything she had to not be eviscerated. Bolt swept her legs from underneath her, the blonde woman scrambling away on all fours, as he thrust a hand forward to end her life.

The Raikage stopped him with an iron grip that refused to let his arm go. The two of them glared at each other. Bolt grinned, ever so slightly. He couldn't lie to himself. He had been looking forward to their rematch. This time, the world would know, once and for all, who was faster.

"Omoi, Samui," the Raikage barked. "Take Atsui and get out of here. This is my fight."

One of Tsuchigumo's puppets must have been lying in wait, for the moment the Raikage arrived, a tremor rocked the village. Ahead, part of the city that had been built into the mountainside collapsed in a landslide. Bolt saw one or two large buildings continue falling, skidding through the city, and tumbling into the ocean over the crags.

Hikari had begun her attack.

Darui looked at him with newfound anger. "And deal with the second one," he commanded his retreating subordinates.

There was no witty banter to exchange, no ideologies to wax poetic over. In a way, Bolt admired that about the Raikage. They were two apex predators figuring out who was at the top of the food chain. There were no words to be had.

Through unspoken agreement, Darui released him and the fight began. There was a certain joy in being able to fight an opponent who was able to keep up with him. There was no maddening ability to dodge, like Sarada had displayed, nor inhuman durability, like his sister possessed. Theirs was a battle of speed and finesse. The Cloud style of hand-to-hand combat, all telegraphed, powerful chops, elbows, knees, and kicks poised against the Gentle Fist's casual touches and prods of fingertips and palms. All at a speed that mere men couldn't follow with the naked eye.

Bolt lunged at the Raikage with a thrusted palm strike. Darui turned him away with a swing of his forearm. Bolt slapped away the retaliatory chop that would have broken every bone in his body if he allowed it to hit. The Raikage barreled into him, shoulder lowered, and sent him crashing through a building. Bolt cut down its supports as punishment. The screams of his people that hadn't yet evacuated seemed to only anger Darui even more.

Bolt glared at him through the settling dust of the destroyed building. As one, they activated the second level of the Lightning Armor.

Then the fight began with renewed vigor.

And all around them, entire blocks of the city were destroyed as Hikari created rockslides or otherwise destroyed the ground they stood on with her chakra-enhanced strength.

Bolt had complete faith in her. The only way Cloud would survive another day was if the Eight-Tails—who was almost never within the village proper—or the Union came to their rescue. Tsuchigumo had scouted the village with his army of puppet spies. The Eight-Tails was nowhere to be found, off on another spiritual journey in the northern mountains or the Island Turtle. Without power, the Union would never find out about the attack before it was over.

Cloud was doomed.

Bolt ran and Darui gave chase. Every so often the two would pause, trade explosive blows, and then continue on. Bolt sowed chaos in the streets while Hikari provided the destruction. Each explosive clash was more devastating than the last. Buildings crumbled, streets shattered, and people fled in terror, screaming.

Bolt hurled a Rasengan into what appeared to be a fish market. Darui growled, audible only to him in their shared heightened senses, and detonated the attack before it could destroy more property or kill more people. Bolt smiled, finally having found a button to push, and continued to throw out a Rasengan or two during the fighting when it was most inconvenient.

He cupped his hand, forming another Rasengan, only to have it crushed as it formed by the Raikage appearing before him.

Bolt smiled and went even faster. Darui matched his pace, a furious high-speed battle raging through the streets of the city. The wailing Wind Release alarm continued to ring across the powerless city.

Then the Raikage stopped playing around.

Darui spat a lance of water at him. Stray arcs of lightning leapt from his armor to combined with the water and formed a Storm Release jutsu. The lance split, breaking upon itself, and branched countless times. Bolt danced back and away, weaving between each thread of the liquid lightning. A stray beam or two caught his Akatsuki cloak as it trailed behind him.

Bolt hurled a half-formed Rasengan at the Raikage and forced him to end the technique. In retaliation, Bolt lunged forward and thrust a pointed finger at Darui's heart. The Raikage spun on the balls of his feet, dodging, and then slammed his elbow into the side of Bolt's skull. Cognition was a funny thing, Bolt thought, because it was augmented by his Lightning Armor. The metaphorical stars never really came. It was just a dull awareness of pain that was swept away by the flood of electricity.

The two of them seperated, took a breath, and then began the dance anew.

Darui lunged forward, arm extended, with a single finger acting as a pale imitation of the Gentle Fist that he knew so well. Bolt paused, hesitated, as he felt his Lightning Armor be pierced several feet before the Raikage should have ever been able to touch him. He leapt to the side, evading the attack, and allowed Darui to charge past him. The white-haired man careened through a small shop, utterly destroying it and ultimately collapsing the two buildings that were its neighbors.

"Lord Third gave me more than just the Black Lightning," Darui intoned as he climbed from the rubble. "He also gave me his invincible spear."

Threat delivered, the Raikage's Lightning Armor went wild with screaming electricity. He held the same finger aloft again. Bolt smiled, upped his own armor, and steeled himself. Neither of them had gone as fast as they could and neither of them had played every card in their hand.

Bolt was looking forward to it.

Darui came at him again, faster, trying the same attack. Its range was even greater but its destructive power was not lessened. It was, Bolt thought, rather like a Chidori, only far more powerful. He had hazy memories of Kakashi explaining that he created Raikiri imitating the Third's technique. Only, where Raikiri sheared through an opponent, what Darui was doing was more like having a hole punctured through you.

Bolt took several steps back, turned, and fled. He rounded the corner of the street, withdrew an explosive tag from the storage seal on his forearm, pasted it on the wall, and continued on his way. When the Raikage rounded the corner, he detonated it. The explosion tore through the bottom two floors and brought the building down on Darui.

The Raikage charged through it, ignoring the cries of his people, just like Bolt knew he would. If there was one thing he could respect about the Raikage, it was that, of all the Kage, they were the most steadfast in their aggression. The Hidden Cloud bred a superior, more militaristic breed of ninja compared to the Leaf.

Bolt palmed a Rasengan and hurled it behind him as he ran. It detonated when the Raikage cleaved it in two with a single finger. He rounded another corner, repeating his trick with the explosive tag, only for Darui to barrel through the wall of the building and attack directly. Bolt narrowly avoided having a hole bored through his skull as he slapped away the offending arm. He detonated the tag and brought the building down anyway.

Fleeing, Bolt ran into a field of large boulders created in the wake of Hikari destroying a portion of the city. They provided an excellent obstacle to place between himself and the angry Raikage. Bolt ducked behind a boulder, cupped his hand, and hurled a Rasengan that curved around a boulder, weaved between the next, and slammed into Darui as he gave chase.

After being on the defensive for so long, it felt good to score a solid hit. The Raikage, Bolt knew, would be on his feet in an instant. He pasted a handful of tags on each boulder near him. Darui came at him, sprinting and weaving through the boulders. Bolt detonated one tag, then the next, ensuring that the Raikage was peppered with stone shrapnel.

They were stalling, he knew. Each waiting for the other to tip their hand or show weakness. It wouldn't be long until they discovered just who was the fastest ninja alive.

Darui crashed through a boulder, missed with his one-fingered lunge, and then spat a beam of liquid lightning at him. Annoyed, Bolt ducked under the beam as it cut a boulder in two and then scoured the ground. He darted forward, arm cocked and fingers splayed as he formed Rasengan's larger, more destructive older brother. When it was the size of his skull, Bolt slammed it into the Raikage's unguarded belly.

It still only hurled Darui backwards, careening through the air in a lazy spin. There wasn't enough penetrative power in a normal Rasengan to pierce the second level of the Lightning Armor.

The city rumbled underfoot as Hikari continued to collapse bedrock and cause landslides.

The Raikage stood, as still as stone, and glared hatefully at him. "Enough," Darui said. A single stray arc of black-colored electricity danced from his fingertips to his shoulder.

Bolt reached deep within himself, tapping his well of chakra, and began the process of transmuting flesh to lightning.

* * *

The Hidden Cloud has chosen poorly in their location of the city. Nestled on rocky crags overlooking the sea. The stone pillars that grew from the earth, like teeth or trees, were easy to destroy and collapse on the city below. When there wasn't anything to rain down on Cloud, Hikari could attack the foundation of the city. Like tiled shingles on a roof, once one section of the foundation had been eroded, the others were quick to follow.

She slammed her fist into the ground, kinetic energy transferring from her arm to the stone, and shattering it. Cracks webbed through the street, collapsing a building or two, before heading deeper. The bedrock, too, shattered and broke. With it, the ground began to slide. Structural pillars began to groan as the ground beneath them slid towards the ocean. Then the stress was too much and they broke beneath their own weight. The entire city block slid into its neighbor and all the buildings collapsed.

Hikari felt, more than heard or saw, Bolt activate Thunder God Mode. The resounding crack of thunder as he made his first move echoed through the city. Cloud trembled as he met resistance—the Raikage. Hikari chanced a peek at the battle raging below her in the heart of the city. The Raikage was nothing more than an ominous shroud of black-colored electricity as he met and clashed with the inhuman storm of blue-white lightning that was Bolt.

They were keeping pace with each other.

Hikari was amazed that there was anything in the world that could keep up with Bolt. His speed transcended what humans should be able to achieve. And, she presumed, he had kept going farther than even that.

Bolt and the Raikage clashed, again, trading a punch. Each strike connected with the other and was echoed by a crack of rumbling thunder. They clashed, again, and this time the force of their meeting blew out the first floor of a tall building. It collapsed upon itself and Hikari saw people screaming with terror in the windows.

Hikari turned her attention back to destroying the city. She still had four more sectors to destroy for the city to be considered uninhabitable. And, if she had things her way, it would never be inhabited again.

The sound of boots rapidly striking stone caught her ears. Hikari dodged, not bothering to question her instincts, as a sword narrowly passed through the space her neck had occupied. A jutting metal fang gouged a shallow scratch along the nape of her neck. Hikari raised her right foot and slammed it into the ground with a fraction of her strength. The stone was shattered and pulped into a fine dusty sand. Whatever attack the second set of boots had intended to launch was immediately cancelled as the ground was destroyed.

Turning, Hikari withdrew a handful of needles from the seals on the palms of her hands and hurled them at the white-haired swordsman and his blonde companion. The needles sailed through the air with such force and speed that a cone of misty white air trailed behind them with an audible hiss.

They would have punctured clean through even the most durable of ninja, depositing their poisonous payload, but were stopped by the white-haired swordsman and his pair of strange swords. From their intel, Hikari recognized him as Omoi—the bodyguard of the Raikage. His companion and teammate should be, then, Samui. Her brother was nowhere to be seen.

Hikari clenched a fist, enjoying the sound of her leather gloves straining under her strength. The ground settled from her earlier stomp and that battle renewed itself. Omoi led the charge, swords arcing with electricity, with Samui trailing behind him, her sword ablaze.

Omoi thrust his swords forward, electricity coalescing into two spheres atop the upper fangs of his sword, and slashed at her. Hikari stepped back, brought her arms up, and clapped her hands. An explosive, concussive blast of air disoriented Omoi and unravelled his Lightning Release technique at its ends. Samui swung her sword forward, unleashing a pale imitation of a Flash, and setting the air ablaze.

Hikari spat a wave of water over the fire, releasing a cloud of steam, and at the same time, channeled her Lightning Release chakra through her nervous system as she activated the initial form of the Lightning Armor. Time slowed and her reflexes increased tenfold. She was still angry that her chakra control would never allow her to create a true Lightning Armor like Bolt or Eiji. If she did, it would be a pale imitation of the real technique—like many Cloud ninja employed. It was almost better not to be seen with it at all considering how powerful Bolt's armor was. He was fast enough for the both of them.

Battlefield obscured by steam, Hikari withdrew two smoke bombs and hurled them into the midst of her opponents. They contained a powerful toxin which, if inhaled, inhibited the body's neural pathways and paralyzed them.

"Samui!" Omoi barked. "Don't breathe it in!"

Hikari smiled beneath her mask and stomped the ground once more with an even greater fraction of her strength. She directed the force forward in a cone of destruction that caused two buildings on either side of the street to collapse. Slipping into her next stance, Hikari lashed out with a powerful chakra-enhanced punch. She stopped short, the energy of the punch transferring from her limb to the air. A concussive blast of air rang across the battlefield and dissipated the steam and toxic gas. Omoi and Samui, who had been hiding in the debris, were stunned.

Hikari palmed another fistful of needles and hurled them. Omoi dodged two and blocked the others. The needles that missed left pocked craters in the street from the force of the energy transfer.

Samui, however, was not so lucky. She dodged three needles but the fourth flew true. It struck her in the shin, breaking the bone, and no doubt lethally poisoning her. Hikari turned away to focus on her remaining opponent.

"Samui!" Omoi cried.

The white-haired swordsman growled at her with a visible, tangible hatred in his eyes. Hikari calmly observed him and clenched a fist. Omoi slammed both hilts of his swords together, forming a single blade, before raising them over his head and began to spin them at great speeds. Lightning danced along the single blade, travelling down the swordsman's arms and wreathing him in white-blue chakra.

"This might not be much compared to the Raikage," Omoi sneered. "But it's more than enough for you! Lightning Strike Armor!"

He was fast. Incredibly so. Faster than her, certainly, but nearly as fast as Bolt. With her augmented senses, Hikari weaved out of the way of a lightning-fast slash of the sword.

She wasn't fast enough.

Omoi cut a long, ragged gash from her right hip to her left shoulder. Hikari immersed herself in her hunter ninja training, foregoing all emotion and blocking out all pain, as she felt her warm blood spill down her body. The wound was shallower due to her attempted dodge. A mere mortal wound instead of a deathblow.

The white-haired swordsman stood over her, sighed, and separated his blades before walking away. He went to the aid of Samui who, Hikari hoped, would be dead or very close. With her remaining strength, Hikari forced herself to wet her fingers with her own blood. She pressed them to the ground and summoned a jellyfish only barely smaller than her torso. With a wordless, gurgling cry, it made its way over to her and attached itself to her wound.

Hikari breathed a sigh of relief as the creature began the process of transdifferentiation. She could feel the wound closing; flesh being knit back together, bone being reconstructed. Some, even, she knew, were becoming blood cells to replenish what she had lost. Standing, the last vestiges of the once large jellyfish fell to the ground. Hikari dismissed it back to its watery home and discarded her ruined Akatsuki robe.

Samui made a strangled noise in the back of her throat and lamely flailed her arm in Hikari's direction. Hikari clenched a fist and tapped her Strength of a Hundred seal. A meager quarter percent should do, she decided. Omoi turned, mouth agape, to see what his teammate was babbling about. With an explosive kick, Hikari crossed the distance and slammed her fist into the white-haired man. Omoi, to his credit, managed to create a crude guard with his swords that took the brunt of her chakra-enhanced strength.

He careened through the city, slammed into a building—through it—and then came to a rest as he struck the flat of another building. Hikari watched as the building she had sent him through toppled and crumbled. Looking down, Samui was feebly attempting to find her sword. The poison had done its job well. The skin around its entry point was a mottled purple-green color and small pustules were forming. Without _good_ medical care, she would die.

Hikari walked away. Her Strength of a Hundred receded, its power once more dormant, and Hikari continued on her path of destruction.

Below her, in the heart of the city, the air was disturbed by countless cracks of thunder as Bolt and the Raikage continued their clash.

* * *

The brat was fast, Darui could give him that. There hadn't been a challenger to the Raikage as the uncontested fastest ninja alive since the time of the Third War and the Yellow Flash. It was ironic, in a way, that his grandson would be the next challenger. The Hokage, of course, didn't count. He was not a mere man like the rest of them.

Darui brought his forearm down in a horizontal chop. Black-colored electricity danced across his skin with a painfully loud scream. Bolt brought a "hand"—it was difficult to identify which, if any, part of him was actually "human"—and slapped it away. At the point of contact, a rumbling boom of thunder echoed across the battlefield.

Thunder God Mode was, Darui thought, impressive. When the intel from Leaf came in, he scoffed at the notion that anyone outside of Cloud could ever improve on the Lightning Armor any further than it already had advanced. Hell, the fact that someone outside of Cloud had learned the technique was a stain on their village's honor.

But now, seeing it in the flesh, Darui could respect it. The Leaf had been wrong—Bolt hadn't been the only person to ascend to the "third level" of the armor. He had simply taken a different path there than the Raikage had. The Third and Fourth had laid the groundwork for him, the Fifth, to create and master the Black Lightning Armor. _That_ was Cloud's third level of the Lightning Armor.

And all this time, a second path had existed. No one—not him, not the Fourth—had looked at the deceased Mabui's technique and seen a weapon to be utilized. The Third could withstand the Heavenly Transmission but that was only because of his preternatural durability. The Fourth could barely survive the transfer. Darui, not having the blood of either, knew he wouldn't have been able to come out in one piece.

Thunder God Mode was a brilliant piece of ninjutsu.

Darui darted forward, leg raised, and brought it down in an axe-kick. Bolt slipped inside his guard, knocked away his kick, and thrust a "palm" forward. Darui to elbow it out of the way and bring a knee up to punt his opponent away. Bolt's electrical "body" popped like a balloon. It constituted itself, drifting away, and reformed.

Perhaps, in a way, Thunder God Mode surpassed even his own Black Lightning Armor. Darui focused on strength and durability with his armor, where Bolt had focused on speed and evasion—intangibility—with his.

They resumed the dance with a destructive fervor. For his earlier slight, Darui earned a metaphysical slap to the jaw. Even through his armor he could feel the bite of Thunder God Mode. Painful, yes, but not debilitating. Darui was thankful that Bolt seemed to be unable to use the Gentle Fist without his physical body.

They clashed again.

Darui landed a solid elbow to the kid's skull.

And again.

Bolt managed to cut a small gash in his forearm.

And again.

Darui sent a current of black electricity screaming forth. It washed Bolt away, forcing him to retreat, before attacking from another angle.

And again.

Bolt met him in a charge. Neither was willing to submit to the other. Their clash heralded a crack of thunder so powerful that it destroyed two of the few buildings still left standing in the heart of Cloud.

They separated as Darui managed to destroy the brat's electrical body again.

He was breathing heavy. Darui didn't know if Bolt was, too, because the form he took didn't breathe. He had to assume that they were both equally as exhausted. Neither of their armors were conducive to long-term engagement. They overwhelmed their foes with speed and power.

Bolt's electrical body assumed a human form that flickered and wavered as if beset by static. "Enough," he rumbled. It was hard to tell, but Darui thought he sounded tired. "Neither of us have the stamina for much more. Let's finish this."

"My pleasure," Darui responded, tensing. He waited and waited but the attack never came.

"Do you know what they called me in the Crimson Tide?" Bolt asked.

Darui quirked an eyebrow. The kid hadn't been interested in talking before. "No," he muttered.

"Lightning _Bolt_. Get it? Lightning bolt with a capital B. It was a childish play on my name, but to twelve-year-old me, it was the coolest thing I'd ever heard." Bolt laughed.

Darui tensed as something red-orange began to crawl out from beneath the folds of his opponent's robes. It was branching, moving to cover every inch of skin. When his electrical body flickered, all that was left was an inky black tendril of chakra that plagued the man-shaped storm of lightning.

"Cloud slaughtered them," Bolt mused. "Mist too, I suppose, but it was Cloud that had bad blood with us. You, Raikage, were responsible for that. And you personally killed Eiji, my mentor, and a man very close to someone I hold dear. For that, you will die."

The red-orange branching tendril of chakra darkened and died until it was a lifeless black color. Darui had a bad feeling. He began to charge his armor. The tattoos on either of his shoulders began to take great gasping breaths of the natural energy in the air. That energy churned within him and empowered his Lightning Release.

"You know," Bolt remarked, seeing his increase in power. "I always wondered how you created Black Lightning. I couldn't quite figure it out on my own. I guess it was just beyond me."

Darui's eyes widened as the blue-white electricity began to take on a white-yellow glow and increased in luminance.

"It had to have something to do with natural chakra, I deduced," Bolt continued. "The one thing I'll never be able to master. You were born lucky, I guess. It's a shame I'll never get to see the inner workings of those seals on your shoulders."

Darui increased the size of the sieve and allowed more natural energy to flood his system. He almost couldn't see with how obscuring his armor was becoming. Still, the blue-white lightning of his enemy had faded entirely and was now a white-gold glow. There was nothing man-shaped about it now. An entity of pure chakra that rumbled at him.

"I had to _outsource_ ," Bolt ranted. "But even then I still couldn't use natural chakra. I won't ever be able to conjure your fancy black lightning, or even Kakashi's purple lightning. Instead, I created something much better."

The white-gold glow took on an ethereal, almost holy, quality. Darui knew that their next clash would be their last, either way. He couldn't afford to give anything less than his absolute maximum. Steeling himself, Darui turned off the safety restrictions on the seals on his shoulders. Natural energy flooded his body and fueled an even more powerful Black Lightning Armor—its second and most powerful level of activation.

"You must know, Raikage, what the most powerful lightning of all is? You grew up in the Land of Lightning, after all," Bolt remarked. "It's not the stray bolts from the clouds you have to watch out for—it's the strikes from the anvil of the storm itself!"

Darui grit his teeth and steeled himself as his armor ramped up. Because he did know. The most powerful lightning of all brimmed in the anvil of the thunderhead, stretching above the storm itself, capable of launching strikes of horizontal lightning across the sky for miles.

Not just natural lightning— _positive_ natural lightning.

The white-gold luminance of his form was blinding in its intensity. Like gazing into the sun on a clear afternoon. It seared his eyes. Darui looked away. His skin began to gray as it was ever so slowly petrified.

"It's impossible to control it completely, you know? It's too much power, even for me. Once I release it, I have no say!" Bolt raged.

Darui shifted the petrification to his left arm. He needed his body to be in peak condition for the exchange that was to come. If that meant sacrificing his left arm, then so be it. The rock beneath his feet glowed cherry-red as it melted.

"Don't underestimate the Raikage, brat!" Darui roared. His arm cracked as it turned to solid stone.

Time yawned and slowed until it stopped completely.

" **Wrath of the Thunder God!"** Bolt rumbled, speaking from everywhere and nowhere.

Bolt moved.

Darui moved.

The world was painted white and gold.

A crack of thunder so loud reverberated in his skull that Darui would not have been surprised to learn that the very continent had been torn asunder.

Still, he moved.

Something passed through him—by him.

Pain coursed through Darui.

Then the world was painted black.

* * *

Darui coughed as he opened his eyes.

Death was very different than he thought it would be. He managed to drag himself to his feet. The scene that greeted him was something apocalyptic. A painting from one of the old ninja monks' books of scripture.

The very city of Cloud, his home, had been cleaved in two and had its corpse incinerated. An unfathomably deep slash marred the earth, cutting through hundreds, _thousands_ , of feet of stone. The rock—what little was not molten—once a soothing brown-gray, was now charred and blackened. Far, far below, Darui could see the ocean surging into the wound that marred his home. Smoke rose from buildings that had been melted down to slag or otherwise turned to ash. An echoing crack broke the silence that the very world seemed to hold in honor of the Hidden Cloud's fate. Darui watched, helpless, as the entire crag that the eastern half of his village was built upon fell into the ocean.

Darui was struck dumb. An unfathomably hot rage in his belly warred with a chilling sorrow in his chest.

"This... this is a deathblow," Darui mumbled to himself under his breath. "He killed a _city._ "

As the Raikage, he could not allow such blasphemy to go unpunished. If Bolt was alive, Hokage be damned, Darui was going to murder him. He wandered through his once-city. The destruction was... unfathomable. There would be no rebuilding Cloud.

Darui found him, then, at the farthest reaches of the destruction. He smiled. For the brat's crimes he had been horribly charred and burned. It was an incomprehensibly small reparation for what Bolt had done to his village. Darui approached him, limping, his last arm raised as lightning danced through his fingers.

"It's over," Darui intoned wearily. "The Akatsuki... is done. With your death, there will be peace."

With his remaining strength, Darui threw his hand forward.

Something sharp and biting connected with his neck.

Darui fell to his knees, collapsing, as his last attack dissipated. Strength, but not awareness, fled his body.

The masked Yagami girl from Mist loomed over him.

"You—Omoi," Darui slurred. His mind felt warm and muddled.

"You killed my father," Yagami said, her tone as cold as ice as she placed her boot over his heart. "Die."

She pressed her foot down.

The world was painted black again, only this time, dotted by countless small fires that yawned into eternity.

* * *

"Bolt," Hikari breathed, kneeling beside him. She discarded her mask. "Come on. Don't do this to me."

Her hands glowed with the green light of the Mystic Palm. She ran her hands up and down his charred body, breathing a tense but relieved sigh as she found his heart still beating. Hikari wet her fingers with her own blood and summoned another of her jellyfish. It, like its sibling, gurgled a wordless cry and began its work. Hikari helped it along where she could. Bolt moaned pitifully.

"You bastard," Hikari hissed under her breath. "This was not part of the plan."

A chattering sound echoed from somewhere within the destroyed city. A corpse, its wiring and mangled metal legs dangling behind it, crawled forth. "Tsuchigumo," Hikari breathed. "Get us out of here. Bolt needs serious medical—"

A roar echoed over Cloud. Unfathomably loud, the ground trembled.

Hikari looked up.

In the distance, a great pink-red monstrosity loomed. Half bull, half octopus, with eight swishing tentacles. It lowered its head, maw parted, as a sphere of black began to coalesce between its bared teeth.

"Tsuchigumo!" Hikari screamed.

The bomb thundered towards them. Hikari could do nothing but watch and wait. She closed her eyes. Only when she felt the disorientating feeling of the human summoning technique did she dare breathe a sigh of relief.

* * *

" _Ladies and gentlemen," a stone-faced newsman intoned. "Tonight, I bring the world grave news. The Hidden Cloud, one of the Great Five, has been destroyed, in what many are calling the Sack of Cloud. As of this time, the death toll is unknown. However, it has been confirmed that among the dead was the Fifth Raikage. The Akatsuki's leader, Pain, has claimed responsibility for the attack, in retaliation for the capture of the as-of-yet unnamed member of the Akatsuki taken by the Union nearly two months ago..."_

* * *

 **A/N:**

And thus the slide down the slope begins.

Make no mistake, Bolt is the villain. An anti-villain, perhaps, and the hero of his own story, but a villain nonetheless. He is supposed to be a polarizing character; either you tolerate him for his willingness to commit evil for the greater good, or you hate him for it. That many of you find Bolt detestable is something I'm glad for, because _that's how you're supposed to see him as._ He is the personification of "the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

You know, I just realized, we never see a single Akatsuki vs. Tailed Beast battle aside from Pain vs. Nine-Tails and Kisame vs. Eight-Tails. The others are all off-screened. And now I know why. Writing epic battles is hard. The Two-Tails might not be very important in the grand scheme of things, but I hope I managed to portray all characters' involved power levels. Kagami and Kagari aren't quite at the level that they can take a Tailed Beast on their own and Tetsu, despite having the chakra and experience to, lacks the equipment to do so.

Re: Wrath of the Thunder God — the simple explanation is that it works by Bolt's seal operating on the concept of photosynthesis. Bolt himself can't use natural energy in the same way that humans cannot use sunlight to attain their energy needs. Instead, Bolt gets his (natural) energy needs in a more readily available and easily usable form: natural, and in his case, _positive,_ lightning. Like Sasuke's Kirin, he outsources the generation of lightning and simply controls it with his own chakra. The seal on his chest, therefore, acts as a portable thunderstorm. _**It is not a technique that will be seen very often, if at all.**_ I like to think that I handle "ultimate" techniques rather well, like Rasenshinsei, where they are only used when absolutely needed. Think of it as more of a plot device. The ramifications of which will be revealed next chapter.

 **On that note...** anyone got ideas for the name of Bolt's Cursed Seal? I was going to go with "of the Storm," or "of the Tempest." But, ya know... those are pretty generic.


	79. Chapter 79

**A/N:** Double chapter release! Make sure you read chapter 78 first!

* * *

" _... in retaliation for the capture of the as-of-yet unnamed member of the Akatsuki taken by the Union nearly two months ago..."_

Naruto muted the broadcast and turned to face the assembled task force. His eyes roamed over each of them before falling on Orochimaru and Mitsuki. Now... now he couldn't lie to himself any longer. He didn't know who his son was anymore. He didn't know if he even had a son still. All the same, Naruto could no longer stand idly by—as both the Hokage and a father.

"Will it work?" Naruto asked.

Orochimaru smiled. "That depends entirely on you," the Sannin hissed.

Naruto frowned, turning back to the broadcast, which now showed a panorama of what remained of Cloud. Ay had returned to the village and assumed the post of interim Raikage. He, along with Bee, were overseeing the defense of the city and the relocation of its people.

He had to do something.

"Do it," Naruto commanded.

* * *

Hibiki slept fitfully, as he always did. He never had enough time—or comfort, for that matter—to sleep deeply. He was tortured from without and within; his tormentors destroying his body and his mind fearfully warring with itself that at any moment it could break and betray Bolt. But Hibiki would not break. Would never break. He swore it.

He had endured more than any man had any right to. They had taken a knife to him, first. Cuts and gashes. Then they flayed skin, peppered him with salt, and sewed him back together. That agony lasted weeks as the salt dissolved. Then they had to move on to more creative tortures. He was placed in a room, small and dark, whose floors and walls were rough and gritty. They moved slowly, at an easy pace to keep up with. But they never stopped. Hibiki had to slow, eventually. To eat, to drink, to sleep. When he did, the sandpaper walls ate at his body.

But they couldn't keep him there long. That single thought kept Hibiki strong. They couldn't let him die. He was too valuable. The only source of information on the Akatsuki, on Bolt. Hibiki wouldn't break. He swore it. He screamed it. That only made his tormentors grow more determined. Then they improvised. Splinters of wood were inserted beneath his finger and toenails. They took clippers to his teeth, chipping them.

Still, Hibiki would not break.

Consciousness, unfortunately, returned to him. He didn't bother moving. It took more energy than he had to give. His body was a mangled wreck. His pale skin was covered with angry crisscrossed white-pink scars. They ached whenever he moved. The bald, scarred man took great pleasure in his knifework. He would have made a fine butcher in another life, Hibiki thought.

The sound of the rusty hinges of the door echoed through his cell. Hibiki suppressed a groan. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He would endure. He would. Hibiki swore it. He opened his eyes. It wasn't the bald man. No, it was someone much worse.

The Hokage.

Hibiki shied away from the mass of black-red hate and anger and aggression and rage and sorrow and lonely and—he whimpered as the foul chakra grew even closer. He could practically feel its taint upon his skin. The Hokage was like a star, only inverse. He, or the thing within, radiated chakra that eclipsed all others in quantity. But not light, like a star, but a smoky darkness. Like a candle that had been snuffed out in a dark room. There was a malice there, a hatred burning like an ember of a long-dead fire.

The Hokage was the single most repulsive being Hibiki had ever had the displeasure of sensing. He couldn't even sense the man's natural chakra beneath what he knew _had_ to be the Tailed Beast's chakra. Hibiki refused to believe that a man could ever come to possess chakra as foul as that of the Nine-Tails.

A low, gravelly chuckle made Hibiki open his eyes. He saw the visage of another creature, though less foul in nature, one that he hoped he would never see again. Orochimaru of the Sannin.

But that was impossible. Bolt killed Orochimaru. Hibiki was sure of it. "You're supposed to be dead," he protested.

Orochimaru laughed but said nothing. The Hokage stood back as the Sannin approached him with a handful of familiar supplies; a brush, an inkwell, and a scroll. Hibiki relaxed. "A seal won't work," he told them.

"We shall see," Orochimaru hissed. The snake paralyzed him with a quick tap of the fingers; a medical ninjutsu, Hibiki thought. Orochimaru wet the brush with the fūinjutsu ink and began to paint swirling, archaic characters.

Hibiki smiled to himself. Bolt was a much better master of fūinjutsu than the snake was. He was sure of it. Whatever Orochimaru was trying to do, it would fail. But Hibiki knew one thing: this visit was highly irregular. The Hokage personally visiting a prisoner? With a formerly deceased and highly dangerous war criminal?

That could only mean one thing. They were setting him free. And that meant the seal on his belly was either a way to track him—which their hideout would be defended against—or a way to kill him and whoever summoned him. Given that Bolt was the son of the Hokage and that it was highly likely he could be caught in the attack... Hibiki didn't think the Hokage was that callous.

So it was a tracking seal of some kind. Hibiki actually did smile that time. He was going home, to see his Bolt, and there was nothing the Union could do to stop him. He would not break. He had not broken. His day would be even better if the roiling mass of red-black hatred would stop staring intently at him. Hibiki focused on glaring at Orochimaru. An entirely unnatural chakra, his was, but at least it wasn't demonic.

Orochimaru finished creating his seal and activated with a miniscule application of his chakra. Hibiki winced as he felt the foreign chakra invade his system. He quickly isolated and contained it, thought it wouldn't stop the seal from functioning.

The Sannin hissed approvingly. "A shame," Orochimaru said. "I lost one talented sensor in your little group's attack. It would be so easy to break you and add you to my collection."

"I would never serve you," Hibiki stated flatly.

Orochimaru eyed his broken, mangled body, then shrugged. "It would appear so," he chuckled.

The Hokage and Orochimaru shared a single glance. Bolt's father nodded and signalled someone to the side that Hibiki couldn't see. Then they fled the room, locked the door, and left him to his own devices.

Hibiki smiled to himself smugly and waited.

A few hours later he felt the distinct tug at his navel that heralded the human summoning technique. Hibiki laughed as he was whisked away back to safety, back to his "friends," and most importantly... back to Bolt.

Hibiki coughed as he took a gasping breath and inhaled a mouthful of acrid chakra smoke. He wheazed, laughed, and cried. His senses immediately began to ping his companions. Hikari, cautiously approaching him; Tsuchigumo, in the lower levels, likely one of his labs; Tetsu and Kagari were in the medical bay, their chakra low and fluctuating; Kagami was sleeping in her room, Hibiki thought; and Bolt... he was... wounded? He frowned. Bolt's chakra was low and restless, the honed quality of it dulled.

"Hibiki?" Hikari called out, stalking forward, a fistful of throwing needles in one hand. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she saw him. Hikari knelt beside him, hands glowing with green chakra, as she checked him over. Then her eyes caught sight of the seal on his belly. "Tsuchigumo! I need you in here!"

"I didn't—" Hibiki slurred through sobs and coughs. "I didn't—I didn't! Bolt..."

"Shush," Hikari commanded. "You'll be fine. Don't talk. Save your energy."

"Bolt!" Hibiki insisted. "What happened to him?"

"He is stable," Hikari answered, her lips pressed into a thin line. "He's wounded. While you were gone, Bolt and I attacked Cloud and Tetsu, Kagami, and Kagari captured the Two-Tails. I think that's why they let you go."

Hibiki threw his head back and laughed. Hikari frowned at him, hands running over his body as she checked him for injuries. Tsuchigumo shambled into the room, white lab coat billowing behind him.

"Seal," Hikari said, simply, pointing at him.

Tsuchigumo prodded at him with one warm hand and one cold prosthetic hand. "Tracking seal," Tsuchigumo mumbled. "Very advanced. Very accurate."

"Do we have a problem?" Hikari asked tersely.

Tsuchigumo shook his head. "No," the puppeteer answered. "The barrier should filter all incoming and outgoing chakra signatures. Just in case, I'll put it into lockdown."

Hikari nodded. "Please," she said.

Tsuchigumo scurried off. Hibiki laughed, still not believing he was safe and returned, simply living in the moment. No more pain. No more pressure. He hadn't broken. He hadn't cracked. He had remained loyal and faithful. Surely, _surely,_ Bolt would reward him for his sacrifice. Hibiki smiled.

Hikari placed a hand over his forehead. With a single finger, aflame with green-colored chakra, she tapped him. Hibiki felt his body go still, rigid, and numb. She picked him up as if he weighed nothing, carrying him carefully, and quickly descended into the bowels of the mountain. Hibiki could count the steps as they moved to the medical bay. His sensory ability pinged Tetsu and Kagari in greater depth and focus. Kagari was wounded, physically, he thought, and Tetsu was mostly fine save for a near chakra exhaustion. Their battle against the Two-Tails was one he wouldn't mind hearing. It would make for a good song.

"I'm sorry," Hikari said. "If there was any way we could have rescued you sooner, we would have done it. Bolt was going insane trying to pressure the Union into releasing you."

Hibiki would have preened if he had been able to move. Instead, he stiffly smiled as Hikari pushed open the door to the medical bay with her foot and laid him down upon one of the numerous beds. Tetsu looked up from where he had been sitting, clearly surprised to see him, before the swordsman steeled his expression. Kagari was asleep—more likely unconscious—and heavily bandaged.

"With the destruction of the Universal Healer, out downtime is going to be significant," Hikari was saying. "Most of our team needs to rest and heal, so we won't be acting as the Akatsuki for some time. I'll be doing my best to patch us all up, but my medical training was geared towards taking bodies apart, not putting them together."

Hibiki nodded sluggishly as Hikari hooked him up to a handful of machines. "I'm going to put you under," she said. "You'll be in less pain when you wake up."

Hibiki nodded and closed his eyes as his mind and body grew warm and tired.

When he awoke, it was to soul-crushing panic. Hibiki screamed loud enough to wake the dead. "Sound the alarm!"

He didn't know how long he had been unconscious. It could have been hours or days and Hibiki wouldn't have known. Tetsu sat bolt upright, hand flying for his sword. Even Kagari, who looked like the long-dead mummified kings of the Land of Wind, woke with a start.

Hibiki started to panic. His breaths came short and quick as a mass of black-red hate approached their hideout at great speed. He began to claw at the seal branded on his belly. They must have—must have somehow gotten it to work. "Sound the—" Hibiki cried, only for his words to be lost to the wail of their hideouts alarm system.

"What are we dealing with?" Tetsu demanded. He had drawn his sword and was manning the door to the medical bay.

"The... the Hokage," Hibiki answered in utter terror.

The Hokage was circling the mountain, looking for a way to breach the barrier. He would find it, soon, Hibiki knew.

"Hibiki!" Tetsu barked. He looked up. "Alert the others!"

"Right," Hibiki mumbled. "Right."

He reached out, sensing where everyone was. A few quick hand signs and Hibiki connected the Akatsuki to the astral communication network. _"The Hokage and a large force of powerful ninja are attempting to breach our defenses,"_ he told Hikari, Tsuchigumo, Kagami, and the barely lucid Kagari. Miles and miles away, he felt Hidan and Yasuo still as his message reached them.

Hikari swore with a mental shout. _"I'm waking Bolt up,"_ she told them. _"Tsuchigumo! Prepare us for evac!"_

Even before she had finished speaking, an army of puppets filed into the medical bay. A large burly, armored puppet scooped up Kagari and ferried her off. Others began to collect medical supplies. Like a plague of locusts they descended and carried off everything that wasn't bolted to the floor.

Hibiki felt Bolt awaken as his chakra thrummed to life with a tangible power. He shivered. Hibiki felt when Bolt had been made aware of the situation; it was in the way his chakra sharpened to a honed edge. _"Tsuchigumo, get us out of here! Anywhere is fine!"_ Bolt barked orders.

" _I already tried,"_ Tsuchigumo said. _"There is an anti-summoning barrier surrounding the mountain."_

Bolt screamed in anger that sent negative feedback through their astral telecommunications. _"Fuck! Alright. Okay. Prepare us for evac to the Eye,"_ their leader commanded.

" _I already am,"_ Tsuchigumo answered.

Just then, three puppets obviously designed for combat burst into the room. Two shambled over to Hibiki and helped him stand while the other gestured for him and Tetsu to follow. They did. Just then, Hibiki felt the barrier come down. _"They're in!"_ Hibiki cried, struggling against the two puppets as they hurdled down the hall.

As the two of them entered the main chamber in the center of the mountain. A veritable army of puppets was arriving with supplies of all manner. They stood in formation, waiting. Around the edge of the room, great spider-like puppets stood scrolls taller and broader than most trees on their ends. The puppets unfurled what must have been miles of parchment.

Opposite them, Bolt was dragged into the room by Hikari. Hibiki felt his stomach drop into his boots. His Bolt... Hibiki could see the burns, even beneath the bandages. He looked like a steak that had been poorly cooked and badly charred. Hibiki looked around. None of them, save for Hikari and Kagami, were truly in any condition to fight.

Bolt pushed Hikari away as he nervously cast a glance around the room. "Hibiki, how much time do we have?"

Hibiki, warily, turned his mind's eye back towards the Hokage and his entourage. "Not long. A minute, maybe two," he answered.

Bolt nodded, panic contorting his features for but a moment before they smoothed out peacefully. He was resigned, Hibiki realized. Bolt cupped his hands and, in a wisp of smoke, withdrew several of his possessions from the storage seal on his forearm. A single ring, five masks, and a single scroll. He gave them to Hikari.

"Take these," Bolt said. His tone was low, quiet, intimate, even.

Hikari protested weakly, raising both hands defensively.

"We planned for this, remember," Bolt told her. She relented and accepted. Bolt then removed his own ring from his right thumb and withdrew another mask, one that Hibiki hadn't seen before, and passed them to Hikari.

"My Lord?" Tetsu asked warily.

Bolt took a step back as Hikari sealed the rings, masks, and scroll away. He cleared his throat. "Hikari will assume the mantle as Pain, leader of the Akatsuki, in my absence," Bolt told them. "Obey her commands as if they were my own."

Hibiki struggled against his bonds as he realized what Bolt meant. "No!" he gasped.

Katasuke barreled into the room, arms full of scrolls, gasping for breath. Bolt nodded to the man. "I will buy the rest of you time for evacuation to the Eye. This is the way it has to be. The Union... played their hand well," he said.

A puppet, thin and gangly, approached Bolt and draped his arm over its shoulders. He could barely stand on his own and he was going to fight his father and friends so that they could flee. "No! You don't stand a chance!" Hibiki cried, elbowing one of the puppets carrying him in the face.

"I'm sorry, Hibiki. This wasn't your fault," Bolt said. Then he turned and began to limp away.

As the puppet carried Bolt from the room, an army of puppets dragged a large, oversized tea kettle and a pot into the room. Once they were in the center of the room, Tsuchigumo knelt and slammed a palm to the ground. Dancing characters and lines, red-orange and inky black, flowed from the scrolls surrounding them like a river.

"No—" Hibiki protested weakly.

His world faded to black as something struck him from behind.

* * *

Sarada followed the Hokage into the mountain.

She didn't dare use her Mangekyō. Not because it would deteriorate her vision. No, because she feared what it would show her. She didn't want to taint whatever happened next with Omoikane and its foreknowledge.

The Hokage came to a stop ahead of their group. "Contact," he whispered. "A few hundred feet."

Sarada tensed and steeled herself. Behind her, she knew, the others did too. Sarada expected a fight. Bolt was the very definition of struggle; against the authorities, against his family, _for_ his family.

What she didn't expect is exactly what she found.

The task force emerged from the underground tunnel they had entered and into a large subterranean cavern. It was crude, obviously natural, and poorly lit, save for the orange-yellow glow of the Hokage.

Sarada twitched as the glow illuminated two people at the far side of the cavern. She thought it was the puppeteer, at first, because one of the two people was a thin, gangly puppet that held the other upright. Upon closer inspection, peering through bandages and disheveled clothes, there was no one with that shade of blue eyes in the Akatsuki except for Bolt. He was barely recognizable. His skin, what little showed, was an angry pink-red color. It was cracked, like dried mud, and charred. Sarada shied away as her Sharingan etched into her memory every scar and burn.

Bolt could barely stand, let alone fight. She relaxed and felt their group breathe a collective sigh. The two sides stared each other down and, Sarada couldn't help but feel, that Bolt—wounded, alone, and besieged—wasn't afraid to meet them in battle if he had to. Behind her, someone threw a kunai. It struck the puppet he leaned against with such force that it was shattered and destroyed. Her Sharingan saw his lips move in an inaudible yelp. Bolt reached out, steadying himself on the wall with an arm, before limping over to a boulder and taking a seat.

"That was rude," Bolt wheezed before coughing once, then twice.

Himawari stepped forward, fists balled, presumably to capture her brother. She was stopped by the Hokage as he raised an arm and gestured for her—for all of them—to stay back. Father and son stared each other down, neither blinking or speaking.

"Why?" the Hokage asked, his single question thick with emotion.

"... You wouldn't understand," Bolt muttered tersely.

The Hokage made that singularly unique noise of disbelief where one exhales through their nose loudly. "You—you! You haven't even—you don't even try to communicate! You—I just! You shouldn't have ran, Bolt! We could have worked something out! I wouldn't have let you go to prison!"

Bolt snorted in derision. "My friends went to prison though, didn't they? We didn't even do anything wrong," he said.

"You attacked one of the Great Five! Basically declared war! What were we supposed to do? Give them a slap on the wrist?" Naruto demanded.

"Cloud was in the wrong," Bolt countered. "The mercenaries didn't do anything wrong. They did exactly what generations of war and training bred them to be. You can't just take away their profession and expect them to roll over and die. Eiji was a friend and a mentor when I need both most in my life. I wasn't going to let him die without a fight."

"That—okay, that doesn't excuse what you did, but I get that! But that doesn't explain—explain all of this!" Naruto waved his hands around, gesturing everywhere and nowhere.

"Like I said," Bolt grumbled. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me!" Naruto demanded.

Father and son stared at each other once more. Sarada look back and forth between them. She, too, wanted answers.

"... This world, it was your dream," Bolt shrugged. "And your dream was wrong. How could I tell you that? How could I make you believe me? How could I make you see the truth? Our society is slowly crumbling all around us. You and Master Sasuke are the only people holding things together. When you two die, the ninja world will fall right back into its old habits. You've only delayed the inevitable."

Bolt paused and every single person held their breath.

"What I do? I do for the sake of the future. For global order and stability. For peace. A lasting peace that will herald the dawn of a new era," Bolt told them all.

"Bolt... that's—that's not how it has to be, at all! We entrust the next generation to carry on our work. You, Sarada, and Himawari were all powerful enough to be the next Hokage! You could have kept the peace!" Naruto exclaimed.

"Maybe," Bolt admitted. "But what about after we die? Are we supposed to entrust the next generation continue our work then, too? And the generation after them? You have blind faith that every generation will continue your peace? You have only to look across this room to see the proof that that delusion is false."

"That's the Will of Fire, Bolt. So long as there is a single person with that ember burning, the Will of Fire will never die. Even you can't extinguish that," the Hokage declared proudly.

Bolt quirked an eyebrow. "Who said I wanted to extinguish the Will of Fire? On the contrary, I want to stoke it," he said. "You think the Will of Fire belongs solely to you, and that's why you'll lose in the end. It's not a strength—it's a weakness. The people of this land will unite behind the Will of Fire, as they've always done, but it won't be in opposition of me. It will be in _support_ of me. You're the Hokage, so tell me. How much has your mission requests declined since my Revolution? Hmm?"

The Hokage remained quiet. Sarada tore her eyes away from Bolt to look at him.

"Let me tell you: you've lost hundreds—maybe thousands. Am I right? The only missions the Leaf gets is ones to attack my Revolution or have Academy students fetch cats. My message resonates with the people. It's even starting to reach the ears of your ninja. Everyone knows our society is rotten but nobody is willing to do anything about. Nobody except me. That's why I'm disappointed in you, Dad," Bolt said.

Sarada saw the Hokage visibly recoil as if struck.

"You're the strongest person I know. The strongest ninja born in... hundreds of years. You had—have—the power to do real, lasting good. At the end of the Fourth War, you could've asked for anything you wanted and the world would have had no choice but to give it to you. You could've conquered the world. It would have been so easy for you to unite the world, once and for all, and bring peace to the entire continent as long as you lived," Bolt said.

Sarada could tell his words cut like a knife.

"Then your precious Will of Fire might've worked. But you squandered that opportunity for... what? I don't even know," Bolt shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

"That was Sasuke's answer, too, you know?" Naruto protested. "Do you know what his plan was? He was going to be the world's enemy—for eternity. Is that what you want to be, Bolt?"

Bolt rolled his eyes. "See? You don't understand. Once somebody wins, the fighting will end. When the ninja world is unified, when everyone believes in the Will of Fire, there will be no one left to fight. In the same way that no ninja of the Leaf would ever turn on another, so too will no citizen of our new society turn on their brother or sister. And I—and the Akatsuki, or whatever our peacekeeping organization calls itself, if necessary—will be there to ensure peace reigns supreme."

The Hokage shook his head, at a loss for words. Sarada ignored the dark recesses of her mind where she admitted to herself that Bolt's idea had merit.

"Why... why you?" Naruto asked.

Sarada could hear the Hokage's heartbreak.

"Who else but me? Who saw the problems plaguing our world and took a stand to put an end to them? Who else was willing to cast aside their friends, their family, and their home? Who else was willing to wage a war to bring peace? It _had_ to be me. Someone else would have gotten it wrong," Bolt stated with absolute conviction.

"I... I don't know who you are anymore, son," Naruto said, his heart in his throat.

Bolt actually had the audacity to laugh. Sarada frowned at him.

"Perhaps you were expecting some surprise, for me to reveal a secret that had eluded you, something that would change your perspective of events, shatter you to your core. There is no great revelation, no great secret. There is only me. People don't change, Dad. Your enemies have always been weak at heart. A few words and they bend before you. Not me. I know who I am," Bolt sneered.

There was a rumbling above them that echoed through the mountain and shook the stone beneath their feet.

"Damn," Himawari swore, beside her. "The rest of them just disappeared!"

The rumbling stopped. Bolt stood. "We're done here," he said. "Let's finish this."

Sarada tensed as she felt her skin break out with goosebumps and her hair stood on end. Arcs of electricity began to crackle to life all around them. Still, the Hokage gestured for them to stay back.

"I'm sorry, Bolt," Naruto said. "I've... failed you as a father."

It happened so fast that Sarada would have had to use her Mangekyō to see what happened. In an instant, Bolt was encased in a sphere of inky darkness before he could even move, before he could even activate his Lightning Armor.

The Hokage gestured with his right hand and the sphere containing Bolt rose and trailed after him. "I'm taking him back to the Leaf," he told them. "Secure the area. The Union will want to have a team scour the mountain."

Orochimaru and Kohaku pasted some tags on the makeshift prison.

Just like that, it was over.

To Sarada, it didn't feel like they had won at all.

* * *

Hikari marveled at the world around her even as her heart betrayed her with an aching pain that threatened to send her to her knees. She couldn't think about Bolt. Not right now. She had to have faith. They had spent countless sleepless nights planning for every possible scenario. She just had to have faith.

Instead, she gazed around in wonder.

"What is this place?" Kagari mumbled in a daze as she and her sister spun around, eying their surroundings.

"This," Katasuke declared proudly, gesturing around with an armful of scrolls. "Is the Eye of the Storm! A collaboration between Young Master Bolt, Tsuchigumo, and I!"

It was like something from a fairy tale. An endless, sprawling expanse of rolling green hills and ponds of water as clean and clear as crystal. Before them loomed a fortress, or a castle. It was ornate and elaborate in its construction. All white-gray stone towers and walls. Built obviously as a display of wealth and grandeur, of authority and power. It was... not an office, that sounded too childish. It was a seat of power. A place where someone important would govern a country. That's what it reminded Hikari of. Above them, the sky was a beautiful shade of blue, dotted with clouds as white as snow, and beyond even that, a purple-black expanse of nothing that yawned for an eternity. Hikari could see white-purple chains of chakra snaking through the "sky," even farther above that.

"Where... are we? Exactly?" Kagami asked.

"Well," Katasuke preened, pushing his glasses up his nose. Hikari turned to listen to him. "The _where_ is a bit hard to explain. We should, if the calculations were correct—which we have every reason to believe—be somewhere between the fourth and fifth dimensions."

Katasuke said it like he was a proud father doting on his child's achievement. Hikari, and the others, stared blankly at him.

"Oh, shit," Kagari breathed. "Oh, no. I fucking knew it. I fucking told you Bolt was going to kill us with his bullshit fūinjutsu!"

"Oh, it is quite safe! We assume. Almost assuredly," Katasuke declared with a smile.

"Katasuke," Hikari cut the Akiyama sisters off before they could panic. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Katasuke bristled happily. "Think of like this: when you draw something on a piece of paper, say, a stick figure, they exist in that two dimensional space on the paper. To them, that is their entire reality. They cannot imagine, let alone perceive, that their creators, beings like us, exist in an entirely separate third dimension. But, to us, we are able to freely interact and alter that two dimensional world we created. The Eye of the Storm functions on the same principle. We exist somewhere between the fourth and fifth dimensions in a space of localized reality made possible with fūinjutsu. The only threat we face is from local fourth or fifth dimensional entities. Of which, after numerous experiments, we have deduced to either not exist or have no interest in lower dimensional beings like ourselves!"

"Oh, God," Kagami and Kagari uttered, in horror, as one. "I'm going to be sick."

From the way Tetsu was frowning thunderously, Hikari could tell he wasn't entirely comfortable being... here, either. She wished Bolt would have told her—and the rest of them—about the Eye instead of springing it upon them when they had no other choice but to be human guinea pigs. Still, this world was something Bolt had a hand in creating. She would trust her life in his hands. So, too, would she trust in the Eye of the Storm.

"It really is quite a fascinating technique," Katasuke continued on, heedless of the others' discomfort. "Bolt and Tsuchigumo have absolutely outdone themselves, I must say! Space-time fūinjutsu are especially dangerous. One small miscalculation and... snip, you're lost in some pit of localized space between the ninth and tenth dimensions for eternity!"

Kagami and Kagari began to sob. "You're not helping your case here, doctor," Hikari told him.

Katasuke looks to the Akiyama sisters. "Ah, well, yes. I suppose, to some, it may be frightening. But I assure you! We are perfectly safe! We would know by now if we weren't. And, really, the Eye was designed by the Young Master to be a haven to the Akatsuki—or whatever organization keeps the peace in the future—for now and all time. It also functions as the prison for the Tailed Beasts! Quite ingenious, if I do say so myself," the doctor professed.

"How?" Tetsu rumbled in question. He and Hikari watched as an army of puppets began to ferry the supplies they had brought with them into the castle. The only thing not carried away were the vessels containing the One and Two-Tails.

"Well! You didn't think a place like this existed for free, did you? It requires a quite large quantity of chakra to merely exist in this plane of dimension!" Katasuke exclaimed. "The Young Master fronted the bulk of the chakra needed to initially create the Eye, but it is the Tailed Beasts that will fuel us for the foreseen future. Which is why we will be needing to seal them away immediately, should we not wish for very unfortunate things to befall us. Coincidentally, the Eye's unique location also serves as the perfect prison!"

Kagami and Kagari—who were sobbing that they were all going to die and be erased by some fifth dimensional toddler—stared at Katasuke with wide eyes as he confirmed that they could, in fact, die, if they did not seal away the One and Two-Tails.

"Explain," Hikari demanded with a smirk at the two sisters' antics.

Katasuke coughed and cleared his throat. "Well," he began, walking over to a nearby lake, cupping his hands, and filling them with water. "This one... is slightly more difficult to explain. You see, space is... well, we presumed it to be completely empty. Of both matter and energy! But, in reality, it is not! Space has an inherent energy—the least amount of energy possible that we know of, true, but energy all the same."

At this, Katasuke gestured at them with his hands. The water within sloshed. Hikari nodded for him to continue.

"Well, you see, things in this world tend to always gravitate towards their lowest energy state. An absolute minimum, if you will. Sometimes, however, they reach what is not an _absolute_ minimum, but a _local_ minimum! In order for a local minimum to move and become an absolute minimum, sometimes, energy must be added. For example, wood may be reduced to ash, but it must be first set aflame!" Katasuke proclaimed happily.

"What the Young Master and I devised as a prison for the Tailed Beasts works on the same principle, however, merely using _space_ instead of _wood_. You see, the Akatsuki will seal the Tailed Beasts in a pocket dimension of space with a controlled energy state. The seal used will siphon their chakra from them for eternity to keep the Eye anchored. However, should someone ever try to connect to the dimension in which the Tailed Beasts are sealed, well..." Katasuke trailed off. Then, suddenly, he shook his hands. The water he had cupped between his palms spilled over his hands and fell to the grass beneath their feet.

"If my hands were the dimension, and the Tailed Beasts were the water, and the intruder was the shaking of my hands, well, the dimension they are sealed within would fall from its local minimum state of energy to its absolute minimum state of energy. You get the idea?" Katasuke asked.

Hikari stared at the drops of rapidly vanishing water. "Sort of," she admitted. In truth, listening to Katasuke made her head hurt. He was almost as bad as Bolt when he tried to explain fūinjutsu to her.

"What happens to the Tailed Beasts?" Tetsu asked, surprising Hikari, as he gestured at the fallen water.

"Well, rather like a piece of firewood burning to ash... the event of an intruder attempting to rescue or take the Tailed Beasts for their own would unleash a truly incomprehensible quantity of energy. They—and probably much of whatever dimension the intrusion originates from—would probably be obliterated. As for the Tailed Beasts, well, no one really knows. It is the hope of the Young Master and I that the pocket dimension continues to exist in its absolute minimum energy state where the Tailed Beast would reconstitute itself. Due to the change in energy state, the pocket dimension, like the spilled water, would be forever lost," Katasuke explained.

Kagami and Kagari were screaming. "Shut up!" Hikari barked.

Katasuke beamed at them. "Not to worry! We are almost assuredly safe, here in the Eye," he declared.

Hikari sighed, physical and emotional exhaustion setting in. She walked over to where Hibiki lay, whom she had knocked unconscious so that they could flee, and knelt. She woke him with a prod and an application of chakra that cancelled the technique keeping him asleep. Hibiki woke with a start. "Calm down," Hikari told him. "We're safe."

"—Bolt!" Hibiki whimpered.

"Bolt is alive, but captured," Hikari told him, grabbing him by the collar of his robes. "Right now, we're his best chance at escaping Union custody. The best thing you can do to help him is to pull yourself together. Now, I need you to get our astral telecommunications up. I need to speak with Hidan and Yasuo. We'll need them."

Hibiki nodded, forming a hand sign. He paled, blanched as white as bone, and shuddered. "Oh, God," he uttered. "Where are—"

"We're safe," Hikari pressed. "Can you connect to them?"

Hibiki nodded. "They're far... so far, and the transmission will be rough, but yes," he said.

After a few moments, Hikari felt the connection form in her mind. _"Hidan. Yasuo. This is Hikari,"_ she spoke. _"I am assuming temporary command of the Akatsuki. We'll be sealing the One and Two-Tails shortly. Both of you will need to assist in the sealing."_

"— _Su—re—th—i—ng, bo—ss,"_ Yasuo said.

Hidan babbled something about his God. Hikari ignored it. After several minutes, the astral, iridescent bodies of Hidan and Yasuo appeared in the Eye. Tsuchigumo returned from the castle, his white hair wild, but a determined steel in his calculating eyes. Kagami and Kagari calmed enough to realize they needed to act if they were to continue taking shelter in the Eye. A handful of puppets maneuvered the One-Tail's vessel over to an arch of white stone at the end of the courtyard.

Hikari took a deep breath. She took a seat before the arch, the others mirroring her, and withdrew the scroll Bolt had given her from the storage seal on her palms. She checked, then again, that she had the hand signs correct. "The seals are as follows," she told them, contorting her hands. "Tiger, Snake, Rat, Ox, Dog, and... Ram."

Power welled within her, rushing in from her ring. Like a dam, Hikari tried to contain it. But she couldn't. She could only direct it. Into the arch, that glowed white-blue with fūinjutsu script, and release. "Sealing Technique: Phantom Dragons Nine Consuming Seals," Hikari breathed.

Nine spectral dragons of blue-white chakra emerged from the arch even as the space beneath it warped and folded in upon itself. They descended upon the vessel of the One-Tail and devoured it. Each of the dragons wove together, forming a single bubble of flaming blue-white energy, and began to suck a red-pink chakra from the tea kettle. The chakra of the Tailed Beast passed through one end of the arch but did not emerge from the other.

It disappeared, Hikari hoped, never to be seen again.

* * *

Naruto descended into the bowels of the office of the Hokage. His sphere, made of Truth-Seeking Orbs, followed him. There, in the deepest level, under the guard of his most powerful and loyal ANBU, would his son be imprisoned until such time that Naruto knew what to do with him. Sakura—and Tsunade, he was glad to see—were waiting for him. Bolt was wounded, that much was clear, and needed to be treated.

The "cell" that Kohaku had devised was a simply ten-by-ten room with countless thousands of inky black characters surrounding it on all sides. The seal emitted a unique orange color that Naruto found he quite liked. Its purpose was, as he understood it, the complete suppression and disruption of chakra.

Naruto guided the sphere of darkness inside the cell. "Octopus," he called.

"Yes, sir," his ANBU greeted him, appearing from the shadows.

"Throw a tag of sleeping gas into the cell," Naruto commanded.

Octopus did so in a mechnical, efficient manner. Naruto pressed a palm to the control seal on the outside of the cell and the entire thing glowed with orange-colored chakra. There was a ripple, a distortion, in the control of his chakra, that threatened to cause him to lose control of his Truth-Seeking Orbs. Naruto could tell that, if he fought against it, he would prevail. Instead, he simply let the sphere of black chakra dissipate to nothing. Bolt tumbled from his makeshift prison only for the tag of sleeping gas to detonate. His son stumbled and then collapsed into a mess of tangled limbs.

"Check him over, please," Naruto asked Sakura and Tsunade. "No one is to enter the cell or speak to the prisoner under any circumstances without my express permission and supervision," he added, more generally, for the ANBU.

Then he trudged up the stairs and headed for his office. Naruto breathed a weary sigh. The orange-yellow chakra that clung to him slowly faded. The last remnants of the empath sensing ability was lost with it. It always filled Naruto with a deep-seated sense of pessimism whenever he used that particular ability. There was just so much _bad_ in the world, even today. It was doubly worse because there was so much bad in people, in every person, even his friends. Even _him._

Confronting Bolt was even more heartbreaking because he could sense exactly how far gone his son really was. Naruto had sensed many people's inner darkness in his time as Hokage. But his son's... there was something rare about it. Unique, even. It was a single-minded darkness, ironclad in its strength, _righteous_ in its conviction. So sure of itself. Naruto had only very rarely sensed a darkness so... resolute, unyielding.

Not since Madara.

That thought made him shudder.

Maybe Bolt was right? Perhaps... perhaps some people simply couldn't be reasoned with. People didn't change; at their hearts, they would always be the same. Nagato... he had finally reached. But was Nagato really as evil as his deeds, or was he always good at heart? Obito, too, Naruto had managed to dispel of his inner darkness. Kurama, of course, the big furball, just needed a friend. Naruto harbored a small thought, a hope, that perhaps some day even Kaguya could be absolved. She had shed tears upon seeing her "grandsons" when he and Sasuke had fought her.

The only person who stayed true to their darkness until their final breath had been Madara.

Naruto fervently hoped that his son would not meet with the same fate. He collapsed into the chair behind his desk and gazed at the portraits of his predecessors with glazed eyes. The Hat was such a heavy thing. It didn't look it, but it was. Those who wore it were, inevitably, bowed by it. Naruto wondered if retiring in his forties was a possibility.

He sat there for a long time, licking his wounds, until he could sit still no longer. Today, Naruto decided, was a day he could excuse busting out the bottle of liquor Tsunade had gifted him upon taking the Hat. He had earned it, he thought. Confronting, capturing, and arresting... whoever his son had become. That was the hardest thing he had done since becoming the Hokage. Naruto poured himself a glass of the imported rice wine from the Land of Sound.

A knock at the door stopped him before he could take a sip. "Out of the way!" a gruff woman's voice echoed before he could so much as say a word.

Naruto smiled wryly as Tsunade barreled into his room. Sakura looked apologetic was the old woman did whatever she wanted. Tsunade took one look at him, the bottle of rice wine, and then produced two shot glasses from the folds of her robes. Naruto stared at her. "You just carry those around with you?" he asked incredulously.

"You bet," Tsunade said, reaching across his desk and stealing the bottle. She poured herself a drink, downed it, then poured another.

Sakura shyly sat down next to her teacher. "Perhaps you shouldn't drink so much," she commented.

"Bah," Tsunade snorted, on her third shot. Instead, she poured Sakura a glass. "The alcohol is the only thing keeping me alive, brat."

Naruto groaned and buried his face in his hands. A dark thought was born in the far reaches of his mind. Tsunade was getting older and older every passing year, though she didn't look it. It wouldn't be a surprise to anyone if she passed away soon. Shikamaru's words came back to him. _"Life has stopped giving us things and started taking them away."_

It was a little too close to home for Naruto. "So," he mused aloud. "What's the damage?"

Tsunade took another shot. "He should be dead," she answered.

Naruto felt like he had been slapped.

"Lady Tsunade!" Sakura admonished her.

"What?" Tsunade protested. "It's true! It's a literal living medical miracle. Bolt _should_ be dead. He's got more internal scarring and tissue damage than anyone I've ever seen who wasn't a corpse."

"What Lady Tsunade means," Sakura pressed. "Is that Bolt displays all of the signs and symptoms of a strong electric shock—deep burns due to heat resistance; scarring of internal organs, especially the heart; and minor neuropathy—to such such a strong degree that it is unlikely that a normal person would have survived. Your son is very much in a stable condition and not at all at risk for dying."

Naruto breathed a sigh of relief as Sakura shot a dark look at Tsunade.

"Still a medical miracle," Tsunade slurred. "I treated a farmer in the Third War who got struck by lightning in the Land of Rain. I could only put him out of his misery. Bolt's insides look about the same."

"So... you think," Naruto paused. "You think Darui... you know, did that to him?"

"That," Sakura shrugged. "Or whatever technique he used to destroy Cloud. Just judging by the severity of the wounds... I'd bet on the latter."

"A kinjutsu if I've ever seen one," Tsunade declared, rapidly drinking the wine she had bought for him. "Haven't seen a ninja do that much damage to themselves since you nearly destroyed your arm killing Kakuzu."

They were quiet after that.

Sakura cleared her throat, pink dusting her cheeks. "Naruto," she began. "I haven't actually began treatment yet. As a political prisoner of war, I need your express permission on the level and quality of care I am to provide."

Naruto frowned. "What do you mean? Of course I want him healed!"

"What she means," Tsunade slurred. "Is how good do you want us to put him back together? If we do an improper healing, or let him heal on his own, Bolt will probably experience life-long weakness as a result of his wounds. If we heal him properly, well, he'll be fine... but if he escapes..."

The choice was easy. "Help him, please," Naruto said. "As best you can. I don't... I don't believe he's too far gone yet. We can compromise. Find a way to make everyone happy."

Sakura and Tsunade shared a look. "Naruto," Sakura said, hesitantly. "The other Kage are going to demand execution or life in prison. Assuming Bolt doesn't escape, he will have little use for chakra in the immediate future."

"I'll handle that when the time comes," Naruto said resolutely. "Just heal him. Please. For me."

Tsunade took another shot, throwing her head back. "You're the Hokage now, brat. We'll have your son fixed up within the week. Just don't regret it," she slurred, standing and stumbling out of the room.

Sakura gave him a small, apologetic smile. "I'll make sure she gets home safely," she said, excusing herself.

Naruto watched them go. With a sigh, he realized Tsunade had taken the bottle of rice wine with her. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Naruto heard Kurama rumbling with laughter. "It's not that funny," he told the overgrown fox.

Wearily, Naruto rose and began the trek home. He switched off the light, bathing the office in darkness, and meandered down the stairs. The Leaf was so peaceful and quiet at night. He had fond memories of meeting Hinata in an alleyway, before they had gotten together, and before she had worked up the courage to give him his scarf.

His wife was asleep by the time he retired for the night, climbing into bed next to her. Himawari would be home in a short few days after the task force completed their sweep of the Akatsuki's mountainous fortress.

And then... then Naruto could work on putting his family back together.

He smiled.

* * *

Naruto stared dumbly at the television as tears rolled down his cheeks. Next to him, Hinata was covering her mouth, strangling a gasp, with both hands. She, too, was crying. Naruto imagined many people across the world were.

He watched the ticker at the bottom of the screen fly by as it gave minute-by-minute updates of the situation.

" _Fifth Kazekage passes away in his sleep,"_ it read, like Gaara wasn't his first real friend.

" _Stone secedes from the Union; declares war on Sand,"_ it read, as if his life's work wasn't crumbling around him.

Fate was a cruel, cruel master. So his son had said, and so it had came to pass. The ninja world was a world built upon war. And war, war never changed.

Naruto dressed quickly, threw on the ceremonial robes and hat of the Hokage, and rushed into the office. Shikamaru and his secretaries were already there, furiously typing on keyboards and screaming into phones.

They were silenced as he entered the room. "Get me a line to the Kage," Naruto commanded. "All of them. I'm calling an emergency session."

He would be damned if he let the Union fall apart. Not like this. Never like this. It was the longest five minutes of his life as Naruto waited for his fellow Kage to appear on the monitor.

It was a poor showing.

Cloud was in shambles, led by Ay, powerful and wise, by an aging, interim Raikage was not _the_ Raikage. He was absent.

Stone, predictably, did not answer the summons.

Chōjūrō, dark bags beneath his eyes, appeared, wearing the ceremonial garb of the Mist. The two of them shared a slight nod in greetings.

Naruto felt tears well unshed in his eyes as, instead of Gaara, Kankurō appeared to represent the Sand. He wore dark robes, not of the puppetry brigade, but of mourning. His eyes were red and his cheeks were stained with tears.

Mifune, stoic and cold, was the last to connect.

For a long moment, Naruto didn't know what to say.

Kankurō spoke first. "In the wake of... my brother's death, I have assumed the mantle of interim Kazekage until such time that a proper successor may be chosen," he said.

His proclamation was met with terse nods. The silence yawned on.

Naruto took a breath. "I—"

"—Let's be honest here," Chōjūrō said suddenly. "We're all peers. All Kage. All 'friends.' There's no need for lies. No need for posturing."

Naruto exhaled through his nose and listened.

"The time of the Union is done," the Mizukage said.

"But—" Naruto protested.

"—It was a good idea, Naruto," Chōjūrō said. "And we tried. We really did. These past twenty years have been the most peaceful since the dawn of our people. But we ninja have war in our blood. It was foolish to believe this peace would last forever."

"We can still fix this!" Naruto exclaimed passionately. "This isn't how peace has to end! We can make the choice, us four, to keep the peace! To keep trying! The Union only dies if we let it!"

"... Naruto," Chōjūrō said sadly. "I'm sorry. But the Union is... dead. Cloud is defunct. Even if they weren't, they have their own problems to deal with. Stone has seceded. Sand—no offense, _Sixth_ Kazekage—has always been the weakest of the Great Five. The Land of Iron, as always, will remain neutral in all things."

Naruto emitted a strangled protest that formed no words.

"We're on the cusp of the Fifth Great War," Chōjūrō forged ahead. "I can't, in good faith, put my people at risk. You know Stone will see Mist as their enemy, even if we remain neutral, just by our continued membership within the Union."

Naruto gasped. "No! No, wait! It doesn't have to be this way!"

"I'm sorry, Naruto. I really am. This is the way it has to be," the Mizukage said. "The Hidden Mist officially requests to leave the Union."

Chōjūrō, stony faced, disconnected from the call. Naruto struggled for words.

"... Hokage," Mifune intoned. "We of the Land of Iron will remain steadfast in our neutrality, as we have always done. Should you require a mediator, or neutral grounds upon which to meet, know that I and my people would be glad to assist you. But in this matter, in this war between you ninja, we cannot sully our blades."

Naruto gripped the arms of his chair so tightly they began to crack. He nodded. Then Mifune, too, was gone.

He and Kankurō sat in silence for a few moments. "I'm sorry, Naruto," Kankurō gushed, his voice thick with emotion, before the line went dead.

And then Naruto was alone.

And the world was a much darker, colder place than it had been in a long, long time.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This chapter was difficult to write because it was a clash of ideologies, not fists. I hope I conveyed with equal merit both Bolt's single-minded determination to do evil in the pursuit of the greater good and Naruto's single-minded faith in the inherit good of mankind.

Dun, dun, dun! Thus the curtain closes on the Akatsuki vs. Union arc. The next two (!) arcs will be, concurrently: the Fifth Great War, and the Hunt of the Tailed Beasts. The next chapter will be the long awaited Sasuke Interlude—yes, you read that right. Our Lord and Savior Himself gets some screen time at last. And, maybe... we'll see what those pesky space aliens are up to, eh?

I wanted to play around with space-time fūinjutsu, as it is the most complex and powerful of all techniques. The Eye of the Storm is the result of that. Hopefully Katasuke's explanations made sense. This is why Tobirama and Minato were so feared and respected. Their techniques were so ahead of their time, so complex, that it would have seemed like literal magic in a world where walking on water and breathing fire was commonplace. The Eye of the Storm is fairly straight forward, but the prison of the Tailed Beasts functions on the concept of the false vacuum. Look that up if you want some existential terror to keep you awake at night.


	80. Chapter 80 -- Sasuke Interlude

This world, like all the others Sasuke had visited, was barren and lifeless. A wasteland. And yet, it was not uncommon. Life, it seemed, was a rarity. The ground was dry and brittle, fragile, really, and there was no greenery to speak of. The landscape was dotted by blackened stone and old, dead trees. What little remnants of intelligent life—roads, steel buildings—there was, it had clearly been many tens of years since their creators walked the planet.

And yet, for such a dead world, it was teeming with chakra. Sasuke crept through the corpse of the world, hiding his chakra, as quiet as the dead. For this world, dead as it was, was the farthest he had ever ventured from his Earth. Tens of planets and several dimensions away. And, he thought, at last, his search was over.

He had found the Ōtsutsuki. Not a scout, not a vanguard, but the army itself. And for as powerful as Sasuke knew himself to be, he was not so arrogant as to think himself a match for the combined might of the Ōtsutsuki. These were the people that had Kaguya— _Kaguya_ —quaking in her boots. He would be careful.

The planet's sun hung low in the sky, titanic and eclipsing, and in the distance, Sasuke could see a thin tower stretching skyward above the mountains. It was something he had seen many times before: the Divine Tree. Or, what was left of it. A dry, dead husk. A world drained of its very life by the parasitic, chakra-devouring tree.

It was on the fifth day of exploring the planet, ever travelling towards the sea of chakra in the distance, that Sasuke stumbled upon humanity's enemy. He crested a mountaintop, travelling through great valleys that had to have been created from long-deceased glaciers, and gazed down upon the world with a vantage point of the gods.

Beneath him, for as far as the eye could see, sprawled an ocean of white tents. Stone buildings—nowhere near as crude as those on Earth—had been erected with an Earth Release technique. The scorched stone contrasted with the purity of the white cloth.

Sasuke swallowed as he could see tens of thousands—no, _hundreds_ of thousands—of Ōtsutsuki milling about. Their race stood out against the wasteland; pale, like marble, with flowing hair of white, silver, or pitch-black. Each, without exception, he had learned, possessed prominent aristocratic features; high cheekbones, thin lips, taut cheeks, sharp noses, angular jaws, and narrow eyes of violet.

Sasuke understood where the Hyūga found their widely acclaimed looks. Diluted, yes, but the influence of the Ōtsutsuki was there. He breathed a sigh of relief that, other than the one giant he had fought several years ago, none of them were horned. Sasuke had learned quite quickly that the Ōtsutsuki that possessed horns were an order of magnitude more powerful than those that did not.

It wasn't just an army—it was an _invasion force._ Sasuke backed away. He had to warn Earth. Humanity needed to prepare—

"It's your fault, you know," a boyish voice, high and fluty, said.

Sasuke whirled around, sword drawn and lashing out in a single movement. He decapitated the boy—and the girl next to him—in a single stroke of his sword.

Only, their heads didn't roll from their shoulders.

The girl shook her head, clicking her tongue at him. "You primitives," she tutted. "Always so rude."

Sasuke brandished his sword and took several steps back. They were an odd pair, young to his eyes, though it was hard to tell with the Ōtsutsuki. Their years were far, far longer than his own. Short, barely coming his thighs, with matching faces. Their hair hung to their shoulders, like a curtain, only differing in that the girl had hair of the finest silver and the boy was of the darkest night. Their hands were held, fingers laced, as they stared up at him.

It was their eyes, though, that set Sasuke on edge. The boy's right and the girl's left were a Byakugan, as all their race possessed, but their opposite eyes held a Mangekyō Sharingan—a haunting pattern; a field of black dotted by stars of blood. His blood ran cold as his mind caught up to his body. Sasuke had cut them down and they hadn't died. Hadn't even been scratched. And he knew that ability all too well.

"Kamui," Sasuke whispered.

The girl giggled. "Oh? I wouldn't have thought a primitive would know of Kamui," she said.

"Don't be _rude_ , sister," the boy chided her. "We came here to speak to the primitive, not antagonize him."

Sasuke eyed the pair warily. He kept on eye on the Ōtsutsuki encampment below. He had yet to come across an Ōtsutsuki that was interested in anything other than murdering him. Talking to the boy and the girl was a calculated risk. On one hand, more intel. On the other... it could be a trap.

"Why did you say it's my fault?" Sasuke asked.

The boy quirked his head. "The Prince is most cross that you insulted the honor of the captain of his royal guard," he said.

"The ogre? And his horn?" Sasuke asked. _That_ was a fight he would not soon forget.

The girl giggled and the boy nudged her. Their hands, Sasuke noted, never left each other's. "Lord Kinshiki would be most infuriated to be addressed as such, but yes," the boy said. "They spared no expense in drafting their army after your first battle."

Something cold and heavy settled in the pit of his stomach.

"But we did not come here to discuss the Prince and his sensibilities," the girl said.

"No, we did not," the boy agreed. "Well, we would like to know _why_ you're fighting us."

"Why?" Sasuke asked. "You're going to attack my home. Enslave my people. Destroy my world. Isn't that enough of a reason?"

"But that is your place in the universe," the girl frowned. "All belongs to the empire."

"Your world is an oddity," the boy said, before Sasuke could get a word in. "The priestess who was sent to harvest it betrayed the empire and took the Fruit for her own. Your very existence is an embarrassment to the royal family."

The boy's gaze was focused on his Rinnegan. "Regardless," Sasuke sighed. "We will not give up without a fight."

"But it would be easier," the boy pressed. "Many worlds enjoy a long period of peace and prosperity following colonization."

"Before or after you turn their world into..." Sasuke gestured around them. "This."

The dead and dying worlds he had seen were more than enough proof that the Ōtsutsuki had nothing but death and conquest planned for Earth.

The boy narrowed his eyes and peered up at him. Then, barely perceptible, the inky darkness of his Mangekyō shifted. The stars rearranged themselves into a new pattern. "Ah, yes, I see," he said. "There was never a possibility where we could have convinced you to surrender. Unfortunate."

Sasuke frowned. That sounded like—

"You may attack now," the girl giggled.

Sasuke didn't hesitate. He switched positions with a boulder using his Rinnegan. An ungodly crack of stone being rend asunder echoed in his ears. Sasuke turned. Were it not for his Sharingan, he would not have seen the teenager, barely larger than a coin, crawl from the rubble. In an instant—a literal instant—the teenager was normal-sized again. He dusted himself off and drew a sword. A needle, really.

"His Rinnegan's ability is Amenotejikara," the boy said. "Quite rare. Be careful."

Sasuke turned and ran. He only had five charges left of Amenotejikara. He would need at least one charge to begin the journey home, preferably more, unless he wanted to fight the Ōtsutsuki the entire way. So that left three to four for combat. He cleared the leap between one valley and the next in a single bound, temporarily bringing forth the wings of his Susano'o.

Space whirled before him. Sasuke frowned. He dispelled his wings, diving to avoid the Kamui rift. Above him, the girl and boy emerged from a vortex of compressed space. Instead, Sasuke brought forth the spectral legs of his Susano'o to soften the landing. He skidded down the side of a mountain, boulders tumbling after him, even as another rift appeared next to him.

Night fell, sudden and swift. Sasuke forced himself to tear his eyes away from the two Ōtsutsuki chasing him. His mouth parted in a silent gasp of disbelief as the teenager from before blot out the sun with his immense size. From one mountain to the next his body stretched. Sasuke could hear the wind howling as he careened into the ground.

"Amaterasu," Sasuke breathed. He set the teenager aflame with black fire. There was no way he could dodge at that size. When he slammed into the ground, it was with a scream of pain that Sasuke was sure every Ōtsutsuki in the valley could hear. The teenager rapidly began to shrink back to his normal size.

Then, as sudden as it came, his black flames were extinguished. Sasuke snapped his head back to the boy and girl. The boy was scouring his Amaterasu, and everywhere his gaze fell, the black fire vanished.

Sasuke swore under his breath and beat a hasty retreat.

That single moment he allowed himself to be distracted was nearly his end. Sasuke turned and ran face-first into an arrow of blindingly white chakra. Time slowed. _"Almighty Push,"_ a dark voice echoed in his mind.

The arrow—and everything around him for several tens of feet—was thrust back and away. Sasuke breathed a sigh of relief that it had worked. He was unwilling to risk the arrow not being ninjutsu and the Preta Path failing to absorb it.

Sasuke traced the path of the arrow with his mind's eye. He faltered as he saw a woman standing atop a faraway crag in the distance. She was hauntingly, unnaturally beautiful. Perfect in every definition of the word. Like a marble statue that life had been breathed into. She had a wild mane of silver-white hair and a pair of mismatched eyes; a Byakugan and a Mangekyō Sharingan. She had an arm thrust forward, fist clenched, with two limbs of chaotic chakra erupting either end of her hand; a crude bow.

She nocked another arrow of chakra and drew. Sasuke called forth his Susano'o in all its glory. He reared back, drawing an arrow of his own, and prepared to return fire.

The woman's arrow passed right through his Susano'o as if it weren't even there. Sasuke's eyes widened as the arrow reappeared inside his Susano'o. In an instant, he switched places with it. It sailed past him and exploded upon contacting the ground. Sasuke cast his gaze towards the boy and girl, who were still extinguishing his Amaterasu... he turned back to the woman. He raised his bow and fired an arrow of shimmering purple chakra at her.

It passed right through her, harmlessly.

"Damn," Sasuke swore. She, too, possessed Kamui? He was not in the mood to fight foreign imitations of Obito.

Sasuke leapt with his Susano'o, crossing the distance with a single beat of his wings, and then switched himself with a distant mountaintop. Four charges left. The woman with the bow was buried under countless tons of stone. Sasuke knew it hadn't done any true damage—if indeed she could use Kamui—but it would slow her down enough for him to make his escape.

Shadow loomed over him once more. Sasuke half-turned and saw that the teenager was no longer ablaze with the flames of Amaterasu and was angrily stomping after him. Sasuke shed tears of blood from his right eye. Before the black flames could touch him, the teenager shrank. Barely the size of a finger, the Ōtsutsuki continued his chase. What was truly frightening was not the magnitude of the size he could take, but the speed at which he could switch between them. The technique reminded Sasuke of the Akimichi clan. Perhaps there was a link?

The twins appeared before him in a whirling vortex of space. "Amaterasu," the boy uttered.

Sasuke took control of the black fire before it could even touch him. He turned it back on his attacker, who gaped at him with clear surprise. Amaterasu passed harmlessly through him, much to Sasuke's annoyance. So it was the girl, not the boy, who possessed Kamui. That was why their hands were always linked. Then what was his? Adaption?

Then he didn't have time to worry about the twins because the woman with the bow was firing arrows of chakra at him again. Sasuke turned on them and used the Preta Path to absorb the arrows. The influx of chakra to his reservers was not unwelcome.

"Hashinau! No arrows!" the boy called out.

The woman—Hashinau—didn't say anything, didn't even blink, but her bow dissipated. She disappeared in a vortex of whirling space.

"Issun! Use your small form! He can control Amaterasu!" the boy barked.

Sasuke frowned. The teenager—Issun—shrank until he was no larger than a coin. Sasuke watched as he leapt forward with an explosive force. "Almighty Push," Sasuke intoned, pushing outward with that intangible sixth sense his Rinnegan bestowed upon him.

Issun gave a muted cry as he was bodily repulsed at great speeds. Sasuke ducked under a lightning-fast punch as Hashinau appeared behind him in a vortex of space. She leapt at him, mouth parted and teeth bared, and tried to bite his throat. Sasuke covered himself in Amaterasu and forced the woman to glide through him harmlessly.

Issun was getting back up. Sasuke gestured with one hand. "Almighty Pull," he intoned. The teenager sailed through the air with a muted yelp. Sasuke caught him by the throat, channeled the Human Path, and began to tear the boy's soul from his body.

He was Sasuke Uchiha. One of the two strongest ninja to ever draw breath. If a few Ōtsutsuki whelps thought they were powerful enough to fight him, then he would show them that they were very mistaken.

Hashinau appeared behind Issun, grabbed him, and Sasuke felt his fingers slip through empty space. He swore under his breath. Unwilling to let his quarry escape, Sasuke used his third charge of Amenotejikara to follow the two into their Kamui dimension. Hashinau—calm, emotionless—and Issun—wide-eyed, panicked—looked up at him as he appeared, wreathed in a vortex of shadowy space. "Almighty... Push," Sasuke stressed.

Hashinau's Kamui dimension—so very different compared to Obito's; a lush, verdant landscape of trees and grass—was destroyed as his Almighty Push swept everything away. Sasuke saw a second vortex of whirling space, the twins, and saw his chance. He used another charge of Amenotejikara to leave the Kamui dimension, back to the physical world, and then made a hasty escape with a few powerful beats of his Susano'o. He had two charges left. One to get him off-world and another to mask his trail. He just needed the time to create the portal.

Something massive and thunderously quick slammed into his Susano'o. The ogre was back, furious and snarling, missing one horn and brandishing a battleaxe of red-pink chakra. The head of the battleaxe slowly but surely began to cleave through the armor of his Susano'o. Sasuke grunted as his Susano'o impacted the ground. The ogre got his footing and began to hack away at his spectral armor.

Sasuke thrust a hand forward and shot a lance of lightning at Ōtsutsuki clansman. He dodged, leaping to the side, and Sasuke turned his Mangekyō towards him. "Amaterasu," he hissed. The black flames, to his annoyance, swerved and struck stone at the last moment.

The twins had saved their two companions and had entered the fray once more. Sasuke took a deep breath and used another powerful Almighty Push to clear the battlefield. He turned, channeling the Preta Path, and absorbed another two arrows of pure chakra that Hashinau had loosed. Issun leapt at him, barely larger than a fist, sword thrust forward.

Left arm extended, Sasuke channeled the Asura Path. Flesh and bone folded upon itself to make way for steel limbs of whirring gears and springs. Two additional mechanical arms held Issun at bay while his original unleashed a beam of chakra.

With his right arm, Sasuke drew his sword, channeled his chakra into the steel, and batted away the ogre. The two of them traded blows; cold, hard steel against humming red chakra. Sasuke created a fourth mechanical arm with the Asura Path. With it, he unleashed a barrage of explosive missiles that erupted into great storms of chakra and fire upon contacting anything solid.

Sasuke locked blades with the ogre, their weapons grinding against each other, and reached out with all three of his mechanical arms. He gripped the ogre by the shoulders and remaining horn. With his free, original arm, he channeled the Human Path and reached out to tear the man's soul from his body.

Before he could land the finishing blow, a thick cloud of white fog began to lazily roll across the battlefield. Sasuke released the ogre, pushing him towards it, and watched as the larger man visibly panicked and leapt away before he could be touched. That, for Sasuke, was all the proof he needed not to be anywhere near the fog. Even the other Ōtsutsuki clansmen were putting a healthy distance between themselves and the fog; even more of a reason.

Sasuke ran. As he ran, his Sharingan spotted another Ōtsutsuki several hundred feet away. Tall and muscular, pale as ivory, with white hair held in a topknot by an ornate band of silvery metal, he held an overly decorated box of rich brown-red wood from which the fog poured forth. His eyes widened as several small boulders began to crack and turn to dust. Not a technique, Sasuke thought, but a ninja tool?

He couldn't afford to hold back any longer. The Ōtsutsuki would bog him down with quantity and slowly overwhelm him with quality if their more powerful members joined the battle. Sasuke clapped his hands together, channeling his chakra, and breathing deep as his reserves plummeted. "Planetary Devastation," he breathed.

An inky sphere of darkness that radiated pure white light blossomed to life between the palms of his hands. Sasuke turned, still running, and hurled it towards the Ōtsutsuki encampment on the far side of the mountain. It drifted skyward slowly and Sasuke could feel the ground beneath his feet tense as the gravity of the technique began to draw matter inwards.

Sasuke took a deep breath as he put more and more distance between him and the Ōtsutsuki. Thankfully, their "Prince" didn't make an appearance. Sasuke had only seen him once, during his battle with the ogre, but he could tell that, as strong as the other Ōtsutsuki were, the Prince was even more powerful still.

He began to channel chakra into his Rinnegan. Amenotejikara required an immense amount of chakra, especially when one wanted to make the leap between worlds or dimensions. Space warped and twisted and bent around him as he asserted his will over reality. Sasuke gazed forward, envisioning the portal of swirling darkness, and it appeared before his eyes. He leapt through it in a single bound and immediately closed the portal behind him. Just before the portal closed, he caught sight of a mountain being uprooted and drawn skyward.

Sasuke smirked and began to use the last charge of Amenotejikara. The Ōtsutsuki would be on his ass the entire way back to Earth if he couldn't lose them hopping from planet to planet and dimension to dimension. And Sasuke knew their world would need all the forewarning and time it could get if they were to unite and mount a proper defense against the Ōtsutsuki invasion force.

Another portal of swirling darkness appeared before him. Sasuke stepped through, breathing deeply, happy that he had found at least one planet that had escaped the wrath of the Ōtsutsuki. No intelligent life had ever developed but it was beautiful and reminded him of home. So, there he would hide. Until his Rinnegan recovered and he had enough charges of Amenotejikara to begin the return trip to Earth.

It would take, Sasuke estimated, one and a half, no, two years, to complete the trek. His daughter would be... twenty-two, he thought. A woman grown. Sasuke felt a pang of sadness and longing in his heart. He had missed so much of his life in the pursuit of keeping Earth safe from the Ōtsutsuki. Sarada would have moved on with her life. Perhaps, when he returned, she could be an ANBU captain, just like Itachi? Sasuke wondered how she was handling her Mangekyō. He knew it could be... trying, to say the least.

Who knew? Perhaps she and Bolt had reconciled. Perhaps they would have a family all their own by the time he returned to Earth. Bolt would be... twenty-three, he was pretty sure. Older than he was when Sarada was born.

Sasuke smiled. He would have to give Bolt a stern "talking to" either way when he got home.

* * *

 **A/N:**

The space aliens are coming, lads. Now ya'll know why Bolt and co. never skipped leg day even once these past nine years.

I don't want to give out the exact specifics of the Ōtsutsuki, their members, their hierarchy, or their goals, as those will be covered in the now (safely) revealed Ōtsutsuki arc. However, I will say this is but a taste of things to come. You can discern several key pillars of the Ōtsutsuki faction by carefully re-reading this chapter.

I will say, however, that all named, major Ōtsutsuki characters are based partially or wholly in Japanese mythology—either gods and goddesses or folk heroes. The two mentioned this chapter were Hashinau, the Ainu goddess of the hunt, and Issun, the "one-inch" boy.

The Ōtsutsuki all—without exception—possess at least a singular Byakugan. That particular dōjutsu originated in their species pre-Fruit. Depending on blood purity, they may also possess a Sharingan and, rarely, a Rinnegan.


	81. Chapter 81

**October 14th, 0024 AIT**

" _Dad?" Sarada asked._

 _Her father stood before, older than she remembered him being. He had deep, visible tear troughs that reminded her of pictures she had seen of her uncle and grandfather. Sarada didn't recognize where they were. It looked cold. The peaks of mountains were visible in the distance. She tried to turn her head and found that she couldn't._

 _Sarada frowned. "Dad?" she asked, again._

 _Her father mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't quite catch. Then, again, he said something. It was muted and distant. Something about... an ogre? What was he—_

 _Pain blossomed behind her eyes. Sarada whimpered, desperately trying to bring her palms up to shield them from the light. All she did was succeed at making the pain worse. Then, as suddenly as it came, the pain was gone. And so was her father. All that was left in his wake was a plume of dust and rubble._

 _Images came to her so fast that she couldn't identify them before they were gone. It left her mind reeling and spinning, desperate to latch onto metaphorical solid ground. Sarada felt like she was swimming in a sea of information, of new data points, new connections forming, additional points of view. Her Mangekyō—she could feel it, now, whispering secrets of things not yet come to pass in her ear—was expanding, adapting. And, like swimming, Sarada felt her toes touch bottom; solid ground at last. She reeled and lunged, holding on for dear life._

 _Her father, locked in battle with a shadowy, towering opponent. Entire mountains moved as they clashed. It made her eyes hurt to look at it. Her mother, bloodied and bruised, kneeling over a downed ally. A sense of pervasive doom loomed over them all, as tangible as any shadow. The Hokage, tall and steadfast, the warm gold-orange glow of his chakra keeping the darkness at bay._

 _Sarada saw herself, too, as if a disembodied ghost. Her friends stood at her side—the pain in her eyes doubled, causing Sarada to see stars. She whimpered, blinked, tried to escape the pain. She couldn't. She could only watch._

 _There was a shadow among them, too, but different. Sinister, but strangely benevolent, almost, like an old, dead tree. It had tendrils of darkness writhing from its core and grasping at her and her friends, though none of them seemed to know it._

 _The pain was too much. It felt like someone had her pinned under a boulder and was stabbing her through the eyes with a dagger. Her brain was on fire. Aflame with pain and knowledge in equal measure._

 _An eye, eclipsing all, stared down at her from the heavens; a whirling vortex of shadow and blood._

" _Omoikane!"_

Sarada gasped and threw herself upright. She tripped, her feet catching on something, and tumbled to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs. She blinked, forced her eyes open, and immediately regretted that decision. Sarada groaned, rolled over, and held the palms of her hands to the sockets of her eyes. They were warm and wet, slick with what Sarada knew would be blood. She groaned, standing, making sure to keep her eyes closed and untangle her feet from her sheets. With a sigh, Sarada sat on the edge of her bed and patted at her pillows and—yep, they were wet with blood.

"Just fucking great," Sarada muttered. She sighed forcefully.

Knowing it would be next to impossible to go back to sleep, Sarada stood and fumbled around her dresser until she heard a rattle. With practiced ease she popped the top of the container and dry swallowed two pills. They would, Sarada hoped, take the edge off. Rage fading, she felt a faint whisper in the back of her mind that she had learned something important. Sarad tried to remember her dream. In her anger and surprise from waking, all she could remember was the pain.

Sarada dismissed it and slipped out of her bedroom and made her way to the kitchen for something to drink. The street lights were still on outside, meaning it was still early morning. Today, Sarada hoped, she would be cleared to visit Bolt. Or, rather, Bolt would be cleared to have visitors. He was the dangerous one, after all, not her. It had been a week since he had been arrested. Sarada and the task force had spent two days clearing the Akatsuki's base of traps and gathering intel and evidence.

Evidence that, Sarada was happy, would no longer be used to persecute Bolt. With the Union in shambles, practically disbanded, that meant sole custody of Bolt fell to the Leaf. The task force had agreed that, whatever their countries were doing, the Akatsuki took priority. They would all be staying until the Akatsuki had been brought to justice or they had been killed in the line of duty. It was awkward, in a way, because Shinki and his team kept butting heads with the two men from Stone. There was obviously bad blood brewing. Not that Sarada could blame them. Their homes were at war with each other, after all.

Sarada wasted the morning away by training—physical conditioning, basic chakra control exercises, and going through the stances of her fighting style—and sharpening and oiling her ninja tools. By the time she finished, the sun had risen and the guard was changing as the night shift retired for the day. Sarada slipped out into the dawn and made her way to the newly christened Hokage Tower. Looming over it she could see masons hard at work as they reconstructed the Hokage Rock to the best of their abilities.

A quick flash of her ANBU identification let her into the building. The guards saluted her as she walked through the door. She took off her belt of weapons and handed them to the next guard, stepping through the metal detector, and being waved through when nothing was picked up. A Hyūga checked her over for any illusory or transformation techniques. A Yamanaka briefly inspected her mind, just in case, assuring that she was, indeed, Sarada Uchiha. Everything in order, Sarada was given her weapons and allowed into the tower proper.

The bowels of the tower, where the most secure prison they had in the Leaf resided, was crawling with all manner of ninja who didn't officially exist; intelligence operatives and ANBU. Sarada watched as a criminal in a bright orange two-piece was dragged from a cell by two men wearing black robes. He put up a fight, screaming, and they knocked him out. "Fucking scum," one of them swore.

Sarada smiled wryly and moved deeper underground. She knew she was getting close because she began to recognize some of the guards. Bear, tall and burly, who Sarada knew could crush a man's skull with a single hand. Wolf, too, who possessed a wide range of elemental ninjutsu. Hawk, a Hyūga who focused on recon, was staring into the distance—checking on each prisoner with his Byakugan, Sarada knew. She smiled fondly upon seeing her old teammates Octopus and Squirrel. They were the current active-duty guards.

"Hey, Crow," Octopus greeted her softly.

"Good to see you, Natsuki," Sarada said with a smile. "Can I see him?"

"Yeah, sure," she said. "Wait for the barrier to go down. You'll have three seconds to cross the threshold. The barrier you crossed will come back up. Ten seconds later, the second barrier will come down. Same deal. If you're in any danger, we'll flood the room with sleeping gas."

She nodded. "Got it," Sarada confirmed.

Sarada stepped forward, eying the shimmering orange barrier of chakra. It flickered and winked out of existence. She quickly took several steps forward, crossing the threshold, just before the barrier came back up. There was a ten foot distance between the first barrier and the second. Sarada only had to wait a second or two before the second barrier fell. She stepped into a much larger cell than she had expected the prison to have. It was spacious for a prison cell, at least fifteen to twenty feet squared. The only thing that gave it away was the lack of private facilities and the inky fūinjutsu script marring the walls.

But Sarada only had eyes for Bolt. He was doing, of all things, push-ups. She took a deep, shuddering breath as, for the first time in... a long, long time, that little dark whisper in the back of her mind fell silent. There was no urge to use her Mangekyō, to gaze into the future. Her mind was peaceful and quiet and entirely her own for the first time in years. Sarada nearly wept.

She didn't allow herself to cry. Sarada cleared her throat. "Having fun?"

Bolt continued his push-ups with an impressive vigor.

"I guess you wouldn't be," Sarada mumbled.

"What do you want, Sarada?" Bolt asked tersely.

Ah. Not in a good mood, then. Well, Bolt, you shouldn't have become a criminal if you didn't want to go to prison, Sarada wanted to say. "Just to talk," she said instead.

Bolt did one final push-up before standing. He was dressed in the same orange slacks that the other prisoners wore. They were more like a nurse's scrubs than anything else. Impossible to blend into the population with, Sarada knew, and the fibers were made by special silkworms the Aburame clan raised—easily tracked. Her eyes dipped to his visible skin where still-healing scars and burns were visible.

"I'm not really in the mood to talk," Bolt grumbled.

"Well, too bad," Sarada said. "I am. Has your sister visited you yet?"

Sarada saw the way he faltered at the mention of Himawari. Her lips twitched upwards. After all these years, Bolt was still so predictable—she didn't even need her Mangekyō to read him. All anyone had to do to press his buttons was to mention his sister.

"No," Bolt admitted.

"I'm pretty sure your mother was going to come, too," Sarada said.

Bolt frowned. "Isn't this supposed to be a maximum security facility? Visitors aren't allowed," he said.

"Tough," Sarada countered. "I've got the clearance, anyway, and Hinata is the wife of the Hokage. No one is going to deny her anything. And your sister would clean every guard's clock to see you and they tried to stop her."

"And I don't suppose I could just... shoo you away, can I?" Bolt asked.

"Nope," Sarada confirmed.

Bolt loosed a ragged sigh. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Oh, nothing, really," Sarada sing-songed. Really, she had absolutely no battle plan when it came to making small talk with her childhood best friend and crush turned international war criminal. She just wanted some peace of mind.

Bolt frowned, ever so slightly, then grinned. "So, did you and your friends have fun exploring my mountain? Any deaths? Some of those traps were works of art."

Sarada favored him with a small prideful smile. Traps were child's play to avoid with Omoikane. "Not a single death. Not even an injury, in fact," she said. "You underestimate me."

His smile faltered. Bolt quirked his head, as if thinking on something, before smiling smugly. "Interesting," he said.

"What is?" Sarada asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Sarada wasn't quite sure she believed him. "So, is this what you do with your friends? Trade barbs? Make threats? Brag a little, maybe?"

Bolt shook his head, smiling, before opening his mouth to reply. He paused, looked around, his eyes scouring the walls and ceiling. His mouth closed with an audible click of teeth. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Sarada rolled her eyes. "Like Intelligence is going to catch them based on how you all talk," she quipped.

"You would be surprised," Bolt said, scowling at the walls.

Sarada sighed. "Fine. You pick a topic," she demanded.

His lips twitched upwards. "How is Cloud?"

"Rebuilding, but fine," Sarada answered tersely.

"Oh? Touchy?" Bolt pressed.

"Only because I can't believe your depravity and Yurui would maul you if we let him," Sarada snapped.

Bolt smiled as he drifted away from her. "I told you, Sarada. In order for the ninja world to have true peace, our people will have to unite as one. They can't do that if the Union and the Great Five exist. Us ninja will resist change until we have no other choice. In order to create, you must first destroy," he said.

Sarada grit her teeth. "Even if I agreed with your goals, your means of achieving them would never work. The peace would never last. The people would never unite behind you or any conqueror. You're just... wasting lives. Yours most of all."

Bolt just smiled at her. "A hero isn't afraid to give his life, Sarada," he said. Then he kneeled and began to do another set of push-ups.

"You can't believe you're really the hero, Bolt," Sarada said. "A hero doesn't have a body count anywhere near yours."

He said nothing.

"A hero wouldn't have left behind his friends and family to become a criminal," she pressed.

He said nothing.

"A hero wouldn't have—" Sarada bit her tongue, realizing their time of civility had passed, and stormed from the cell. The barrier of orange chakra shimmered and parted before her as she approached. Sarada stewed in her anger as she waited for the second barrier to fall.

The moment she stepped forward the nagging whispers in the back of her mind returned.

Sarada suppressed a growl of frustration.

* * *

 **October 15th, 0024 AIT**

With a flourish, Naruto signed his name at the bottom of the scroll. He stamped it with the official seal of the Hokage's office and handed it to a runner that appeared from the shadows. In all his years wearing the Hat, it was the single most difficult piece of legislature he had ever had to write.

Because that scroll authorized one hundred jōnin and three hundred chūnin—sons and daughters all of the Leaf—to be stationed in the Land of Wind to "defend and uphold the peace." They were a deterrent to a war that many had proclaimed the Fifth Great War. Naruto was determined not to allow it to come to pass. Stone had stationed what could only be called an army in the northern reaches of the Land of Wind. Not too far, Naruto noted, from where the Akatsuki had been hiding. There had yet to be a battle larger than skirmishing scouting parties, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time.

And now... now he had to figure out what to do with his son. Although he would never admit it aloud, some small part of Naruto was—not _happy,_ but indifferent—to the dissolution of the Union. It returned full autonomy to the Leaf. And as the Hokage, Naruto once again had full authority over how his village handled their rogue ninja. That meant there was no way in hell he was giving up his son to any foreign power. Whatever fate had in mind for Bolt would be between the two of them and no others.

Naruto stood and began to make his way down into the basement, as he called it. Dungeon sounded too much like something from the warring clans era. His ninja parted before him, allowing him entrance—which he should really chide, because what if someone was impersonating him? Naruto had cleared out the other prisoners and moved them to a secure, but separate, facility. His son was _crafty,_ as Orochimaru put it, and that was his most dangerous aspect. Best to not leave him any conspirators to plot with. And, really, Naruto didn't want his son to be exposed to the criminal elements the Leaf imprisoned.

Naruto breathed a sigh of relief as he found Bolt right where he left him. Part of him feared Bolt would vanish into thin air if he didn't keep an eye on his son. It was, he felt, a valid concern. The first barrier dropped as he approached. Naruto nodded his thanks to the guard. He crossed the distance and waited for the second barrier to fall. It did, and then there was nothing stopping him from talking to Bolt. It felt like it had been so long since he had been able to simply talk with his children. It had, in fact, been a long time—Bolt was twenty-one, now. The last time they had spoken as just father and son had been... nine years ago.

Bolt was pretending to sleep. Naruto knew because people's emotions were muted, dormant, when they slept. Only very powerful dreams and nightmares could evoke a true, conscious level of emotion. "Bolt?" Naruto asked. "I know you're awake."

His son sighed. "What do you want?"

Naruto cleared his throat. "There are some... things, things we should talk about," he said.

"Like what?" Bolt asked. He burrowed deeper into his cot, as if that could make their conversation go away.

"We can't keep you locked up here forever, Bolt," Naruto said, softly. "I don't _want_ to keep you locked up. I want to find a solution that everyone finds agreeable. A solution that brings peace."

"There's really not much of an option, Dad," Bolt sighed.

Naruto frowned. "There is, now," he said. He held his breath. "The Leaf won't be surrendering you to the Union. Your fate is in the hands of the Leaf—of me. There won't be an execution, if that's what you were worrying about."

Bolt stilled, cast off his sheets, and stood. His son looked at him—through him—with narrowed eyes. Then he smiled. Small, at first, then wide and proud. "The Union dissolved, didn't it?"

Naruto licked his lips, mouth dry. "Not—"

Bolt laughed, high and joyous. Naruto faltered, having not heard the sound since Bolt was a young boy. His laughter echoed through the cell. "I'm sorry," Bolt managed to choke out. "Sorry. But— _I told you so._ "

Naruto frowned thunderously. "This isn't a joke, son," he intoned.

"No. No, it's not," Bolt said. "But I _was_ right. I didn't have to even lift a finger. It was Stone, wasn't it? Once Cloud was gone, they saw their chance. The Tsuchikage has always been a bit of a loose cannon. It had to be her."

Naruto pursed his lips. "Yes, it was," he admitted. "But I have faith that she'll see reason. There hasn't been a true battle yet between Stone and Sand. There's still a chance for peace—"

"There's not," Bolt inerjected. "There's not. You know that. Stone has always been militaristic, matched only by Cloud. That's why the Tsuchikage made her move when the Raikage died."

"Even so," Naruto countered. "It doesn't matter. If I have to... if I have to, I'll go myself. I've fought much stronger opponents than Kurotsuchi."

Bolt smiled, baring teeth, and leaned in. "But that's what she wants. That's what I'd do, if I were in her place. The message my Revolution broadcasts? That the ninja are lording over the people with their power? You acting will be all the proof the people need. They'll see the jealousy, the greed, the hatred when Stone attacks Sand. But then they'll see the power, the control, that the Union—that you—have, had. You putting down Stone will be seen as proof that I am _right_."

Naruto stood, silent, as his son ranted. He sounded so sure of himself. So righteous in his conviction that the atrocities he had committed were for the greater good.

"So the Tsuchikage made a gamble," Bolt continued. "Would you risk giving the Revolution an ideological victory? Or would you sit idly by as their two villages slaughtered each other? Really, I'm interested. What will you do?"

Naruto straightened. "I'll believe," he said resolutely. "I'll believe, just like my teacher did, that the goodwill of humanity will eventually prevail. I don't know what Kurotsuchi is thinking, I don't know what she wants, but I know she doesn't want war. I know she doesn't want her village destroyed. We can come to a peaceful agreement."

"Sentimentality does not a good leader make, Dad," Bolt quoted smugly.

"Then what would you do, Bolt?" Naruto asked. "If you weren't Pain. If you weren't the leader of the Akatsuki. If you were in my shoes, if you wore the Hat, what would you do?"

Bolt was quiet for a moment. Naruto could feel the turbulent emotions warring within his son. He could feel the way Bolt was truly trying to see things from his perspective. Put himself in the position of a Kage, the weight of the responsibility, and give an answer under that weight.

"If I were the Hokage," Bolt started. "If I were the Hokage, I would take a long, hard look at myself. At the world. I'd ask myself, sentiment and belief and faith aside, what would I do to bring about lasting peace? I'd look at myself, my actions, my answer, and ask myself what it would take to change my mind. What actions, what evidence, the world would have to take before I agreed that I was in the wrong. Only then would I act."

Naruto swallowed. "And what would you do?"

Bolt smiled thinly at him. "You already know the answer, don't you? You've been talking to him for the past five minutes," he said.

Naruto was taken aback.

"You don't have to do anything, Dad," Bolt said. "Nothing at all. All you have to do is let me go free. Us two? We could achieve so much more working together than against each other. We're two sides of the same coin. We both want peace. The only difference is the path we took to get there. I'm not saying we have to be allies—just that we don't have to be _enemies._ Let me go. Let me finish what I started. Let me bring about a lasting peace. No one will ever have to know, now that the Union has been dissolved. ANBU, if untrustworthy, can be disposed of. Records can be erased. All you have to do is let—me—go."

Bolt stood before him, now, staring at him forcefully. It had been so long since they had spoken face-to-face that his son didn't even have to look up at him. They were about the same height. Naruto glanced at the walls. He knew the cell—courtesy of Kohaku—had monitoring seals that fed directly to the task force and Leaf Intelligence...

" **Naruto!"** Kurama rumbled within his skull. **"Don't lose your wits, brat!"**

Naruto blinked, appalled that he had even been considering letting Bolt escape, and immediately berated himself for not taking Orochimaru's warning more seriously. _"He's dangerous,"_ Orochimaru had hissed. _"If you let him talk to you, let him work his silver tongue, he'll turn your thoughts against you. You're powerful, Hokage, but not every battle is fought with fists."_

"I can't do that, Bolt," Naruto breathed. "What you're doing, what you want to do... it won't make the world a better place."

Bolt shrugged. "A difference of opinion, then," he said. "Like I told you, you wouldn't understand."

"That still doesn't help us with the current situation, son," Naruto said. "Do you really want to be locked up down here forever?"

Bolt looked around; at the walls, at the shimmering barrier of orange chakra, at him. "I don't have any intention of staying here," he said slowly. "Surely you must understand that?"

"This is the most secure cell on the entire continent, Bolt," Naruto said. "You're not going to break out. Your friends won't be able to rescue you."

Bolt smiled an uneasy, smug smile that made Naruto want to have Kohaku check the seals over. Then, again, just to be sure.

"I don't have any intention of staying here," Bolt repeated. "And there's no future where you convince me that I'm wrong. I won't give up my goal and whatever misguided notion of 'understanding' you thought we could come to is a fictitious dream."

Naruto sighed. He could see that the two of them wouldn't come to an agreement—today, at least. He would try again later. "I'll talk to you later, Bolt," he said, turning and walking back to the barrier.

"Wait!" Bolt called out.

Naruto stopped.

"How did you find the Akatsuki? Hi—a friend, she told me a seal was placed on Hibiki. But there's no way a tracking seal would have functioned inside the mountain without my express permission. So how?" Bolt asked.

Naruto smiled. That was easy. "Everyone has their own unique brand of darkness, Bolt," he answered. "Even your friend Hibiki. You can hide your chakra, but you can't hide your emotions. It might take awhile, but with my empath sensing, I can track anyone so long as I have something to look for."

The distinct look of dismay that crossed his son's face was a little gratifying. Because Bolt was smart—too smart, often times—he realized what Naruto had meant. The two of them wouldn't be separated again. Naruto had made sure of it. Now that he had a good sense of his son's distinct blend of darker emotions, Naruto could find him anywhere on the planet given enough time.

Naruto returned to the upper levels of the Tower, to his office, where he donned the metaphorical Hat once more. Because if there was one thing he and Bolt could agree upon, it was that the war between Stone and Sand would be disastrous for the future stability of their world.

Naruto would not let the peace he and his friends had shed blood for fall apart so easily.

* * *

 **October 18th, 0024 AIT**

Hinata preened nervously. Running her fingers through her hair, straightening her clothes, making sure that any unshed tears hadn't marred her makeup.

It should have been easy. Just walk down the hall, turn right, and check in with the guard. So simple. And yet, it was the most scared she had been in a long time. It was one thing to read and hear about the atrocities committed by a loved one. It was another thing entirely to stand, face-to-face, and see them with her own eyes. Hear their own words with her own ears. Her one wish, one desire, had finally came true: her family—in its entirety—was whole. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to take the last few steps and see her son.

Steeling herself, she took and held a breath. Hinata stepped around the corner, took ten steps forward, then a single step to the right. The hallway opened into an expansive room lit by the glow of shimmering orange chakra. The ANBU on guard wasn't the least bit surprised—she had been indecisive for quite some time, after all—and merely nodded and waved her through.

Hinata approached the barrier hesitantly. Was she supposed to signal the guard, or wave her hand, or—the barrier came down. She jumped in surprise and quickly stepped through. There was another barrier a few feet in front of her and through it she could see the faint outline of her son. The second barrier dropped and Hinata stepped into the prison cell.

Her son sat on the floor facing the wall opposite her with his back to the barrier. Hinata heard the exhale of air as Bolt breathed a sigh. "I'm not really in the mood to talk today, Sarada—" his teeth audibly clicked as he shut his mouth.

Hinata smiled fondly as Bolt turned his head and caught sight of her. His eyes were wide with disbelief, like one of the Nara deer after you spooked them. He looked so different now. Like Naruto, of course, just before they got together. But she could see bits of her own father in him. There was a difference between seeing pictures on the news and seeing him with her own eyes.

"Hello, Bolt," Hinata said softly. She idly pressed the tips of her index fingers together and immediately berated herself for falling back into old behaviors. She cleared her throat. "Do you still like cinnamon rolls? I brought you some," she said, holding out the basket of pastries she had brought with her.

Bolt narrowed his eyes and dipped his head. "Mom," he said slowly. "I'm a criminal. I'm in prison. I am not a good person. People like me don't eat cinnamon rolls. We eat... that."

Her son gestured to a metal tray of gray slop that sat near the barrier. It was untouched. Hinata frowned. He should be eating more—and not something that looked like what the farmers fed their pigs. "Well," she said diplomatically, wandering over to his cot. "I'll just leave these here then."

"Mom..." Bolt sighed. She heard him stand. "You really shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" Hinata demanded, rounding on him.

"I, uh," her son stammered, holding up his hands. He breathed a ragged sigh. "I didn't want you to see me like this."

Hinata smiled. "That proves you're not as bad as you think you are," she said.

"No, it means I'm letting my sentimentality war with my pride," Bolt countered. His lips dipped down in a slight pout.

Hinata smiled sadly. "You're wrong, Bolt. You're still good at heart. A mother knows these things. You wouldn't have saved me during the... the attack... if you were a bad person," she said resolutely. "I wanted to thank you for that. For saving my life."

Bolt exhaled through the nose forcefully. "You shouldn't thank me. I'm the reason you were in danger in the first place," he said.

"True," Hinata conceded. "But if you were truly beyond redemption then you would have let me and Kakashi die. You would've been safe and sound and able to continue your attack. But you didn't. You risked your life and your plans to save me."

"Why did you come here?" Bolt asked eventually.

Hinata swallowed nervously. "Because, Bolt," she said. "I want you to recognize that you're still a good person. Even Sasuke, after all he did, still came around in the end. You don't have to go down this path. We can still be a family again."

Bolt shook his head. "No, I—"

"Please," Hinata begged. She blinked away tears as she held a hand up to cup her son's face. "It's all I ever wanted... I just—I want us to be a family again. You, your sister, me, and Naruto. We can fix this. Make it work. Please, just..."

Bolt was quiet for some time. Hinata spent the minutes by memorizing every feature. It was because she was watching his face that she caught the change; eyes half-lidded, lips turned down, upper lip flaring so slightly that you wouldn't have been able to tell unless you had been looking for it. It was a sneer. One that Hinata had never expected to be leveled at her. And it marked the border between her son, Bolt Uzumaki, and the man he had become that was a stranger in every definition of the word, Pain.

Hinata dropped her hand with a gasp as if burned.

"Maybe you're right," Bolt said. "Maybe that's the reason why I got caught. I let my sentimentality cloud my judgement. I _should_ have let you die. Then I would've been spared a great deal of pain and been able to kill my sister once and for all."

Hinata felt tears well unshed in her eyes. "You don't mean that, Bolt," she said.

"Oh, but I do," Bolt insisted, stepping forward, eyes cold and piercing.

"You don't," Hinata said, head held high. "I've read the reports. You stopped one of your people from killing Himawari when it would have been most convenient. You're lying."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Bolt quoted. "Letting you and my sister live were simply one of the few I've made. When—and it is a _when_ , not an _if_ —I get out of here, I'll be sure to correct that mistake."

Her son took another step forward. He had inherited his father's height and the Hyūga's slender build. Bolt loomed over her. Hinata backpedalled, hands nervously wringing. "Really, you aren't too smart, Mother. Coming in here? _I'm_ not locked in here with you. _You're_ locked in here with me. That sleeping gas? Takes some time to work. I can hold my breath and by the time the gas fills up the room, well... the guards wouldn't be able to do anything to stop me, would they?"

Hinata's eyes widened as Bolt's index and middle finger extended in the classical finger thrust of the Gentle Fist. He couldn't use chakra—no one inside could—but at this distance, with just his body's strength, and the way his eyes lingered on her throat—

The barrier slammed down with an audible crack as guards flooded the room and put themselves between her and Bolt. Her son laughed lowly as he held his hands up and backed away. The guards brandished their weapons. "This way, ma'am," one of them said, pulling at her arm.

"No!" Hinata struggled. "He didn't mean it! He was—he was..."

The tears fell, then, as she was escorted from the cell. They didn't stop as the ANBU ferried her back to her home. They fell, and fell, and fell. Her sorrow and depression returned, icy and cold, threatening to drown her in their depths.

* * *

 **October 18th, 0024 AIT**

Natsuki kept her sword brandished as she slowly retreated with measured steps. She never took her eyes off the prisoner. That would be suicide. Natsuki had seen just how powerful the black sheep of the Uzumaki family was. Bolt smiled at them, at her, and followed them backwards with his hands still raised in a gesture of compliance and non-aggression.

The barrier of orange chakra shimmered to life with an audible whoosh of air. Natsuki stood and stared at the caged animal—because that was what he was—even as the rest of her comrades returned to their posts.

"You're a real fucking monster, you know that?" Natsuki snarled at him, listening to the Hokage's wife's sobs as she fled the prison.

Natsuki screamed in fear as the barrier cracked when Bolt slammed his fist against it.. "Gas!" she shrieked in alarm. He had crossed the distance so quickly and struck with such strength. If the barrier hadn't been there... Natsuki swallowed. His fist left a crack right where her throat would have been.

Gas flooded the room.

"You think I'm a monster?" Bolt snarled, sneering at her through the barrier with wild, angry eyes welling with unshed tears. "I'll show you a real monster. Octopus, was it? You're a Nara, right? You hide in the shadows just a little bit better than the other guards. Must be a Nara."

He laughed even as the gas came up his waist. "When I get out of here, I'll make you suffer for that comment. Your clan? Pathetic. Weak. I'll slaughter every man, woman, and child. I'll make you watch as your entire family is torn from you. Until there's only one left. The one you care about most. Then I'll give you a choice. You can kill them yourself. It'll be quick. Merciful. If you don't? I'll make sure their suffering lasts until the end of their very unnaturally long life. I'll make you watch, every day, as they're slowly and intimately tortured to insanity! Maybe then you'll understand even a small fraction of my pain. That is my promise to you, you heartless, pathetic, ignorant cunt—"

Bolt collapsed as the gas finally took effect.

"Natsuki? Natsuki!" Moriko called to her.

Natsuki turned to face her friend.

"Hey! Hey? You okay?" Moriko asked, kneeling at her side.

Natsuki blinked in confusion. When had she fallen down? "Yeah," she croaked. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"It'll be alright," Moriko swore. "He won't escape. I promise. Your family is safe."

Natsuki sighed, ragged and long, as Moriko ran her dexterous fingers through her hair. Natsuki could feel the fond smile radiating from behind the almost comical Squirrel mask. Moriko dropped her hand until it cupped her chin and forced Natsuki to look at her. "Not at work," Natsuki chided her.

"Fine, be that way," Moriko said with bemusement.

Natsuki felt her knees go weak as she staggered down the hall. Moriko steadied her with one arm. "Hey? You sure you're okay?" her girlfriend asked.

"Yeah," Natsuki choked out. "Yeah. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just never... never saw someone that strong explode so violently, I guess."

Because Bolt spat his words at her with such conviction, hate, sorrow, and pain. Because even though Natsuki knew she was safely ensconced behind the barrier, she still didn't feel safe. Because she didn't think that the leader of the Akatsuki had ever made an idle threat.

Because Natsuki believed that Bolt believed he would inflict that pain upon her.

* * *

 **October 18th, 0024 AIT**

Bolt picked himself up off the cold, hard stone floor and managed to hurl himself bodily onto the small ratty cot that he called a bed. The memory of what he had just done—of what he had just done to his mother—came flooding back. Bolt buried his face into his pillow that smelled of dust. There, no one would be able to see his tears as they fell.

Because he had to. Like tearing off a bandage. Bolt couldn't stop. Not now. He had came too far. Spilled so much blood. If he surrendered now, how could he ever face all those that died at his hands when he journeyed to the Pure Lands?

Bolt let a dark, gravelly laugh escape his lips. He supposed he didn't have to worry about that. When he died, his spirit would take up residence within his death mask until such time that Death himself called upon his service. He was denied even the torture of Naraka for his sins, if one believed in such a thing.

Bolt couldn't let his mother hold on to a false hope. That one day her son would come home. That the Uzumaki family could one day be just that—a family. No, Bolt Uzumaki was dead. He died a long, long time ago. On that battlefield in the Land of Rain where the blood ran in rivers and he discovered his dream amongst the fields of the dead.

He had thought telling his sister that he hated her was hard. But this? This was another kind of pain entirely. An emotional agony so powerful that it even made his body ached; his eyes, his throat, and his heart. Bolt had turned that knife on himself. Cut his chest open, broke his rib cage, and cut his still-beating heart from himself.

Now... now his family could give up on him. They could move on. They could move past their denial. They could heal. Because that fucking guard was right.

He was a monster.

A monster that the world needed, but a monster all the same.

* * *

 **October 19th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto blindly dragged his pen across the parchment, scribbling a crude imitation of his signature. Darkness loomed in his peripheral vision. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head, and scowled at the illegible scribbling. With a sigh he discarded his pen and rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. He hadn't slept in... nearly three days? It was difficult to keep track of time. Naruto refused to rest until he was certain of at least a temporary peace in the Stone-Sand war—he refused to call it the Fifth Great War. Calling it that meant he had truly lost. It meant the peace he and Sasuke had fought and bled for had died.

It meant that his son's ideology would be proven right.

That, of all things, was the worst prospect. Because it would be another gap between mending his family.

Naruto yawned. He pressed a button on his phone and spoke to his secretary. "Hinako? Could I get some coffee, please? Also, have Shikamaru—"

"— **Naruto!"** Kurama howled inside his skull. Naruto saw stars and yelped, now fully awake. **"Matatabi! She's gone!"**

His exhaustion fled as blind panic settled in its place like a block of ice. "What!" Naruto snapped. "Are you sure? Has—"

" **She's gone, Naruto,"** Kurama rumbled.

Naruto swore, closing his eyes and clearing his mind. He saw white as he appeared in the shared quasi-consciousness where all Tailed Beasts could meet and speak to each other if they so chose. Naruto sent a wave of chakra outwards, touching the consciousness of each of the Tailed Beasts—all but two; Shukaku and Matatabi. He swore, eyes shut tight, tears welling. One-by-one, the Tailed Beasts appeared and answered his call.

Bee and Gyūki were the first. "Naruto? What's—"

"Have either of you seen or heard from Matatabi? She was in the Land of Lightning, right?" Naruto asked, speaking quickly.

Bee shook his head. It was Gyūki who spoke. **"No, Naruto,"** the ox rumbled. **"Matatabi was mourning Yugito still, last we heard from her."**

Naruto nodded. "That's a place to start, I'll have ANBU investigate immediately. Bee, can you see if Cloud can spare anyone to go check on her? We need to—"

"Woah, slow down," Bee said. "What's going on, Naruto?"

"Matatabi is gone!" Naruto hissed. "She's been sealed, or killed, or— or, I don't know!"

Bee grew solemn. "How long?" he asked.

"I don't know—"

"— **I only checked a few minutes ago,"** Kurama answered for him. **"She could have gone missing any time between now and a month ago when I last checked on you all."**

"Damn," Bee swore. "What about the Akatsuki?"

"No, they couldn't—" Naruto paused, breath hitching. "Bolt and at least one other member attacked Cloud during that time. But the others... we don't know. Matatabi was strong. She wouldn't have—I don't know, I don't think the others were strong enough to fight her and win."

"You've still got Bolt in custody, right?" Bee asked. He was one of the few people that knew the Leaf had Bolt under arrest. "Go ask him?"

Naruto breathed a ragged breath. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll ask him. Just, everyone, be safe. Alright?"

The Tailed Beasts rumbled their agreement and faded from the shared consciousness. Naruto quickly bustled out of his office and began the descent into the bowels of the tower where his son was imprisoned.

* * *

 **October 19th, 0024 AIT**

Bolt snapped to full awareness as the barrier keeping him imprisoned came down with an audible snap. He had only a moment before he was hoisted from his cot by the collar of his prison clothes and pressed against the wall. His father stared into his very soul, eyes wide and furious. His pupils were stretched and slitted, like an animal's, and his iris was turning a violent purple color as red bled into blue.

"Hello to you too, Dad," Bolt breathed.

His father spoke through gritted teeth. Bolt could see that his canines were sharper and more defined. "Where is Matatabi?" he growled.

Bolt put on his best innocent smile. "I don't know who that is," he lied smoothly.

The Hokage pressed him against the wall until it was painfully uncomfortable. "The Two-Tails, Bolt. Where is the Two-Tails? Where is Matatabi?!"

Bolt weakly struggled against his father. Naruto was taller than him by a hair and much more impressive in size. He had inherited the Hyūga's slender build and now, bereft of his chakra, it was biting him in the ass.

"I—" Bolt paused. His father had said he was an empath sensor. A lie would almost certainly register to him. But, he wasn't a _true_ empath, was he? His father sensed a person's inner darkness. A perfect opportunity to test his theory, then. He would simply channel his purer emotions. Bolt thought of Hikari, of his sister, and of his Light he discovered under the Falls of Truth. "—I don't know!"

There was a pregnant pause as Naruto leaned forward, eyes wide and searching as they darted back and forth.

"I don't know," Bolt lied. "The Akatsuki has no interest in the Tailed Beasts so long as they aren't doing anyone any harm! We captured the One-Tails because he was destroying the Land of Wind!"

His father took several quick, shallow breaths. "Don't lie to me!" he hissed.

If there was one thing Bolt learned from Hikari and Hibiki, it was that good agents didn't quit when their cover was blown. They played their role even harder. There was no way to know if his father actually knew he was lying or not. "I don't know," Bolt said. "I swear. The last operation of the Akatsuki was the assassination of the Raikage."

Bolt forced himself not to wince in pain as he was pressed harder against the wall.

"The Akatsuki doesn't have an interest in the Tailed Beasts," Bolt reiterated. "We don't even have a way to store them, aside from the One-Tails. And no, I won't be giving _it_ to you. However..."

"However?" Naruto pressed.

"However, the Akatsuki isn't the only interested party out there, is it?" Bolt thought aloud. "The Fifth Great War is brewing. As the aggressor, I wouldn't put it past the Tsuchikage to stack the deck in her favor. A new jinchūriki would be the ultimate weapon."

Bolt could see the panic in his father's eyes. He pressed on. "Or... perhaps another party. A neutral one. One that has no stake in the coming war but saw an opportunity and took it. A party that thought the powers that be would be too busy focussing on the Fifth War to pay attention to a lone Tailed Beast..."

Naruto sucked in a breath. "Chōjūrō," he breathed.

Bolt yelped as he was suddenly released. His father sprinted from his cell, no less than ten guards milling about beyond the safety of the barrier as it was raised once more. Bolt sighed in relief as he sank back onto his cot. He needed to keep his friends' activities a secret as long as possible. Bolt would not allow himself to give the Leaf any actionable intel.

But it was so very hard to keep a smile from his lips and a laugh contained in his chest.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hinata is a hard character for me to write. I know there's a large (?) portion of you clamoring to see her thoughts on things, and hopefully this little tidbit satisfied you for now. I guess I find her hard to write because I like writing "strong" (emotionally, psychologically) characters. Hinata was written to be the exact opposite of that.

We get a little bit of a sneak peek into what "Omoikane" truly is, this chapter. More to come in 82/83.

New _Boruto_ manga content starts next month! Yay! We've seen all the wonky movie plot— _again._ Hopefully we finally get some new characters to play around with. More information on Metal Lee and his team would be awesome. Official birthdays, too, for all existing characters.

One thing I wanted to do earlier in the story was use dates to provide a more accurate timeline. I decided that it was too much work and that if Kishimoto ever came out with his own system that mine would be rendered obsolete. However, given the deadline Earth now has, I've decided to throw caution to the wind and go for it. So, from now on, there will be dates included.

The ninja world operates on the same twelve month calendar we do, but in light of the Fourth War, use _**AIT**_ , or, _**After Infinite Tsukuyomi**_ , to denote the current year. Of which, it is currently year 24. Naruto is currently 41/42 years old (celebrated his 42nd on the 10th of October after the capture of Bolt on the 7th of October). This made him 20 at the time of Bolt's birth, 3 years after the defeat of Kaguya.

Re: Sasuke's "mission" — Sasuke was off-world performing two very vital duties for Earth: reconnaissance and sabotage. His mission was to gather intel on the Ōtsutsuki from worlds they had visited and to delay them as much as possible by killing any of their number he came across. Specifically, this sabotage is the reason why this AU exists. Sasuke delayed the Ōtsutsuki from finding Earth and gave Naruto as much time as possible to rally its people against the invaders.

Re: Why Matatabi didn't call for help — I've chosen to disallow communication during a battle. Try having a phone conversation while you're in a fist fight with someone—or, more accurately, really, try writing a letter. Not going to work out real well, yeah?


	82. Chapter 82

**October 20th, 0024 AIT**

Bolt expected more trouble for his treatment of his mother. He expected his father to be furious. He expected his sister to be murderous. So, when he heard the telltale whoosh of air as the barrier to his cell fell, he prepared himself for the worst.

In a way, he would rather have fought his father and sister _at the same time_ than face the duo that waltzed into his cell like they owned it. The dark chuckle that rang in his ears made his skin crawl. Bolt swore colorfully under his breath.

"Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?" Orochimaru hissed.

Bolt rounded on the Sannin and glared at him. Behind Orochimaru, Mitsuki stood frozen. As if he had finally come face-to-face with his greatest fear and now didn't know what to do. Bolt leveled his iciest piercing glare at Orochimaru. He did wonder how the vile snake had survived. Granted, he was busy dealing with his father when he last saw Orochimaru, but one did wonder.

"How are you alive?" Bolt growled.

Orochimaru smiled, baring a maw of fangs. "How did you put it? It was rather eloquent. Ah! 'Death and I have an agreement,' I do believe. Well, I doubt Death and I have quite the same agreement you and your clan do, but we have one all the same. That being: I don't die."

Bolt sneered at the snake. "I don't know how my father stands you," he hissed. "You're obviously the biggest threat to a future of peace. An immortal—and I use the word lightly—who has a history of antagonism with the Leaf? You should have been put down a long time ago, snake, even if you weren't an abomination of nature."

Orochimaru laughed. "The pot calling the kettle black, eh, Mitsuki?" Mitsuki said nothing. "You don't have much ground to stand on, brat. But, well, I must admit... I'm a rather big fan of your work. Cloud? The Raikage? Excellent show. You've done what not even I've accomplished: the death of one of the Great Five."

Bolt grit his teeth and glared at Orochimaru hatefully.

"And what a magnificent show it must have been! What a wondrous technique you've created!" Orochimaru sang his praises as he danced forward. Bolt jerked away as Orochimaru hooked a finger under his collar and yanked his shirt down to reveal his Cursed Seal. "I must say, imitation is the highest form of flattery. Given that the Cursed Seal is the only difference between when we last met, I'm going to assume it's what gave you the edge over poor Darui. What's it called?"

Bolt slapped the Sannin's hand away, inwardly disgusted that he had even been seen—let alone touched—by Orochimaru. If the snake wanted to trade barbs, fine. Bolt could do that. He smirked. "It's called the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva. It's the spoken form of the Uzumaki sealing language, it means—"

"—It means 'godhood,' or 'divinity,' yes, I know," Orochimaru hissed, suddenly serious. "More specifically, it refers to those attributes being possessed by the soul. Quite arrogant, don't you think?"

"Only as arrogant as naming a technique after _Heaven and Earth_ , don't you think?" Bolt sneered.

Orochimaru chuckled. "You are learning. Perhaps one day we'll get to trade notes, you and I. But that's not why I came here."

"Why _did_ you come here?" Bolt asked. His gaze drifted and fell on Mitsuki.

"Well, it wasn't because of Mitsuki, I can assure you," Orochimaru hissed. "Not that he didn't—he did—just that he was too frightened to see you. I, on the other hand, have much to discuss with _you_ , Mister Uzumaki."

Bolt narrowly dodged the punch that came out of nowhere. It ghosted across his chin. Bolt felt his knees go weak. Orochimaru tackled him and pinned him to the ground, holding both arms above his head. Bolt glanced out beyond the barrier where he knew the guards were. They were sitting on their asses, content to let Orochimaru have his way with him. He caught sight of the tentacled mask of Octopus. Bolt swore. Spiteful bitch was going to get him killed.

"You killed my eldest son," Orochimaru hissed dangerously. Bolt struggled but found that Orochimaru was much stronger than him even without chakra. "Perhaps not with your own hand, but you forced him to his grave. For that... well, if you were _anyone_ else..." Orochimaru laughed; sinister, dark, and cold. "I know of techniques that would make you dream of the sweet release of death."

Orochimaru released him. Bolt scrambled to his feet. "But I'm a man of science," the snake remarked. "Of logic. Of _reason_. So I'll forgive you for your part in Log's death. I'm here, actually, to offer you a choice. A chance to get out of this cell. A chance at freedom."

"... Why?" Bolt asked, warily.

" _Because_ ," Orochimaru stressed with a sigh. "I stand by what I said before. You would be an exceedingly powerful tool to use against the Ōtsutsuki. Your recent showing against the Raikage only proves that I'm right. Among the Kage—not including your father—Darui was the most powerful of them all. The most powerful in many decades, in fact. Well, Kurotsuchi would give him a run for his Hat, but the fact remains. We won't know how powerful the Ōtsutsuki are exactly until Sasuke gets back, but surely—"

"I'm not interested," Bolt dismissed him. He was not going to be fooled into whatever delusions and paranoia plagued Orochimaru and his father. "I'm perfectly fine. Right here, right now."

Orochimaru narrowed his slitted eyes. "You don't know what's coming, brat. Humanity needs to stand together. We've had thousands of years to get our act together. Now is the time, if ever. What was your exact words? 'Peace, order, and stability?' You won't even have a spec of dirt to stand on if we don't repel the Ōtsutsuki."

"Like I said, not interested," Bolt reiterated.

Mitsuki stepped forward hesitantly. "Bolt, please," his friend said. "I... you've committed too many atrocities in the name of the greater good. You forced my brother to use a technique he knew would end in his death. This can be the start of your redemption. A parole where you help prepare the world for the war against the Ōtsutsuki. Just like what my father is doing. This is the only way out of this cell. Hell, my father is the only one who has put forward an idea of what exactly we're going to do with you!"

"You're wrong, Mitsuki," Bolt said. "Siding with that monster you call a father is _not_ the only way out of this cell."

Orochimaru laughed. "You don't seriously think you can escape, do you? I helped design this cell myself. It's guarded by the best the Leaf has to offer and you're sitting under the Hokage himself. There is no chance of escape. There is no chance of rescue."

Bolt smiled wryly at the father and son duo. Orochimaru's slitted eyes danced back and forth before widening. "You don't want to escape," the snake hissed dangerously. "You _wanted_ to be captured... no, you planned for it. You didn't want to, but if you were..."

Bolt rounded on the Sannin. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're insinuating," he lied.

"Mitsuki!" Orochimaru snapped, turning around and quickly marching towards the barrier. "Let's go! We're leaving."

Mitsuki gave him a backwards glance as the two of them filed out of the room. Bolt watched them go and laughed.

* * *

 **October 11th, 0024 AIT**

Hikari walked the grounds of the Eye. She ached from spending the last four days sealing away the One and Two-Tails. The Eye was a rather beautiful... realm, she supposed. It was still difficult for her to wrap her head around the—the magic, really—of the Eye. Bolt continued to prove himself a once-in-a-century genius. If he had been born in a different time, under a different star, perhaps he would be celebrated for his prowess instead of feared and hated? Hikari thought so, at least.

According to Katasuke, the Eye of the Storm was incomplete. It had room to grow. As they captured more and more of the Tailed Beasts, their energy would fuel the expansion of the realm. Katasuke and Tsuchigumo had shown her sketches Bolt had idly drawn as the three of them gave birth to the fūinjutsu that would serve as the bones of the Eye.

His vision was of a realm of lush vegetation and rolling hills. Much like, Hikari thought, an amalgamation of the Land of Fire's forests and the Land of Whirlpool's hills. It was dotted by great lakes and rivers, reminiscent of her own homeland. Hikari found it endearing that Bolt had found something to admire in the Land of Water. She idly rubbed at her defaced Mist headband. Even though she no longer considered herself a ninja of the Mist, in some ways, it would always be her home. Always possess a small piece of her heart.

And, looming above it all, would be a castle—the castle, really. It was nowhere near what Bolt had envisioned, but it was a start. Katasuke had lectured him on how the modern lexicon had forgotten the true meaning of the word "castle." The castle Bolt envisioned had no fortifications. It wasn't designed to withstand a siege. It was designed to be intimidating; a display of wealth, power, and influence. Hewn of white-gray stone, almost like marble, with a nearly holy quality about it. The shadow it casted made one feel very, very small.

It was his seat of power—the Akatsuki's seat of power. It was _political_ —and Hikari knew how much Bolt hated politics. Politics had stolen his father from him, after all.

Looking at the pitiful "castle"—dirty white-gray stonework, low walls—it was a far cry from what he had envisioned. Hikari sighed and wandered into the courtyard. She shivered upon seeing the arches of stone that seemed to radiate an inner light. If the Eye was magic, then whatever Bolt had devised to keep the Tailed Beasts locked away was mythological. Hikari just couldn't quite wrap her head around the physics of it all.

Puppets milled about the halls, acting as servants. They cleaned, they unpacked what little they had been able to rescue from their old hideout, and they began making the rounds as guards. Hikari wasn't sure why they bothered. The defenses of the Eye lay in its... "physical"—Hikari wasn't sure if that was the right word—location, and its fūinjutsu defenses. She quited enjoy gazing at the sky and trying to follow Bolt's chakra chains as they danced across the heavens.

Hikari made her way to _their_ quarters—and it was _their_ quarters, not _hers_. Bolt had combined their rooms. Presumptuous, but she didn't mind. It seemed like she spent more time fitfully sleeping in a chair, watching over Bolt, than she actually did sleeping in her own bed. Their quarters were easily the largest of all the bedrooms; a large central area with a table and chairs, a separate bedchamber, a private bath, with one half of the central area being a large but empty library and the other acting as an impromptu laboratory. Hikari gave the room a wan smile. She could envision Bolt sitting across from her, his nose in a book, as she concocted a new poison with a pestle and mortar.

Her loneliness and frustration made themselves known. Because she shouldn't have stumbled upon their quarters. Bolt should have showed her. At least, she was pretty sure that was how the gesture would have gone. Had he not been taken from her. That memory led to darker thoughts. She was the leader of the Akatsuki now. Bolt had entrusted her with _everything_ —his organization, his rings, his death masks. His _dream_. It was a heady, powerful feeling to know that someone trusted her that much.

Hikari swore she would not let Bolt down.

As leader of the Akatsuki, she had a long-standing tradition to follow: plotting. Hikari had spent many an hour late into the night listening as Bolt plotted and planned, bouncing ideas off her, preparing for every possible situation and scenario. Now, finally, that plotting paid dividends. Hikari knew Bolt knew that it was always a possibility he would be captured. An unfortunate possibility, one she hoped would never come to pass, but a possibility all the same. So Hikari would continue as planned. Bolt would hamstring the Union—the Leaf, now, really—from inside with his very presence, while Hikari would lead the Akatsuki and continue their operations.

Presently, there was only three goals that the Akatsuki could realistically act upon: Tetsu needed to claim the Thunderswords, which would bequeath him a considerable boost in power; the Three-Tails needed to be captured, whose last known location was the greater Land of Water; and... the destruction of the Hidden Mist and the assassination of the Sixth Mizukage—who, coincidentally, also possessed another of the Seven: the Twinswords.

Hikari couldn't lie to herself. The opportunity to exact vengeance upon the Mist for murdering her parents for simply wanting to live a life of peace in the wake of the Fourth War was exceedingly alluring. But wisdom tempered her. Mist was often considered the second weakest of the Great Five, after Sand, but it was by no means an easy target. Tetsu would surely demand a one-on-one duel for the Twinswords. Hikari had every confidence that her friend would win. That left Mist—and the hunter corps, she smiled—to herself and whatever other forces she chose to bring to bear.

Hikari stepped into the bedroom; large, sparsely decorated. She flopped down on the right side of the bed—her side, she supposed. The library was on the left, the lab on the right. It made sense to her, then, that the right side was hers. Hikari breathed a long, ragged sigh. Her mind returned to agonizing over their next move. Tetsu would be fully recovered shortly, but Kagari would take longer to heal. Kagami couldn't—not wouldn't, _couldn't_ —work with anyone else. As Bolt had so aptly put it... the Akiyama sisters did not play well with others. So Kagami and Kagari would be off the board for the foreseeable future. That left herself and Tetsu, as well as Yasuo and Hidan, to act in the field.

Yasuo and Hidan, however, had their own mission that Bolt had entrusted to them. One that Hikari realized she needed to check up on. Yasuo she didn't trust, but he could at least be counted upon to act as a member of the Akatsuki. Hidan, however? If it was up to her, she would seal the insane cultist into a pocket dimension along with the Tailed Beasts.

Unfortunately, she couldn't. Bolt would be most displeased with her. Good help was hard to come by.

Hikari rolled onto her back and clasped her hands together and formed the Ram sign. She connected to the astral telecommunication network almost instantly. _"Hibiki,"_ she said in greetings. _"Connect me to Yasuo and Hidan."_

" _Sure thing... leader,"_ Hibiki said wryly. Hikari thought she caught a sinister undertone.

Hikari had to wait a few moments for Hibiki to find the right "channel" to the material world, as he described it. When he did, she felt the connection between her mind and Yasuo and Hidan. Really, she only needed to talk to Yasuo. Hidan only babbled religious dogma to anyone other than Bolt, the crazy bastard. _"Yasuo,"_ Hikari said, sipping her head in a nod even though neither of the two men could see her. _"How goes your unification of the Jashin cults?"_

" _Better than expected,"_ Yasuo reported. _"They seem to respect—if not revere—Hidan. I've managed to coerce one hundred and fifty-four of them into following Hidan. Of them, twenty-two are 'immortal,' and nearly every single one is raving mad."_

Hikari smiled. _"Good,"_ she said. _"Proceed with the next phase of the plan. Take your forces and usurp control of the Hidden Steam. Assert yourself as the Yukage and reform the village as a military power. The Revolution already expects the coup and will be waiting to supply operatives to fill the ranks."_

" _And what do we do if someone takes offense?"_ Yasuo asked.

Hikari reached up and removed her mask as she breathed a sigh. _"You have twenty-two immortal cultist ninja. Deal with the interlopers—permanently,"_ she instructed the mercenary.

" _You got it, boss,"_ Yasuo quipped.

Hikari often forgot that their newest member was the youngest of their organization by far. _"Do not fail me,"_ she said. It was a line Hikari had heard Bolt say many a time. To her ears, it always sounded menacing coming from him. Now, the words spilling from her own lips? Not so much. _"We cannot afford to fail at this crucial juncture."_

" _Don't worry about it, boss,"_ Yasuo said. _"We've got this. We've got this, right, Hidan? No? Well, I've got this."_

Hikari terminated the connection. _"Thank you, Hibiki,"_ she mumbled before withdrawing entirely.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hikari held it until her lungs ached. Then she exhaled. She could feel the weight on her shoulders. It was almost a tangible, physical weight. As if she was carrying rocks on her shoulders. Hikari wondered if that was how Bolt felt. Reflecting, it probably was. Sadly, she thought, he had probably known that weight his entire life. He was the son of the Hokage, heir to the Hyūga and the Uzumaki, and one of the most powerful ninja alive. There was probably _never_ a time in his life that he didn't feel a weight on his shoulders.

It was rather sad, Hikari thought. If she could, she would bear some of that weight. As White, acting leader of the Akatsuki, she had that opportunity.

Hikari let the dark oblivion of sleep claim her.

* * *

 **October 20th, 0024 AIT**

Himawari strode through the halls of the underground prison with angry, measured steps. She tried to not look angry. She really did. But she couldn't help it. Himawari was sure it showed on her face. She was more than angry. She was furious. Her brother had done something truly unforgivable: he made their mother cry.

"Himawari," Shikadai said nervously. "We can—we can think this out, you know? Make a plan? Maybe calm down a little. Let clear heads prevail?"

Himawari rounded on him. She pressed him against a wall, poking his chest with her finger. "No!" she hissed through gritted teeth. "I'm tired of this! There's two ways this ends: I beat Bolt bloody until he finds his humanity or I beat him until I feel better."

Shikadai muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Troublesome woman."

"What was that?" Himawari rounded on him again.

"Nothing," Shikadai yelped. "Just that, uh, you should've waited until you got clearance to see Bolt."

Himawari scoffed and continued her march. "Why? You have the clearance as leader of the task force. Isn't that what boyfriends are for?"

"Troublesome," Shikadai swore. "This is so illegal. We're going to prison for this. You know that, right?"

"We'll be fine," Himawari stated.

"No," Shikadai countered. "No, we won't. This is breaking thirteen different laws—trust me, I counted. Hey, that cell looks nice! Think we could pick ours out?"

Himawari snorted and bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

"No, but seriously," Shikadai said. "You know we're going to be down here with Bolt if we do this, right?"

"We'll be fine," Himawari sighed. "I'll tell them it was all my idea. That I forced you to help me. Kidnapped you, that's it! You'll be fine, Shikadai."

Shikadai muttered under his breath. Himawari turned away and began marching down the hall again. The odd mixture of emotions in her chest began to churn again. It wasn't something she had ever remembered feeling before. Hope, yes, matched in equal measure by righteous anger, welded together by a fierce, greedy love. That was the best way Himawari could describe her feelings for her brother. Probably not the healthiest relationship, she admitted, but Himawari wouldn't trade it for anything.

"Troublesome. _Troublesome_ ," Shikadai breathed forcefully behind her. "Alright. Alright. I can do this. It's not a big deal. It's not."

Himawari rounded the corner. The guards took notice immediately. "Hey!" one of them called out. "You can't be down here!"

She kept moving forward. "Troublesome," Shikamaru swore, stepping out behind her. Himawari saw his shadow surge forward, using her own shadow to strengthen itself and cross the distance between them and the guards. They ground to a halt, straining against their invisible bonds.

"Don't worry," Himawari said as she passed them by. "We're not breaking him out. I just want to have a little one-on-one time with my brother."

One of the guards grunted something at her that sounded more like a plea than a warning. Himawari approached the console on the wall, a nexus of inky black fūinjutsu script with two large circles inside a vague square. She pressed her palm to the circle on the left. The first of the orange barriers fell. Himawari frowned, removed her hand, and placed it on the second circle. This time, the second barrier fell. She sighed and created a shadow clone. Her clone dutifully operated the controls as Himawari entered her brother's cell.

Bolt, as she had predicted, had noticed the commotion outside. "Well," he said, straightening from where he had been kneeling on the floor. "This is a surprise. Come to bust your dear old brother from his cell?"

Himawari smiled thinly. "Not a chance," she said.

Her brother sighed. "What do you want, Himawari?" Bolt asked.

"I _want_ ," Himawari said forcefully. "My brother back."

Bolt scoffed at her with a lopsided half-grin. "Your 'brother' is—"

"—No, Bolt," Himawari inserted. She stepped forward, fists balled, teeth bared in a grim smile. "You don't understand. You don't have a choice in the matter. You are _my_ brother. You _belong_ to me. It's not a position that someone can willfully step down from. Your appointment is for life. And my brother would have _never_ made our mother cry."

Himawari saw Bolt swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing and his eyes darting over her shoulder. There was just a hint of fear reflected in his blue eyes. She grinned further. "I'm selfish, you know? The Princess of the Hyūga. Daughter of the Hokage. I _always_ get what I want. And I want you," Himawari paused to let her words sink in. "You have two choices: either you submit and become the person I know you are, deep down inside—my brother—or..."

"Or?" Bolt asked.

"Or I beat you black and blue as I forcefully drag my brother out of you kicking and screaming!" Himawari growled, fists clenched so hard her knuckles were white.

Bolt held his hands up and chuckled nervously. "Are you supposed to be in here? Where are the guards?"

This time her smile was feral. "They're indisposed while we have our little heart-to-heart," she replied.

Bolt smiled at her weakly. Himawari pounced. She cold-cocked him with a punch to the jaw that should have left him unconscious. Bolt spun, going with the flow, and was instead left standing on wobbly legs. He danced away as gracefully and quickly as possible. Himawari gave chase. Her brother slipped into a strange defensive stance not belonging to the Gentle Fist; fists raised, forearms vertical, elbows nearly touching, a slight crouch in his legs. Bolt danced from foot to foot.

Himawari leapt at him with a roared battle cry. Bolt blocked her punch with a raised arm and slipped inside her guard. He shoulder-checked her and Himawari stumbled backwards. She hopped over a legsweep hit her brother in the forearm with a clenched fist. He yelped in pain, shaking his hand. The two of them circled each other.

There was something thrilling about fighting without chakra. Himawari was discovering muscles and pains she hadn't known she had. Ninja relied on chakra for so much that they barely knew how to fight without it. Breathing hard, Himawari lunged forward. Bolt hit her with a punch that glanced off her jaw and struck her shoulder. Himawari winced but dived forward. She tackled her brother, hooking his thighs with her arms, and took him to the ground. There was an audible whoosh of air as the oxygen was driven from Bolt's lungs.

The two of them slapped at each other with splayed fingers as they fought for dominance. Bolt bucked his hips in an attempt to throw her off. Himawari held her brother down with one arm, hand clutching at his neck. She grunted as Bolt thrust a palm at her face that bruised her cheekbone and forced her neck to turn at an odd angle.

There was no elegance in their struggle. None of the nearly fifteen years of training they had under their belts was used. It was a brawl; crude, simple. And for all her brother's powers, Himawari knew that her own physical strength surpassed his. She got a hand free and slipped a punch through his guard. Bolt yelped in pain, blood running from his nose. With a growl, her brother kneed her in the groin and then threw his skull forward. It connected with Himawari's mouth, sending lances of pain through her teeth.

The two of them scrambled away from each other, bloodied and bruised, breathing hard. They circled each other like feral dogs eying a piece of meat. Himawari grinned and felt blood dribble down her chin. It probably wasn't healthy that she felt closest to Bolt when they were fighting. She traded a punch with her brother, wincing as her knuckles ground together. Himawari had never noticed how more it hurt to throw a punch without chakra.

Their brawl continued for several minutes until both of them were heaving for breath and burning with exhaustion. Himawari grinned at her Bolt's battered countenance; eyes black and swollen, lip split, skin stained pink by blood.

Bolt growled at her, spitting blood. "Give up on me, Himawari!"

Her chest was bursting with anger, love, and determination in equal measure. "Give up—" Himawari roared, lunging forward. Bolt met her charge. Both of their arms were cocked, ready to deliver the final blow. "—On me giving up on you, Bolt!"

Himawari struck first and struck hard. Her fist connected solidly with her brother's chin. She could feel the power of the punch transfer through her body; from her feet, up her legs, through her hips, up her torso, down her arms, and through her fists. She saw Bolt's blue eyes go unfocused as his legs became jelly.

He fell into her waiting arms and Himawari never planned on letting go. Bloody, sweaty, and tired, she hauled her brother over to the nearby wall. Himawari placed her back to the cool, hard stone and slid to the floor. She breathed a sigh of relief. Bolt was unconscious next to her, a little worse for wear, and contorted at an uncomfortable angle. With a smile, Himawari propped him up against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her brother's waist in a fierce hug and squeezed.

She stayed that way for several long minutes until she felt her brother begin to stir. Bolt groaned. Then, suddenly, stiffened in her arms. Himawari knew he was awake. Still, neither said a word. Her brother relaxed, leaning against the wall for support. She hugged him harder. "Ow," Bolt croaked, trying to wiggle out of her grip.

Himawari lessened the strength of her hug but didn't let him go free. "Stop moving," she commanded.

Surprisingly, Bolt obeyed. He was still for one long, yawning moment before breathing a ragged sigh. Himawari smiled as she felt her brother drape one arm over her shoulders. "I can't stop, Himawari," Bolt said softly. "Not now."

"I know," Himawari responded, her words muffled as she spoke into her brother's side. "But that doesn't mean you have to cut me—cut _us_ —out of your life."

Bolt laughed weakly and gasped in pain. "It does," he said. "The Hokage can't have a rogue ninja for a son. Our mother can't have an international criminal for a son. You can't have an absent brother for a... brother."

"Why not?" Himawari demanded with a frown.

"I..." Bolt paused. He chuckled under his breath. "I don't know, actually. It's just not done."

Himawari loosened her hug and sat up slightly. She craned her neck up and pressed a quick kiss to her brother's cheek. "You're my brother, Bolt," she said. "You'll always be. Don't try to run away from me."

Bolt blushed and made a show of trying to turn away in disgust but Himawari saw the small smile that graced his lips. The two of them basked in that moment of familial love.

Then it was gone.

"You made our mother cry, Bolt," Himawari stated tersely.

Bolt made a small noise in the back of his throat. "She's like some kind of cute, wide-eyed puppy that I kicked," he mumbled. "Being cruel to her was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."

"Why?" Himawari demanded.

Bolt sighed. "She can't... she can't waste her life waiting on a son to come back that never will. She needs to move on. I thought... I thought the only way to force her to do that was to be cruel to her," he said.

Himawari frowned thunderously. "I'm going to convince Mom to come see you again, Bolt," she said. "You will apologize to her. And you will eat whatever she brings you, instead of whatever... that is." She nodded at the tray of prison food left untouched by the barrier.

Bolt was quiet for a moment. "... It's exceedingly cruel to give her false hope," he said. "We can't ever be a family again. Not until I win. And maybe not even then."

Himawari hugged Bolt until he groaned and she heard his ribs creak. "You don't get it, Bolt," she said. "Dad might not be able to condone your actions, officially. He has the entire city to watch over. But Mom and I? We don't care. We just want you. It's all we've ever wanted. I don't care if you're a criminal. Maybe it's selfish, but I care more about you than every single person that died in Cloud. I guess that makes me a bad person."

Himawari sucked in a breath. "I don't think your vision of a united world will ever come to pass," she continued on. "And I hate that you're throwing away your future by following that path. I hate that you're putting yourself in danger. I hate that you're fighting people that should be our friends and allies. I wish I could've kept you here. Where you could've been just my brother. I wish that would've been enough for you. Made you happy. But it wasn't, and you weren't. And I don't care. I just want my brother back, Bolt."

Tears welled unshed in her eyes. Himawari blinked them away. She stilled as she felt Bolt lean down and press a kiss to the crown of her head. Himawari could feel that he had left blood on her from his split lip, but she didn't care. "I'll always be your brother, Hima. I love you too much to give you up entirely," Bolt whispered into her hair. "Our relationship won't be traditional, maybe, but I'll always be your brother."

Himawari smiled at that, snuggling closer. She frowned as the barrier came down with an audible snap. The patter of boots striking stone filled her ears. Himawari opened her eyes and glared forcefully at the guards that had flooded the room. At the back, a pair of them manhandled Shikadai.

"Hey," Shikadai protested. "You do _not_ want to interrupt. Trust me on this. She'll wipe the floor with all of you, no offense."

Himawari breathed a frustrated sigh. Her time with Bolt was up. Reluctantly, she released him from her hug and stood. She gave the nearest guard a withering glare that promised pain if he dared to touch her. Himawari looked down at Bolt. "I'll be back in a few days. With Mom," she clarified. "Work on your apology. I mean it."

Her brother chuckled and waved her off. Satisfied, Himawari allowed the guard to place his hand on her shoulder— _lightly_ —and escort her out of the cell. She paused near Shikadai, standing on her toes, and gave him a light peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Shika," she said.

The guards herded them from the cell and the barrier immediately came up. Himawari heard a _very_ unique sound come from the cell. A squawking choke that resonated in the back of her brother's throat. "Hey!" Bolt yelled. His fists slammed against the barrier. "Hey! Shikadai! Get back here! You bastard!"

Shikadai tilted his head and glared at her pitifully. "Why would you do that to me?" he asked.

Himawari laughed.

* * *

 **October 21st, 0024 AIT**

"Run that by me again?" Naruto asked tersely.

"Bolt _wants_ to be imprisoned here!" Orochimaru hissed.

"I highly doubt my son desired to be imprisoned here instead of leading his organization safely in the Land of Wind," Naruto quipped.

It was kind of funny seeing someone he had feared for so long standing in his office tearing their hair out in frustration. "How do you even have the brain cells necessary to remember your own name?" Orochimaru seethed. "Bolt doesn't desire to be here at all. But it's an acceptable outcome. His very presence here forces you and the other important players to look inwards instead of outwards. The fact that you can't see this proves that I'm right!"

Naruto frowned. "I have more important matters to deal with than whether or not Bolt is actively trying to sabotage the Leaf inside a secure cell where no one can use chakra _that you helped build_ ," he retorted.

"Like trying to find the Two-Tails?" Orochimaru hissed. "He's playing you and you know it. The Akatsuki captured the Two-Tails shortly during or after the attack on the Hidden Cloud. Bolt placed the idea that it could have been Stone or Mist into your mind to distract you from the Akatsuki!"

Naruto sighed. "Matatabi was extremely powerful, even for only having two tails," he countered. "I don't believe anyone except for Bolt would be powerful enough to defeat her. Kurotsuchi or Chōjūrō, on the other hand? With their ninja backing them up? They're a much more credible threat than a handful of rogue ninja."

Orochimaru slammed both hands onto the edge of his desk. Naruto frowned and put down his pen. "That is _exactly_ what your son wants you to think!" Orochimaru hissed. "Open your eyes, Hokage! The longer you allow him to stay here and cloud your judgement, the more damage the Akatsuki will be free to do!"

"So, what?" Naruto asked. "Your solution is for me to give him to you?"

"Yes!" Orochimaru hissed. "Or send him away to a prison outside the Leaf! Anything but keep him here! He is _dangerous,_ Naruto."

Naruto frowned dangerously. "I seem to recall that the last time my son was in your care he nearly died," he said. It still rankled Naruto that Orochimaru had, against all odds, come out on top after surviving the original Akatsuki, Sasuke, Itachi, _and_ the Fourth War. "I'm not about to give him to you a second time."

"You're making a mistake, Hokage," Orochimaru intoned dangerously.

"I can't risk losing my son again, Orochimaru," Naruto stated. He couldn't let Bolt out of his sight. He was afraid that his son would vanish if he did.

No, Bolt was safest in the Leaf.

Orochimaru snarled and stormed from his office. Mitsuki smiled apologetically and trailed after his father. Naruto nodded once politely to his son's friend as the two of them left.

* * *

 **October 23rd, 0024 AIT**

 _Sarada blinked. She could see nothing save for darkness as far as the eye could see. An endless, eternal darkness that yawned on for eternity. It was dotted by twinkling bastions of light far, far in the distance. Like the night sky, she thought. Beautiful, but terrifying. She drifted forward, carried on an incorporeal wind. She could feel neither air nor temperature on her skin. Wherever she was, it was a void. Slowly, she drifted. There was no sense of direction. To marker by which she could judge her progress. Like being thrown deep beneath the waves of the ocean where no light reached. Only an endless darkness in any direction with no way to tell which direction was up._

 _Suddenly, Sarada_ felt. _Warmth, wet and sticky, on her cheeks. Tears welling in her eyes. The distant stars, as if angered, turned a bloody crimson color. Like a curtain, the darkness was drawn back. Bereft of it, Sarada could finally_ see. _A tower of white stone, the rock so pure and holy in its appearance that it appeared unnaturally void of color, loomed over her. She drifted forward, again, as if untethered and unanchored. Up she went, and forward she willed. She had no body, that Sarada was sure of, but she felt her metaphysical "foot" touch solid ground as she landed atop the tower._

 _It was a strange place. Rather like a lighthouse, Sarada thought. The top of the tower was open to the elements, shielded by a domed cap held aloft by arches of white stone. Warily, Sarada stepped forward. There was some form of strange, archaic writing on the arches. Sarada couldn't read the words. They reminded her of fūinjutsu in the way that they conveyed a sense of purpose, of power. There was a ripple as she stepped through the arch. Like walking through a wall of jelly._

 _Her mouth parted in a silent gasp as Sarada looked up. A strange man, only in the loosest sense of the word, stood opposite her. Tall and willowy, strangely beautiful, with hair and skin as white as snow. His limbs were unnaturally long. They made him look gangly in a strange, elegant way. Whatever the man was, he wasn't human. Sarada knew that._ Saw _that. A pair of eyes, a vortex of shadow and blood, stared down upon her. Atop his head sat a pair of curved ivory horns, kissed with a touch of violet._

" _Hello?" Sarada ventured._

 _The man said something, garbled and lilting, a language foreign to her ears. Sarada shook her head. The man smiled thinly and gestured towards the pool of water that sat between them. Sarada warily approached, her eyes darting between the stranger and the pool. When she was a mere foot away only then did Sarada dare gaze into the depths. Her eyes widened. Countless, truly countless, threads unfolded and unraveled and spiraled and tangled and wove together. There was chaos, yet order. Peace, yet war. Fire, but water. Darkness, yet light. They all wove together in one seemingly meandering pattern. But Sarada_ could _see the pattern._

 _No longer was she standing atop the tower._

 _She gazed across the land with the view of a God. Oceans, forests, mountains. Sarada saw the Leaf. Other countries, vaguely, she recognized. Forests burned. Rivers ran red with blood. Smoke blot the sun from the sky. The fields of the dead and the dying dotted the landscape for miles and miles. And not just humans, either. Animals and plants shared in the death. The world was dying, decaying. Graying and fading as the life was slowly sucked from its corpse._

" _Oh, God," Sarada breathed._

 _Her eyes rose. Looming above her was a towering stalk of a flower. A tree, perhaps, in only the loosest view. Winding upon itself before blossoming high above the ground as if reaching for the moon. Her view warped. Sarada found herself standing at the base of the tree. She fell to her knees as her stomach churned, though she had no body with which to be sick. Her father lay against a small root of the tree. Dead, clearly, his eyes plucked from his skull. The Hokage lied on the ground some distance away. He was as still as stone, lifeless, sapped of the golden glow of his chakra. He was_ empty, _Sarada knew._

 _The death did not stop there. Her mother, eviscerated, scattered across a battlefield in more pieces than Sarada could count. Mitsuki, her Mitsuki, simply one face amongst many in a field of dead reserved specially for him and his brothers. Himawari, standing tall, hands held before her face fearfully with her eyes shut and her mouth parted in a scream. She was solid stone; petrified. Chōchō, her friend, larger than any Akimichi Sarada had seen before. She was a titan felled, lying in a pool of her own blood between two valleys. Shikadai and several other thin, grizzled men, lay dead in a war-torn tent._

 _On and on the image of her dead friends and loved ones played before her._

 _All save for one._

 _Bolt._

 _Sarada dreaded it. Each new vision she feared would show her a mangled carcass blond hair and blue eyes._

 _But it never came._

 _Sarada heaved for breath as she came up. She fell to her knees, once again back in the tower of white stone. She cried. Tears, warm and hot, fell down her cheeks. Tears of blood, she knew, but they were better than nothing at all. Her stomach churned and acid burned her throat, but her metaphysical body had nothing to vomit. The man in white stood over her. His lips were downturned, eyes sad._

" _Why?" Sarada asked. "Why did you show me that?"_

 _The man had nothing to say._

" _Why? Tell me why!" Sarada demanded._

 _He simply shook his head._

" _How do I stop this? What happened?" Sarada asked._

 _He simply shook his head._

" _Tell me!" Sarada screamed._

 _He gestured to the pool again. With a growl, Sarada turned her gaze back upon its depths of whirling, weaving threads._

 _Sarada found her Bolt. Alive, breathing, unharmed. Thin, yes, but unharmed. Warm blue eyes and wilting blond hair. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was dressed in orange clothes, his prison uniform, held behind a barrier of shimmering orange chakra. His prison cell, Sarada realized._

" _Hello, Sarada," he smiled at her._

 _Sarada tried to say something but couldn't find the words, couldn't find the strength to speak them._

" _Why?" Bolt said, repeated. He smirked. "I will be free, Sarada. One way... or the other."_

 _Sarada screamed as he withdrew a common butter knife from the folds of his orange prison clothes. Before she could even twitch a finger, Bolt had the knife lodged in his throat. Sarada knelt by him, crying, wispy hands trying to stem the blood. Her fingers passed through his neck. Sarada watched, helpless, as Bolt bled to death. Choked on his own blood. Stared up at her with pained, fearful blue eyes. In less than a minute, he was gone._

 _The tapestry that was his life came to an end. But Bolt Uzumaki, son of the Hokage, was merely one thread upon countless trillions among the tapestry of the Earth. Sarada allowed her gaze to fall. The lower it fell, the more ragged the tapestry became. Until, at the very end, it was torn and threadbare. Until only one thread was left; the world of death she had seen._

 _Sarada sucked in a breathful of air. She was back, again. "Why?" Sarada asked._

 _The man in white shook his head. He tapped his left hand to his left eye and said one single word. A word that Sarada knew. A word she recognized. A word she understood the meaning of._

"Omoikane!"

Sarada screamed as she woke. She was breathing hard. Her skin was cold and slick with sweat. Her face, however, was warm. Wet with what she knew were tears of blood. Sarada raised a hand to her face. Her fingers came back wet. That, Sarada expected. There was only one surprise. When her Mangekyō shed tears of blood, it was always from her right eye.

Yet it was the left half of her face that was bloodied.

* * *

 **October 25th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto was writing more orders for his ninja in the Land of Wind when the door to his office was practically kicked down. Shikamaru stormed into the room, out of breath, and quickly crossed the distance between him and Naruto's desk. Shikamaru dashed aside papers as his hands searched for something.

Naruto groaned. "Did you have to do that?" he asked.

Shikamaru found what he sought; a small black plastic clicker. He pressed a button and the television mounted on the wall blared to life. Shikamaru quickly changed it to channel four where the news was broadcasting.

Naruto stilled.

A grim-faced anchor was saying something. But Naruto was too busy reading the words on the thumbnail of a picture of Kurotsuchi. _"Interview with the Fourth Tsuchikage! Live on the battlefield!"_

The camera panned and the picture changed. Mountains were in the background but Naruto could see sand dunes dotting the landscape before them. The army from the Hidden Stone had advanced into the Land of Wind. Naruto sucked in a breath and held it. Some reporter, a young woman, held a microphone forward. Kurotsuchi had to bend over to speak into it. Her words were garbled by the ever-present howling wind.

Naruto leaned forward as the camera violently shook. Though muted, he could hear the cameraman speak. _"Oh, shit. Are we under attack? We're under attack!"_

The camera panned, again, and this time Naruto could see that Kurotsuchi and her army were camped atop a large expanse of muddy red rock; a plateau. The cameraman filmed a force of what had to have been at least twenty-five Stone ninja fleeing back towards the encampment. At their heels, kicking up sand, was a larger force of Sand ninja. Among them, Naruto could see, were several Leaf ninja. They were easily recognizable by their jōnin and chūnin jackets.

The army of Stone ninja rallied even as the Sand and Leaf ninja stopped and began to retreat. Kurotsuchi screamed something. Then she did something Naruto had not even known Kurotsuchi could do.

She flew.

As if a puppet pulled skyward by its strings, Kurotsuchi ascended and flew forward. The cameraman kept the camera on the Tsuchikage, zoomed in, so that the whole world could see. She cupped her hands together. And, between the palms of her hands, a purifying white chakra blossomed. The battlefield fell eerily, deathly quiet. So quiet, even, that Naruto could hear her words when she spoke.

"Dust Release: Detachment of the Primitive World!"

Like an angry, vengeful God, Kurotsuchi smited the Sand and Leaf ninja. They were erased, struck from the Earth, as if they and the sand around them had never existed in the first place.

* * *

 **A/N:**

New thumbnail and description! Let me know what you think. The old ones weren't quite up to par. Writing good descriptions is damn hard. Art does NOT belong to me.

Yandere Himawari is best Himawari. I'm not too sure if I fumbled the emotional-familial interactions these past two chapters. Himawari and Hinata are unique in that they both detest what Bolt has done and become, but love him all the same. The real world equivalent I was going for was the family of convicted murderers. Let me know how I did.

The Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva is Sanskrit—the sacred language of Hinduism and Buddhism—for, as stated in-chapter, "godhood," or "divinity." In-universe, it is the spoken form of the Uzumaki clan's sealing language. There's a bit of an esoteric meaning behind why the clan's sealing language is based on Sanskrit, but I'm not sure it'll ever be brought up before the story's end. Special thanks to reader RNAi-L for the nomenclature!

Kurotsuchi never really seemed to be Kage quality material to me. Sure, she had Lava Release, but so did tons of other ninja. It's not exactly a rare bloodline. It always seemed odd, too, that a Lava Release user would also have an affinity for Water Release. So, changes: Water → Wind Release. With her newfound affinity, Kurotsuchi discovered a power that _would_ make her a Kage: Dust Release. She's like Mei two-point-oh. It's also interesting to note that Dust Release can be learned and is not necessarily genetic, as in the case of Ōnoki and Mu.


	83. Chapter 83 -- Prelude: Tetsu

Sagara sat atop the roof of an old bakery, smoking a cigarette, his thick fur cloak wrapped tightly around him. It did little to keep the biting cold and the howling wind of the Land of Iron at bay. Sagara shivered, arms crossed and hands rubbing at his sides, as he peered over the roof. The bakery's owners, an elderly man and woman, should be closing up shop. Soon, he hoped. When they did, that was when he would strike.

Sagara heard a voice—a woman, he thought—in the alleyway next to the bakery. He peered over the roof. She was a beauty, that much he could tell. In her early twenties with long, flowing crimson hair and creamy skin as white as snow. She was dressed in fine silken robes with flowery golden patterns. Sagara whistled to himself. A real beauty; a real _rose_. Unfortunately, out of his league. He knew the type. Whores rarely appreciated the company of people like him. Street urchins rarely had the ryō to afford their services.

She wasn't alone, either. A little boy, couldn't have been older than four or five, by Sagara's estimation, stood next to her. They boy held the woman's hand. He was so short he had to reach skyward to lock their fingers. Sagara kneeled and pressed his ear to the wind to catch what they were saying.

"Can you stay here, Tetsu? Can you wait for Mommy?" the woman asked.

The boy said nothing. Sagara peeked over the roof and caught the boy nodding vigorously. The woman smiled thinly at him. "Mommy will be right back, promise. Just stay here, okay?" the woman said.

The boy nodded again. The woman released the boy and went on her way. Sagara's eyes followed her all the way south until she disappeared into the red-light district. He sighed and shook his head. It happened all too often and it was a damn shame. Sagara heard the distinctive chime of a door opening and closing. He peeked down over the roof and saw the owners of the bakery departing. Sagara glanced between them and the red-haired kid. He shrugged. "You're on your own, brat," he mumbled to himself. "Welcome to the streets."

That night, Sagara had his first full meal in months. Stolen, day-old bread and pastries. He even managed to find an old slice of chocolate cake for dessert.

* * *

"Pay up, Sagara!"

Sagara sprinted down the alleyway, kicking over a pile of trash to slow down the thugs chasing him. "You can tell Waraji I'll have his money next week, I promise!" Sagara called back to them.

"That's what you said last week, and the week before that!" one of the thugs roared, leaping over the trash.

"And I meant every word!" Sagara yelped, narrowly dodging a thrown beer bottle.

He rounded the corner, took two steps, and realized the alley ended in a dead end. Sagara sucked in a breath, looked back, saw the thugs rounding the corner, and quickly hid amongst the nearby garbage at the end of the alley. He made a show of yelling and grunting loudly as he threw a brick at the far wall.

The thugs rounded the corner. They looked around, confused. "No fucking way he made that jump," one said.

"No," their leader said. "He's still here. Check the trash!"

Sagara swore under his breath. The moment the closest of the thugs walked by his hiding spot, he leapt at them. Sagara swung a wild, wide punch at the first thug. He caught him in the jaw but there wasn't enough strength in his arms to knock the man out cold.

"There he is!" Sagara heard shouted.

He turned and ran. Sagara got no more than five steps before someone tackled him from behind. Knowing what was coming, Sagara curled into a ball before the first boot struck at his ribs and back. He wrapped his arms around his head and prayed. Sagara cursed the bastards and their whores of a mother as one of them caused him to bite his tongue with a well-placed kick to the back of the skull.

The beating lasted for five minutes. When Waraji's thugs tired and didn't have the strength to kick him, they stopped. Sagara wheezed and coughed. Blood dribbled down his chin, so very warm on his skin compared to the cold chill of his homeland.

"Next week, Sagara!" the leader spat. "Have the money, or else!"

Sagara nodded weakly. When he found the strength to stand, it was already dark. With a weary sigh, he began his trek in search of the two things every street rat valued most: food and warmth. Sagara made his way back to the bakery. One thing he had learned on the streets was the value in subtlety. In bleeding your target dry over the months and years. Steal just enough to survive on and not a ryō more. He could eat good for a long time if the bakery stayed in business or he could eat like a Kage for a night if he sacked the place. Sagara, no stranger to hunger, knew which he would choose.

He limped down the sidewalk, bloodied hand ghosting across the buildings as he walked to keep upright, and rounded the corner.

The kid. The fucking kid was still there. Standing at the entrance of the alleyway, waist deep in snow, his crimson hair frozen to face. It had been, what? Three days? Five? Since Sagara had watched the whore abandon her bastard. It was not an uncommon tale. Sagara never knew his mother or father either. He could have very well been in the same situation.

Looking back, that was probably what spurred him into action, Sagara thought. "Hey, kid," he rasped. The red-haired brat shakily looked to him. "What's your name?"

Sagara vaguely remembered it starting with a "T."

"... T-T-Tetsu," he said, pitifully, through chattering teeth.

"Tetsu, huh?" Sagara mused. How very unoriginal. There were millions of Tetsu in the Land of Iron. It was the name of their homeland, after all. Damn whore couldn't even give him a good name. "Nice to meet you, kid. Name's Sagara."

"H-H-Hello," Tetsu chattered.

"You hungry, kid?" Sagara asked. The boy nodded. "Good. Here's what we're gonna do. I need you to fiddle with the lock on that window over there..."

* * *

"Alright, kid, you see that guy? The one in the fancy-ass robes?" Sagara asked.

Tetsu nodded. An older man, black hair that was graying, held in a loose knot by a band of gold. His robes were silken but functional and a heavy leather purse rested on his belt. A purse that, Tetsu hoped, was full of large denomination ryō.

"Alright. Here's the deal," Sagara grabbed an empty bottle of wine from a nearby dumpster. "I'm going to stumble into him, rub some dirt into his robes, and profusely apologize. While I do that, you rob him blind. Remember your training."

"B-But... I don't have any training!" Tetsu protested.

"Learn on the job, kid," Sagara said. "That's the best training."

Tetsu nodded and watched as Sagara drunkenly stumbled through the crowd towards their mark. After a short while, Tetsu followed after him. When he heard the gasps of outrage, Tetsu knew that was his signal. He weaved between legs and stepped over boots. In the blink of an eye, he reached up and cut the man's purse from his belt with a small shank Sagara had given him. Prize acquired, Tetsu calmly meandered away from the scene. He looked back only once and Sagara gave him a drunken wink that was aimed less at a beautiful noble woman and more at him.

Tetsu smiled. That night, they ate food—real food, with _meat_ —and slept in the dingiest hotel in the Land of Iron. But it was warm, and dry, and Tetsu was full for the first time since... since his mother left him.

* * *

"Ha!"

Tetsu watched, hidden beneath the deck of one of the training halls, as the samurai-in-training hacked at the air with their wooden training swords. He smiled. In all the Land of Iron, it was this that Tetsu enjoyed most. There was something about the Way of the Sword that called to him. Their homeland's warriors were different than the "ninja" of the outside world, as Sagara had told him. They had honor and discipline. There was no trickery or bribery in the Way of the Sword. They met their foes honorably in single combat on the field of battle. No dagger in the back, no bottle cracked over your head while you slept, and no chasing people down alleys and beating them black and blue.

"Ha!"

No, Tetsu thought, there was something appealing about the Way of the Sword. In the way that a man's power was determined only by the sweat of their brows and the strength of their backs. In the countless hours of rigid practice. In the blood spilt and shed in the pursuit of honorable combat.

It certainly helped that they ate three square meals and had a warm place to sleep at night.

"Ha!"

But Tetsu cherished these moments he could sneak off and watch the samurai train. For those brief few hours, the cold and the hunger weren't so damning.

* * *

"More heat!" came the old woman's call.

"Come on, kid!" Sagara groused, pulling him to his feet.

Tetsu yawned, stood, and steeled himself. He dashed outside, through the snow, and weaseled his way into the shed in the blink of an eye. There, he took a moment to shiver as the cold licked at his bones.

"More heat!" the old woman called, again.

Tetsu blinked away tears and quickly gathered a small pile of wood into his arms. He dashed back through the snow, into the servant's quarters, and back into the safety of the fire. "Not bad, kid!" Sagara exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Thirteen seconds! You're getting quicker!"

Tetsu smiled and wiped at his eyes. He knew, even at the tender age of eight, that it had taken him much longer than thirteen seconds to fetch the firewood. Tetsu wasn't even sure Sagara could count to thirteen. The only numbers the two of them knew were "one," "five," "ten," "twenty," and "one hundred." They were the only numbers that mattered—the numbers on the ryō.

"More heat!" the old woman screeched.

"We got it, you old pile of saggy tits!" Sagara barked.

Tetsu smiled weakly as Sagara took the wood and shovelled it into the furnace. Tetsu moved to pump the bellows that would, as he understood it, pump heat into the noble's house.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Sagara said, pulling him back. "I got this one, kid. You get some sleep. I'll wake you for the next shift, deal?"

Tetsu nodded feebly. He was too tired, too hungry, too _cold_ , to argue. He curled into a ball next to the roaring furnace and fell asleep within moments.

Sagara never did wake him.

* * *

"Ha!"

Tetsu smiled, his own voice echoing the samurai. His "sword"—a lengthy twig which he had whittled into a vague sword shape—came down with a hum of air.

Winter had passed, yielding to spring, and warmer weather heralded better times for him and Sagara. They were cold, yes, but everyone in the Land of Iron was cold. It snowed year-round. But they weren't _as cold_ , and that was a win in Tetsu's book.

"Ha!"

Tetsu brought his sword down, again, making sure to bend at the knees properly. He had seen one of the samurai be berated for his stiff form. Knees bent, swing with the hips. _"Your sword should be apart of you! No different than an arm or a leg!"_ their instructor had barked.

"Ha!"

Tetsu slammed his sword against the tree. It made a solid thunk which he was proud of.

"Hey, you! Kid with the red hair! What are you doing over there?!"

Tetsu turned, wide-eyed, and saw to samurai with their armor donned approaching him. He grabbed his "sword" and bolted. One thing Tetsu had learned about the samurai, especially the younger ones, was that they detested running. They especially detested running through the snow. Their armor made it difficult. And loud, to boot.

"Ha!"

Tetsu smiled as he scampered back into the city and left his pursuers in the dust.

* * *

"Happy Birthday, kid!" Sagara crowed.

Tetsu blinked owlishly as a steaming bowl of rice and red beans was thrust into his hands. He looked between Sagara and his meal with surprise. "How do you know it's my birthday?" Tetsu asked.

"Well," Sagara blustered. "It's been... yeah, it has to be around this time. I'm pretty sure. Anyway! Who cares if we're right on the number! We aren't snot-nosed nobles with their fancy _dates!_ Eat up!"

Tetsu eyed Sagara suspiciously. "Where's yours? And how did you afford this?"

"Hah! You think I spent money on you, brat?" Sagara harrumphed. "Nah, I snagged it from a restaurant down the road. And I already ate mine. You should spend less time watching those swordsmen and more time looking for food! It's cold out, anyway."

Tetsu knew Sagara was lying. The bowl of celebratory rice and red beans was steaming hot; fresh. He must have just bought it. Expensive, too. Tetsu devoured half— _his_ half—before it went cold. It burned his throat and the roof of his mouth, but warmed his body pleasantly. "Here," Tetsu said. "You can have the rest. I'm not hungry. Thank you, though."

Sagara gaped at him. "Nah, kid. That's alright. You eat it," he said.

Tetsu frowned and glared at Sagara. "No," he pressed. "It's yours. Or I'll give it to Old Man Harunobu." To accentuate his threat, Tetsu stood.

"Hey! Wait, wait! Don't be hasty!" Sagara exclaimed, pushing him back down. "Don't give that old piece of shit anything. He's a rat. Don't want him selling you out to the samurai."

Tetsu smirked as Sagara pretended not to devour the other half of the rice and red beans.

* * *

"End of the line, Sagara!"

Tetsu awoke with a gasp. The door to the barn they were living in was kicked in. "Shit! Kid, we gotta go!" Sagara yelled, shimmying up to the second floor and reaching down for him. Tetsu jumped up, arm outstretched, and was hauled up. The two of them leapt from the second floor of the barn into the cart of hay below.

"Go around back! They're getting away!"

"Run, kid! Run!" Sagara urged him forward.

Tetsu ran. The one good thing about being so poor was that they didn't have anything to gather before running away from the thugs or the authorities. The owner of the farm they were hiding on rushed out of his house, pitchfork brandished, yelling at both them and the thugs. Two of Waraji's men broke off to harass the old man. Tetsu looked away and focused on sprinting after Sagara. It was a flat expanse of dirt and snow for a thousand feet until the gates of the city proper. Sagara and Tetsu made the run in a minute flat.

Inside the city, they could hide. "This way, kid!" Sagara wheezed. The two of them darted down an alleyway, then another, and lost themselves in the seedy underbelly of the city.

"I think we lost them!" Tetsu chirped happily. It was probably a bad thing that he had become accustomed to waking up in the dead of night and running for his life.

"Yeah," Sagara wheezed, hands on his knees. "Nice hustle, kid. You'll be faster than me, one day."

Tetsu smiled and the two of them rounded the corner. They bumped, quite literally, face-first into Waraji's thugs. Tetsu didn't even have time to blink before a large, meaty fist was thrown into his face. He saw stars and felt blood well in his mouth.

"Hey!" Sagara shouted. "Leave him alone, you bastards!"

Tetsu blinked away tears and stood on shaky feet. He withdrew the shank from his boot and held it with unsteady hands. With a pitiful battle cry, Tetsu charged. He thrust the tiny dagger into one of the thug's thighs that was kicking Sagara savagely. "Get away from him!" Tetsu cried.

He earned a back-handed strike to the cheek and Tetsu heard something crunch. He laid on the ground, staring into the distance, eyes unseeing. The sound of flesh striking flesh and bone grinding against bone echoed in his ears. When his vision cleared, it was to the sight of a thug raising a crude sword high. "Waraji sends his regards, Sagara!"

"No!" Tetsu yelled with a strangled cry.

"Hey! You! What are you doing! Stop! You're under arrest!"

Tetsu had never been so glad to see the guards in all his short life.

"Shit!" the thugs swore. "Let's get out of here!"

Sagara, beaten, bloodied, and bruised, managed to stand. "Let's go, kid," he slurred.

The two of them ran even as the guards yelled after them.

* * *

"Ha!"

Tetsu watched, bored, as the samurai hacked away at the air. He had long since outgrown his twig of a sword. He had long since outgrown the level of skill these samurai were at, too. Disappointed, he watched as they went through the same stances they always did.

"Ha!"

The doors of the training hall slammed open with an audible thud of wood striking wood. The samurai stopped suddenly. "—Form ranks!" the barked order came. The students hastened to obey.

Tetsu perked up. This was new. He had never heard the man that gave the order speak before. Someone new, perhaps?

"Master Nishimura," the students intoned, bowing low.

Master Nishimura was a stern, cold, older looking man. He was tall, lean, with bronzed skin. His hair was a coarse charcoal black peppered with gray and white. A wispy gray-black beard flowed from his chin to his belly framed by a mustache that drooped down below his jaw in two tendrils. Master Nishimura was bald save for a small topknot upon which sat an ornate golden band of metal and jewels. To Tetsu's eyes, it was a crown.

Master Nishimura strode up and down the line of students, stroking his beard. "You are, all of you, a disappointment," he said. His voice was powerful and as hard as steel. It carried, drowning out even the howling wind. "Seven years. Seven years of training and not a single one of you has mastered even a single of the advanced Heavenly Flying Sword-style forms!"

The students bowed deeply in shame.

"You have one week to master at least two of the nine strikes of the Dance of the Nine Dragons!" Master Nishimura barked. "Any who fail... will be expelled."

The students gasped in dismay. "But Master!" the braver ones cried. "Such a difficult technique is—"

"Bah!" Master Nishimura shouted. "You all came here to battle for the right to become the next successor of the Heavenly Flying Sword-style! The Dance of the Nine Dragons is our style's most powerful technique! If you cannot even use two of the nine strikes, you are not worthy to hold a sword!"

Tetsu watched, elated, as Master Nishimura turned to face one of the bamboo dummies the students were training on. Then, Tetsu saw his future. Master Nishimura placed the hand on the hilt of his sword. The dummy fell, neatly bisected into nine pieces. Master Nishimura removed his hand from his sword. He strode away, robes billowing in the wind, as the students picked themselves up and found their swords.

Tetsu, too, found his old and weathered training sword. He had seen only a faint, wispy, and indistinct flash of white when Master Nishimura cut down the dummy. But years of studying and copying the students had given him an intimate understanding of the sword style.

The Dance of the Nine Dragons, Tetsu would learn. He swore it.

* * *

"Yo, kid!" Sagara greeted him. "Where you been?"

Tetsu shrugged and shouldered his wooden training sword.

"Still playing samurai?" Sagara asked.

Tetsu frowned at the man and puffed out his chest. "I will be a samurai! Just you watch!"

"Sure, sure," Sagara laughed. "C'mon. Got us a job."

"A real one?" Tetsu asked.

"Of course it's a real one!" Sagara exclaimed, offended. "What do you take me for? Some kind of—of street rat?!"

Tetsu shared a laugh with Sagara as the two of them meandered through the city towards the gates. "You know that farmer whose barn we were hiding in two winters ago?" Sagara asked. "Apparently, his son passed away. Caught the fever and never got better. He's down a hand or two for the harvest. We'll get a handful of ryō, two meals, and a warm bed to sleep in until the harvest is complete! Talk about a sweet deal, huh?"

"Nice!" Tetsu exclaimed. "Did he know it was us?"

"Nah," Sagara said. "I—"

Tetsu came to stop, mirroring Sagara, as three men blocked the alleyway ahead of them. The two of them turned, as one, to head back the other way. Two more men blocked the way they had just come. Tetsu swallowed nervously as he saw all of them were carrying swords. And their robes... he knew those robes—

"Listen," Sagara said winsomely. "We don't want any trouble."

"Shut up, street rat," one of them snapped. "We don't have business with you. We're here for the brat. He crippled my cousin Haru by stabbing him in the thigh. He's got a limp that the doctors can't fix."

"Hey, man," Sagara quipped. "Your cousin is an enforcer for Waraji. Comes with the job."

The students from the Heavenly Flying Sword-style school drew their swords.

"Run, kid," Sagara whispered.

Tetsu shook his head. The students advanced.

Sagara breathed a ragged sigh. "Alright, fine," he hissed. Sagara grabbed the lid of a nearby garbage can and charged.

Tetsu was right behind him, grabbing a smaller lid and brandishing his wooden training sword in the other. Sagara barrelled into one of the students, blocking a slash of his sword with the garbage lid, and pushing him into the others.

Tetsu yelped a cry of victory as Sagara scrambled over the downed students. "Come on, kid! Run! Faster!" Sagara cried.

Tetsu felt panic settle in an instant before strong hands grabbed him by the hair and tore him backwards.

"No!" Sagara yelled. "Let him go, you little shits!"

Tetsu struggled weakly, lashing out with his wooden sword. It did nothing but anger his attackers.

Then he heard the scream. High-pitched, blood-curdling. Agonizing. Tetsu peered through bleary, tearful eyes. Sagara was kneeling on the ground and clutching at the stump of his right arm. The severed limb twitched in its death throes on the ground not far away.

"No!" Tetsu wailed, even as the other two students sank their blades into Sagara from behind.

Tetsu watched the life leave the eyes of his closest friend and the only family he had ever known.

The two men who had tackled him propped him up. Each held one of his arms tightly. Tetsu couldn't muster the strength to care. Sagara was dead. Because of him. The one who had spoken earlier approached, bloody sword propped against his shoulder and a pleased smile on his lips. "Don't be sad, brat," he said. "You'll be joining him soon."

No, Tetsu swore through teary eyes, they would. He reared up, maw parted, and sank his teeth into the man's arm to his right. He howled in pain and released Tetsu. Thinking quickly, Tetsu wriggled out of the other man's grasp and darted around the man he had just bitten. As he ran, he stole the man's sword. He ran a few feet, turned, and brandished his sword.

"Fuck, Gyokusho! He's like, what, twelve? You're a fucking disgrace. No wonder Master Nishimura can't find a disciple," one of them spat at the man he had bitten.

Tetsu glared at them. Angry, hot tears spilled from his eyes and his hands trembled from the strength with which it took to hold the sword. They laughed at him. Tetsu would be laughing at their corpses in a few minutes, he swore. "Go get your sword back, Gyokusho," the leader ordered.

The man he had bitten stalked forward, muttering angrily. Tetsu took a shaky step back. He swallowed his fear and used both hands to hold the sword steady at his waist, as if sheathed. Gyokusho paused, only for a moment, before continuing forward angrily. Tetsu took a deep breath. He uttered the name he had heard the students chant over and over like a mantra.

"Dance of the Nine Dragons," Tetsu intoned. His voice cracked. The students, except Gyokusho, laughed at him even more. "Second Dance, Dance of the Red Dragon..."

Gyokusho took a single step forward. Tetsu drew. It was the second of the nine slashes he _thought_ he saw Master Nishimura make. A downwards slash to the left, angled down. On a man, that would be the... the soft flesh between the neck and the shoulder.

Tetsu imagined the Dance of the Red Dragon was intended to cleave a man in two from the left shoulder to the right hip. But he was too young, too weak, to manage anything close to that. No, if anything, his attack was even more gruesome. Tetsu managed to hack a few inches through bone before the sword was lodged in bone. Blood sprayed skyward in a fine mist as Gyokusho's head lulled. Tetsu felt bile rise in his stomach as Gyokusho dropped to his knees, dead, and gave Tetsu a look at what a severed human spinal column looked like. He had nearly been decapitated—nearly.

None of them were laughing now.

The leader gaped at Tetsu with wide, terrified eyes. "Get him!" he barked.

Tetsu ran forward, slipping on gore, and tugged desperately at the lodged sword. He couldn't free it. The students were almost upon him. They were—

"Enough," a cold, commanding man rumbled.

Tetsu, and the students, stopped moving, stopping breathing. Because they all recognized that voice. "M-Master Nishimura!" the leader grovelled. "We were just—"

"—Skipping training to murder the gutter trash?" Master Nishimura asked. "Gutter trash who displayed more skill with a sword than all five—four—of you combined."

Tetsu's breaths came short and quick as Master Nishimura's gaze fell on him. "What's your name, child? How old are you?"

"I—" Tetsu choked. "My name is Tetsu, sir. I'm twelve."

"And is that your brother?" Master Nishimura nodded at Sagara's corpse.

Tetsu felt tears well in his eyes. "I—No—Yes," he answered.

"Tell me, Tetsu," Master Nishimura said. "Would you like power? Power to never let your brother, or anyone else, be taken from you again?"

Tetsu nodded weakly.

"Then open your eyes, child," Master Nishimura commanded. "And become my apprentice."

Tetsu opened his eyes and took a shaky step forward.

Master Nishimura straightened and placed a hand on his sword. "Your first lesson," he said. "Watch closely. I shall show you the Dance of the Nine Dragons when performed by a master."

Tetsu didn't have time to ponder what the older man had meant. In the blink of an eye, everyone in the alley save for them was dead. Bits and pieces, spare limbs, rolling heads. They were butchered like animals. Tetsu could see the neat, preternatural cuts: down, from atop the skull, cleaving it in two; from the left, down, cleaving the torso in two; from the right, down, cleaving the torso in two from the opposite direction; laterally, from right to left; laterally, from left to right; from the left, up, cleaving the torso in two; from the right, up, cleaving the torso in two from the opposite direction; up, from the ground, cleaving a the torso in toe from groin to neck; and, finally, forward, from the front, blasting a hole through the chest.

"When you master this technique," Master Nishimura intoned. "There will be none under heaven who may stand against you. It is unblockable and undodgeable; faster than the eye can follow, faster than a ninja can weave hand signs. Nine slashes from nine different directions in the same instant."

Tetsu nodded feebly, slipping on blood that flowed as freely as water after a heavy rain.

"Come," Master Nishimura commanded. "I will have a pyre made for your brother. Then you will begin your training."

That night, Tetsu watched Sagara burn. Tetsu had always said he would become a samurai one day. Sagara had always teased him about his love of the Way of the Sword, but he had never once chastised him for sneaking out to watch the samurai train. In a way, Tetsu thought Sagara even wanted him to succeed.

And now he had.

Tetsu just wished Sagara had lived to see it.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I said I'd write preludes for all of the Akatsuki, and damn it, I will! Hikari will (probably) be next. Not everyone has tragic backstories, I promise. At least... I don't think they all do? Shit...

And now Tetsu's story is known. Tetsu finished his training under Master Nishimura, set out for the Land of Rain, and found his first Lord. The events of the Rain arc happened, and then Tetsu found himself in the service of one Bolt Uzumaki, rogue ninja and future notorious war criminal.


	84. Chapter 84

**October 26th, 0024 AIT**

Bolt stared into the darkness behind his lidded eyes. He saw the vague flashes of light that weren't really there. He always wondered if it was a trick of the mind or a glitch in the human ocular system. It had been a long time since he had tried meditation—the Wind Temple and their ridiculous notion of "enlightenment." And, before that, when he was trying to discover his Yang Release with the Crimson Tide.

But here, now, Bolt had nothing better to do. He had trained his body as much as he could stand for one day. It did little to increase his strength but it kept him fit. More than that, it provided entertainment. Now that his body was tired, he would train the mind. Bolt was sure he had heard a quote like that somewhere before.

In a way, Bolt was both dreading and dreaming of receiving his next visitor. Or visitors, if his sister managed to convince their mother to see him again. Bolt berated himself for his weakness. He shouldn't have bowed before Himawari. Bolt blamed the head injury. If he hadn't been injured in the fight, if his sister hadn't cornered him and attacked with emotional warfare, he would have been strong enough to keep wearing the mask. He should have played his part; the ruthless, estranged criminal that was her brother in blood only. It would have made it easier on Himawari, on his family, when he inevitably made his escape. They couldn't wait for him. It wasn't fair to them. The Bolt Uzumaki they knew and loved was never coming back. They could— _maybe_ —be a family. If, that is, they could accept him as he had become.

But that was dependent on Bolt actually winning the war. And Bolt had no disillusions, now, that he could ever—that anyone could ever—beat his father in single combat. He was just too overwhelmingly powerful. Even if his father wasn't particularly skilled—he was, just not in the classic sense—he had the chakra to burn. Any battle could be won by throwing sufficient quantities of chakra at it. That was where his father excelled.

Bolt? He excelled on the battlefield. But, more than that, he excelled in the battlefield of ideology. The success of his Revolution was proof of that. Because, in that endeavor, he _was_ winning. Things had fallen into place nicely. Stone had, as he predicted and hoped, declared war on Sand. The tension that had been brimming between the two countries since he was a boy had finally boiled over. Bolt hoped that the Stone-Sand-Leaf conflict would evolve into the Fifth Great War.

It would be unfortunate—the loss of so much life always was—but it would be an excellent propaganda tool to further the goals of the Revolution. With Cloud destroyed, Stone seceded, and Sand a Great Nation in name only, Bolt hoped that would be the death blow that would finish the Union for good. Judging by what his father had said when they had talked about the Two-Tails, Mist must have also withdrawn from the Union. Bolt hadn't even had to plant the seeds of doubt—his father had done that all on his own. If he was lucky, his father would chase after Chōjūrō and hound him for the Two-Tails.

The world was on its knees and Bolt was stuck here, in this tiny cell, unable to lead his people to victory. It irked him.

Bolt opened his eyes as he heard the telltale whoosh of air as the barrier to his cell fell. His mood soured immediately upon seeing Shikadai. His friend—former friend?—paused, turned, and waved to the guards. The second barrier did not fall. Instead, Shikadai sat on the ground and placed a wooden box before him. Then he gestured for Bolt to come over.

Bolt sighed, stood, and padded over to the barrier. It muffled sound, but not so much that they couldn't hear each other speak. Shikadai sighed. "Well," he said. "This is going to be awkward."

Bolt narrowed his eyes. "You're dating my sister," he accused.

Shikadai didn't deny it. "Want to play a game?" he asked, gesturing to the wooden box. A chess set. Old and worn, the one Shikadai had used when they were children.

"I suppose," Bolt agreed.

"I know you were never exactly a fan..." Shikadai ventured. "But I figured you're bored out of your mind in here."

Bolt wouldn't admit it, but he was. He was so bored he was considering actually playing chess against a _Nara_. "I just never saw it as anything more than a game," Bolt responded. "Strategy on a board game doesn't translate well into the field."

"Yeah, well, it helps the old man and I. Think of it as a mental aid," Shikadai said as he began to set up the pieces. "Black or white?"

"White," Bolt chose. Thematically, he liked black better. Statistically, white was the side with the most likely chance of victory. He would need every advantage if he was going to win against a master of the game like Shikadai—and Bolt always played to win.

Shikadai gestured with his hand for him to make the first move. "Pawn to E4," Bolt said. Shikadai reached across the board and moved the pawn that guarded his king forward. "So... you and my sister, huh?"

Shikadai mirrored his move, moving his own pawn to E5. He sighed. "Yeah," Shikadai agreed.

Bolt nodded. "Knight to F3," he said, threatening the black pawn. "If you break her heart, I'll break your neck."

It was probably hypocritical of him to threaten Shikadai. He had almost certainly hurt Himawari more than anyone else ever could. Bolt reasoned that it was self-defense—if Himawari was hurt, it hurt him. Therefore, as any proper brother should do, he would ensure no harm came to her.

Shikadai moved his knight to C6 to guard his threatened pawn. "You might be stronger than me, Bolt, but if you're toying with Himawari by giving her false hope, I'll find a way to break _your_ neck," he said.

Bolt smiled thinly. "Bishop to C4," he said.

Shikadai moved the bishop before moving his own knight to D4, threatening Bolt's knight. He could either trade pieces or retreat. "So," Shikadai breathed. "What's your plan for fixing your relationship with Himawari?"

Bolt frowned. He was trying to decide what his next move would be and Shikadai was using emotional warfare. It wasn't fair. "Knight to E5," Bolt said, capturing Shikadai's undefended pawn. He answered the question as Shikadai moved the pieces. "When I get out of here—"

"—If," Shikadai corrected him.

"— _When_ ," Bolt pressed. "When I get out of here, I'll continue my work. Once the world is united under one banner, I won't be a criminal anymore. I can be Himawari's brother then."

Shikadai moved his queen to G5 to threaten his out-of-position knight. The "free" pawn had been a trap. "You won't escape, Bolt," Shikadai said, gesturing for him to make his next move. "You're under guard by some of the best the Leaf has to offer and you're sitting literally five floors below the Hokage. There's no escape, there's no rescue."

Bolt decided to probe Shikadai's defenses with his knight. "Knight to F7," he said with a smile. Shikadai would either lose his queen or his rook. In response, Shikadai moved his queen to G2 and took one of Bolt's pawns. "That's one opinion," Bolt said.

"Humor me, then," Shikadai said. "What if, in your perfect world, something goes wrong. What if you're stuck down here for life?"

Bolt mulled his answer over as he planned his next move. He could take Shikadai's trapped rook, but that would set him up for checkmate next turn. Bolt frowned. How had Shikadai managed to trap him so easily when, by all rights, Bolt had been winning.

"Rook to F1," Bolt conceded, guarding his king. "If, by an act of the Sage of Six Paths himself, I am trapped in this dingy cell for the rest of my natural life, then I suppose I will stave off the thought of killing myself with weekly visits from my sister and mother. If I'm lucky, you'll come play a game or two with me. You can see how unlikely this is, right?"

"Always have a backup plan, Bolt," Shikadai chided him, moving his queen to E4, capturing Bolt's pawn, and placing him in check all in one move.

"Bishop to E2," Bolt grumbled, moving to defend his king.

"So," Shikadai said, sounding much more chipper. "It's been bothering me. What's with your obsession with the Akatsuki? They're not exactly role models. My dad was nearly murdered by Hidan before the Fourth War." He moved his knight to F3. "Checkmate. Another?"

Bolt frowned at his pieces, betrayed. He nodded and Shikadai began to reset the board. "It's difficult to explain," Bolt began. "I... learned about them just after I left the Leaf for the final time but before I fought in the Land of Rain's civil war."

Shikadai nodded. "I'll play white this time," he said. He moved the pawn guarding his king to E4.

"I was in a dark place emotionally," Bolt admitted. "I was looking for direction in my life when I didn't have any ground to stand on. I... discovered an old Akatsuki base and discovered the side of history that wasn't written by the victor. Pawn to E5."

Shikadai nodded and moved the piece before moving his knight to F3. "Nagato—Pain, that is—had a lot of good ideas. He was a monster, but he was just in his monstrosity. The Leaf destroyed his country, so he destroyed the Leaf. Vengeance is the oldest form of justice, after all. It... resonated with me, at that time. The knowledge and techniques I learned were just a bonus. Knight to C6."

"Vengeance only perpetuates the violence, Bolt," Shikadai countered. He moved his bishop to C4.

"Yes, well, Pain understood that, too. He had a plan, you see. He wanted to make a superweapon by combining all nine of the Tailed Beasts. The world would be too fearful to ever wage war again. And, if they forget... that would be a painful lesson," Bolt explained. "Bishop to C5."

Shikadai was pale. "That's not peace, Bolt. That's... oppression of the worst kind. Tyranny. And that's what you want the world to turn into?" With a shaky hand, he moved his pawn to C3.

Bolt frowned. He couldn't see why Shikadai would make that move. "Pain was misguided. He meant well, but his application was wrong. My Akatsuki has no interest in the Tailed Beasts, I assure you," he lied. "You don't have to worry about any superweapon looming above all our heads. Knight to F6."

Shikadai moved the pawn guarding his queen to D4 and took control of the center of the board. "So... why the Akatsuki, then?" Shikadai pressed.

Bolt held a hand to his chin as he scoured the board for the correct move. He could sacrifice his bishop to keep control of the center of the board or retreat. Neither were very good options. "I know full well how monstrous many of the Akatsuki's members were. Pain was very specific in his research into potential members. Hidan was—is—a mad dog. He'll do what his master commands him to do. I do suppose your father wasn't too happy I dug him up. Bishop to B6," he said, retreating.

"And yet you still rescued him," Shikadai pointed out. He moved his pawn to E5 and captured Bolt's undefended pawn.

"Like I said, Hidan does what his master commands. I'm that master," Bolt responded. "Knight to E4."

Shikadai moved the piece, removing the pawn Bolt had just captured from play. "So if you don't have any vested interest in the Akatsuki itself, why re-create it?" Shikadai asked as he moved his queen to D5 and threatened both of his knights.

Bolt frowned and sighed. "The Akatsuki is just a symbol, Shikadai. Red clouds on a field of black. It strikes fear into the hearts of people, even today. They know who the Akatsuki is, they know what the Akatsuki did. When I wear an Akatsuki cloak, that fear becomes my own. They're a tool, nothing more," he answered. Bolt ran a hand through his hair as he looked for a move that would get him out of his current predicament.

"So, humor me. If you win—and you won't—but if you win, what happens to the Akatsuki then?" Shikadai asked, a small smile on his lips as he looked at the board.

Bolt scowled at his impending doom. "Then the Akatsuki would fade away as if it had never existed. Of course, my friends and I will still be the guardians of peace in the new, united world. We would simply operate under a different, more friendly guise." Bolt paused. "Knight to G5," he grumbled, making the only move that would delay the inevitable.

Shikadai smiled as he moved the knight and then captured it with his own knight. "Queen to E7," Bolt said.

Shikadai nodded and moved the piece before moving his own knight to F7 and capturing one of Bolt's pawns. He couldn't do anything about it. "Rook to F8," Bolt said. He wouldn't lose twice in a row.

Shikadai smiled all the while as he moved his threatened knight to D6. "Check," Shikadai intoned.

"King to D8," Bolt grumbled. He watched as Shikadai moved an untouched bishop to G5 and prevented him from moving his queen.

The noose was tightening. "Rook to E8," he said.

Shikadai grinned and moved his bishop to capture the hamstrung queen. "Check," he said.

"Rook to E7," Bolt responded, avenging his fallen queen.

Shikadai moved his queen to G8 and invaded Bolt's back row. "Rook to E8," Bolt said with a defeated sigh.

Shikadai moved his queen to capture Bolt's rook. "Checkmate," his friend said with a smile.

"It's just a game," Bolt said, hating how petulant he sounded.

"True," Shikadai said. "But I learned a lot."

"Oh?" Bolt enquired.

Shikadai nodded. "Nothing new, really. You sacrifice your pawns and risk your king so that your other pieces can make their moves," he said.

"It's just a game, Shikadai," Bolt scoffed.

Shikadai smiled at him. "Then how come you're in here?"

Bolt frowned.

* * *

 **October 26th, 0024 AIT**

"Message for you, sir," the runner told him as he thrust a furled scroll forward.

Omoi frowned, looking up from his dinner. The others around the campfire likewise stared at the oddity. The sun had set some time ago and Omoi knew that Ay had no need of him until tomorrow. The only reason anyone would be requesting him would be for an S-class mission. Given their village's current situation, that was unlikely. The runner favored him with a thin smile as Omoi took the scroll.

It was a simple message.

" _The person who passes you this note is armed with a chakra bomb. Do not raise the alarm or it will be detonated. Bring your Thunderswords and come alone to the Crags of the Thunder God at midnight. If you do not show, or do not come alone, the bomb will be detonated. —The Akatsuki."_

Omoi blanched. There were nearly ten thousand people—ninja and civilians—who were living in the temporary nomadic tent city while New Cloud was being constructed. If the bomb was anywhere near as powerful as the one used to assassinate the Wind Lord... it could kill thousands of people.

"Sir?" the runner asked, again, with the same thin smile.

Omoi nodded shakily at him.

"Excellent," the runner said, slipping away into the darkness of the night.

He had no choice. If the Akatsuki attacked them now, again, Cloud could very well perish completely. Their village's history, long and storied, would end. Omoi couldn't allow that. As honor guard to the Raikage, he could now allow Ay to perish. Omoi had already failed to guard one Raikage. He would not allow another to die on his watch. He knew he was almost certainly walking into a trap. And yet, if that was what his duty demanded of him, Omoi would obey.

"I'm gonna turn in for the night, guys," Omoi bid his allies goodnight. They waved and mumbled their farewells. He made his way to his tent, slipped inside, and quickly stepped into his armor. He strapped his Thunderswords, trophies from the Fourth War, around his waist. Quickly, Omoi scrawled a quick last will and warning to his leader and mentor. Should he perish against the Akatsuki, Ay would discover what had happened when the tent was searched. And if he somehow survived, Omoi could destroy the scroll before anyone had seen it.

He stood before the entrance of his tent, took a deep breath, and strode out into the night. Omoi knew where the sentries were stationed. He slipped around them, evading their watchful gaze, and headed east towards the Crags of the Thunder God. The crags were an old rock formation that lay between the plateau inland and the ocean to the east. According to Earth Release masters, it was where two great slabs of stone crashed against each other long ago. Omoi wasn't sure he believed that, but it was the most rugged and unforgiving stretch of land in the Land of Lightning. He navigated by memory and by starlight, easily making good time.

The Akatsuki weren't even hiding. They had built a fire nestled between one crag and the next. It provided enough light to be seen at a distance and it illuminated the small valley they lurked in. Omoi swallowed his fear, drew his swords, and stalked forward. There were only two of them. The swordsman and the hunter from Mist. Tetsu carried a sword that was as large as Omoi was tall with a casual ease. He recognized the blade as the Seversword, one of the Seven. Something clicked. Now Omoi knew why the Akatsuki had ordered him to bring the Thunderswords. Tetsu... he was assembling the Seven. He had to be.

Both of them raised their heads as Omoi entered the light of the fire. There was a pregnant pause in which even the croaking frogs and chirping crickets quieted. Tetsu rose, a towering mass of muscle, hefting the large Seversword with one arm as if it weighed no more than a wooden training sword. "This one honorably challenged you to a duel," he rumbled. "To the victor goes the loser's sword."

Omoi warily cast a sly glance at the Yagami girl. Intel proposed that she was second-in-command of the Akatsuki. Granted, Omoi assumed that she was now leader of the Akatsuki given the rogue son of the Uzumaki family's imprisonment. Yurui had quickly relayed a report to them.

"I am here solely to ensure that no one interferes," Hikari said, catching his glance. "The two of you will fight, one-on-one, until the death. If you accept, no harm will come to the remnants of Cloud. And should you win... you will be allowed to go free, unharmed."

He didn't exactly have much of a choice, did he? Omoi palmed the hilts of his Thunderswords. "Then I accept," he answered, as calmly as he could manage to sound.

The two swordsmen drew their weapons and advanced to the center of the clearing. Surrounded on jagged rocky outcroppings on all sides, it was a makeshift arena. Omoi circled Tetsu, and Tetsu circled him in return. Stray, arcing currents of electricity danced up and down his swords as Omoi began to feed them his chakra. Tetsu was younger, had more chakra, and had a decisive advantage in strength. But Omoi had years of experience in fighting and swordsmanship on the younger man, and, almost universally accepted as the better of the Seven. The odds were stacked against him, but they were not impossible to overcome.

They clashed violently and suddenly. Omoi crossed both Thunderswords as the Seversword crashed down upon him with an arcing slash. He caught the larger blade between his two swords, hooking it with the fanged protrusions at the tip of the Thunderswords. Omoi tore at the Seversword, slapping it away, and lunging forward. He brought up his free, weaker sword and lashed out at Tetsu.

For a man of such impressive stature, Tetsu was deceivingly agile. He danced away, shouldering the bulk of the Seversword and putting it between him and the arcing Thundersword. The two blades clashed with a ring of steel and a shower of sparks. Omoi seized up as Tetsu continued his rotation and brought up a fist as large as his skull. He recoiled, dazed, the punch leaving his teeth smarting and a hollow pressure in his nose.

Then Omoi had other things to worry about, such as blocking the massive Seversword as Tetsu brought it forward in another powerful slash. Omoi reversed his hold on his swords, bracing them against his forearms, and brought up his guard. The bones in his arms ached and protested as he blocked the slash but it was a better fate than being cleaved in two. Omoi pushed forward, breaking the lock, and reversed his grip once more. He lashed out with a series of quick, powerful thrusts that shot arcs of lightning at Tetsu.

Tetsu blocked with the flat of the Seversword. The weakest of the Seven easily conducted and absorbed the electrical attack. Tetsu spun and brought his sword up as the two of them traded blows again. Omoi had his Thunderswords absorb the lingering charge in his opponent's blade. In a battle such as this, he couldn't afford to be wasteful. Omoi blocked an arcing swipe that would have cleaved him from his left shoulder to his right hip had it connected.

He was beginning to see a pattern. The reason samurai were not a more relevant global power was both their number and philosophy, but also their strict training. Hundreds, even thousands of swordsmen were all trained in one style of swordsmanship whereas a ninja's fighting style varied from cell to cell depending on their jōnin instructor. As a ninja of Cloud, and an expert swordsman himself, Omoi had studied the Way of the Sword far and wide. From the varying and deadly swordsmanship of the Seven to the assassination swordsmanship taught to Leaf black ops, Omoi knew them all. He couldn't recall the name of the style, but he was sure he had seen it, studied it, briefly. It was a rigorous, if simple, style. It focussed on speed and quickly drawing the sword from its sheath; the feared iaidō.

And if Omoi remembered correctly, the next strike would come from... he brought his Thunderswords down and caught an arcing slash that came from below, seeking to slip by his guard and cleave him in two below the ribs. Omoi grinned thinly. Tetsu's style of swordsmanship was focused on striking the nine vital points: the head, the left and right shoulders, the left and right ribs, the left and right hips, the groin, and the heart. Simple, elementary targets taught to every style of swordsmanship under the sun. The samurai simply did it better than the ninja with their iaidō technique. Cutting their opponents down with frightening speed before a ninja could even weave a hand sign.

Omoi could win. He knew he could. He had the advantage now that he knew his opponent's style of swordsmanship. They clashed, again, and Omoi unleashed rapid barrages of thrusts and slashes that were augmented with Lightning Release chakra. He was pushing Tetsu back, controlling the center of their arena. Omoi glanced at the watching Hikari. She seemed relaxed, content to simply watch. He hoped the honorless dogs that were the Akatsuki had at least enough honor to stand by their word. If he won, he lived. Omoi pressed forward, swords illuminating the darkness as they glowed with electricity.

Then Tetsu pushed back. Omoi blocked a powerful slash with both Thunderswords. By the time he disengaged from the brief lock of blades, Tetsu had "sheathed" his Seversword by hanging it at his left hip with the strength of his right arm. Omoi recognized the stance. Iaidō. He braced himself. The attack could come from any of nine directions faster than the eye could follow. Omoi took a deep breath. He internalized some of the Lightning Release chakra his Thunderswords generated in a pale imitation of the Lightning Armor.

The first slash came at him with a lightning speed. The air hissed and hummed as the Seversword cut through it. Omoi deflected it, only narrowly avoiding being cleaved in two from his left shoulder to his right hip. In the time it had taken him to glance from Tetsu, to his Thunderswords, and then back to his opponent, Tetsu had already "sheathed" his sword again. Omoi's smile was grim. A true master of iaidō was not measured by how fast he could draw his sword from its sheath, but by how fast he could return it for another strike of godly speed.

Omoi danced backwards as the next slash came from below, aimed at his groin, seeking to cleave through his manhood, through his hips, and into his guts. Omoi retaliated with a wave of screaming electricity that was batted aside by a fiery Flash. He blocked a third terrifyingly quick slash that was aimed at blasting a hole through his chest.

Their duel continued as the two traded attacks; one, the aggressor, the other, the defender. Omoi focused on dealing arcing slashes at the neck, the signature style of Cloud swordsmanship, and unleashing powerful Lightning Release attacks. Tetsu continued to cycle through varying stances and forms of his samurai swordsmanship and iaidō.

Omoi gasped for breath, chest heaving and arms as heavy and laden like lead. The two of them paused in their duel, each glaring at the other, their grips on their swords never wavering. Each were flagging, tiring, eager to finish the fight and claim victory. Omoi took a deep breath through his nose and then released it through his mouth. Tetsu took up a stance, Seversword raised above his head and gripped with both hands. Omoi channeled electricity through his entire body, briefly encroaching upon the technique his teacher was so famed for, using his Thunderswords to provide the preternatural chakra control he lacked.

Through unspoken agreement, the two swordsmen leapt at each other. The world slowed to a crawl for Omoi. He could see, react to, everything. His Lightning Strike Armor, while nowhere near as powerful as the Raikage's famed Lightning Armor, was enough to see him through to survival, to victory. Thunderswords and Seversword lashed out, eager to do their respective master's bidding, each hungered for blood.

Omoi's eyes widened as not one, not two, but _three_ slashes came down upon him. One from below, aimed at the groin; another, from the left side, aimed at his hips; and a final, from above, crashing down upon his skull. Even with his Lightning Strike Armor, Omoi couldn't discern the difference between the slashes. All appeared real, though his mind told him they couldn't be. Tetsu was quick, but not inhumanly so. The younger red-haired man appeared to have six arms for the great speed he swung his sword. One of the three had to be real.

Omoi just didn't know which. Time yawned on. They were going to clash. It was simply a matter of time, of perspective of time. A perspective by which Omoi had many agonizing long seconds to panic over which attack he should defend against. In the end, cold logical ran out. He could, maybe, survive a grievous wound to his lower body. He could not, however, survive being cleaved in two from the skull down.

Omoi brought his Thunderswords up, crossed, and caught the bulk of the Seversword between them.

So, too, did his lower body catch the bulky blade in its bones and soft tissues. Distantly, Omoi watched in fascination as blood and shredded flesh appeared upon the blade's edge he had blocked. As if a clever illusion parting and revealing its secrets. The words rang in his ears as Tetsu loomed over him.

"Dance of the Three Dragons."

* * *

 **October 26th, 0024 AIT**

Tetsu watched as his opponent groaned pitifully in agony. The Dances of the Orange and Yellow Dragons had mangled the white-haired man's lower half. His body was contorted at an odd angle, flesh stretched and torn, pearly white bones peeking through rushing rivers of blood. Omoi certainly was skilled, that much was true, and it had taken Tetsu many long and dangerous clashes to feel comfortable enough in choosing to use the Dance of the Three Dragons over Four. He had yet to meet a foe other than his Lord worthy enough to to face the technique in its more complete form.

"You were a worthy opponent, Omoi of the Hidden Cloud," Tetsu intoned. He stepped forward, Seversword returning to its storage seal on his arm with the number one inked upon it. He kneeled and claimed his prize, prying the Thunderswords from the hands of his dying enemy. Even in death, Omoi was a true swordsman. He protested the removal of the blades weakly.

Experimentally, Tetsu channeled some of his chakra into the Thunderswords. They reacted greedily, hungrily devouring all that he fed them. In return, they fed him back a powerful, deadly Lightning Release chakra. It was nothing compared to what he had seen his Lord capable of generating, but among ninja, it was peerless. A brief panic welled in his chest as Tetsu feared the sharp bite of electricity. It never came. Despite not having an affinity for Lightning Release, the swords gave him the control necessary to use them to their full potential.

Hikari approached from where she had watched the duel. "Congratulations," she said softly.

Tetsu nodded. "Thank you, my Lady," he replied. Tetsu frowned, gripping the hilts of the Thunderswords. They felt odd in his hands, just short enough to be awkwardly unwieldy but not enough to be un-wieldable by a man of his size.

It was only his tenuous connection with the Thunderswords that alerted him to a raging mass of electricity that appeared from nowhere and everywhere at once. "Omoi!" a gruff, powerful man's voice rang through the night.

Tetsu turned, swords up, and blocked a powerful, telegraphed punch that had been meant to pulp his Lady's skull. Hikari recoiled, springing into action, as she leapt away and attacked with a powerful blade of water. Tetsu parried away his opponents meaty fists clad in golden gauntlets. The white-blue glow of chakra lit up the night and all knew that they faced the former Raikage, Ay. Behind the angered Raikage a trio of ninja kneeled over Omoi. Medics, Tetsu identified them by the green glow of chakra encompassing their hands. They could do little for their dying comrade save for ease his passing to the Pure Lands.

Tetsu turned his focus to the Raikage. Perhaps he had at last found an opponent worthy of his master's Dance of the Nine Dragons. His grip tightened on the newly acquired Thunderswords. Tetsu could feel their desire to do battle with such a powerful Lightning Release user. As if they wished to prove themselves.

Tetsu readied the Thunderswords and he felt a mastery of Lightning Release not his own thrum in his veins. The swords whispered their secrets in his ear. A path to victory. One that would allow him to test his new blades in battle against a worthy opponent. Tetsu brandished both Thunderswords, electricity dancing up and down their blades. The Raikage growled at him, his chakra flaring wildly, before charging forward.

Tetsu took a breath. Using his newfound mastery of Lightning Release, his Thunderswords stole the charge from the Raikage's armor just as Hikari had told him Omoi had done to his Lord. Then, stepping forward, he moved through the stances of the Dance of the Nine Dragons.

* * *

 **October 27th, 0024 AIT**

Kurotsuchi idly eyed the large map sprawled before her as her advisors debated the merits of each proposed plan put forward but her generals and strategists. It had been many decades since the world had last seen a war—a real war—between men. She was determined to prove herself.

"No," Kurotsuchi said. Her advisors fell silent. "Here—" she placed a finger atop the swerving line on the map that represented the intercontinental rail built between the Sand and the Leaf. "—we hit them here. The Leaf is Sand's biggest ally. All the major financial and military support will come from the Leaf. The railway is the fastest, easiest method of transportation between the two cities. If we take out the tracks, the Leaf will have no other choice than to go by land through the Land of Rivers or by sea through the Land of Waves."

Ultimately, it was her choice. It was her war, her army, her people, her village. She was the Tsuchikage. Kurotsuchi just hoped she was making the right decision. The Land of Rivers was notoriously difficult to travel through on foot. Hopefully, some or most of the supplies would be forced to be taken by land. The Land of Waves was a close ally of the Leaf and had the largest port connected to the ocean bar the Mist itself. Though they were still reeling from the destruction of the Great Naruto Bridge some years ago, they would be a key player in the war to come.

"Very well, ma'am," her advisors echoed each other. Some fled from the tent and began barking orders.

Outside, Kurotsuchi could hear the sound of boots kicking sand as her ninja leapt into action. "And send squadrons Obsidian and Basalt to the Land of Waves. Tell them to begin sabotaging any ships that make port. I want the Quartz Battalion to head into the Land of Rivers. Anything or anyone with a Union or Leaf insignia is to be attacked or sabotaged. I don't want _anything_ to reach the Land of Wind, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," the remainder chorused.

Kurotsuchi breathed a ragged sigh as the rest of her men fled to carry out her orders. It had been two days since her little declaration to the world. A message to every man and woman who called themselves a ninja: _"The Hidden Stone was not to be trifled with."_ With Cloud all but destroyed, Stone was now the most powerful of the Great Five—or they would be. Kurotsuchi swore she would prove herself and her village. Too long had it been debated whether Stone, Cloud, or Leaf was the strongest. Now, the people had it in their heads that the Leaf was the dominant power on the continent. Kurotsuchi refused to believe that. She would give the world their answer to their question. The Hidden Stone was, and always will be, the most powerful ninja village.

No one _really_ knew what happened at the end of the Fourth War. They only had the accounts of the people who were there. The people who, Kurotsuchi reminded herself, benefited most from their version of events. All Kurotsuchi knew was one moment they were gearing up to fight Madara, and the next, she woke up and the war was over. She refused to believe that some alien goddess—the progenitor of their profession; of _chakra_ —appeared and consumed Madara. It was too fantastical to be real. That the Hokage and the Uchiha bastard had, together, managed to put her down. And, what? That they were supposed to be on guard for _more_ of her kind to appear any year? Well, the fool Hokage had made a mistake. He had given each of the Great Five express permission to begin mustering their war machines and preparing for battle. No one was going to chastise Stone for building an army when that was exactly what they were supposed to be doing. The only difference was Kurotsuchi had no intentions of idly sitting by with her village's full strength finally mustered.

The Leaf had the world eating out of the palm of its hand. Kurotsuchi refused to believe their lies any longer. The Hokage was strong, true, but that was only because he was a jinchūriki. Bereft of the power of the monster in his belly, what did the Hokage have? Nothing. Kurotsuchi clenched a fist. She knew the war would be decided by a battle between the two of them. She had been training, every minute of every day, for years in preparation of their clash. She had mastered Earth, Fire, Water, and Lava Release until they were as natural as breathing. Then, she had gone a step farther. With the help of her grandfather, she had discovered her Wind Release nature and, subsequently, her combined Dust Release.

She shed blood, sweat, and tears to earn the right to call herself a Kage. To wear the Hat. What had the Hokage given to wear his? He had been _given_ his power when the Nine-Tails was sealed within him.

It all came back to the Tailed Beasts, didn't it? Well, it was time that Stone reclaimed its property. Kurotsuchi emerged from the war tent and signaled for a runner with a raised hand. The man saluted her and bowed at the waist. "Inform squadrons Marble and Limestone to begin scouring the Land of Earth for the Four and Five-Tails. They are _not_ —under any circumstance—to engage the beasts. Monitor them and report their location back to me," she ordered.

The messenger clicked his boots together and dashed away to carry out her orders. It would take some cunning strategy, but Kurotsuchi was determined to reclaim the Four and Five-Tails that the Akatsuki had stolen from them. Stone's last fūinjutsu master had perished some years ago and left them bereft of a successor. As of yet, they had been unable to find a replacement. Thus, the means by which to seal the Tailed Beasts into their hosts was lost to her. But Kurotsuchi wasn't going to let that stop her. If the Hokage's brat could defeat and seal a Tailed Beast as a teenager, she—the Tsuchikage and a grown woman—could do the same.

"Ma'am," Captain Aoyama approached her. "Diorite Battalion is ready to march."

Kurotsuchi nodded. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then stepped forward. She could see the particles of nitrogen and oxygen in the atmosphere with her mind's eye. Her Dust Release chakra resonated with the particles and allowed her to walk atop them in combination with an Earth Release technique that reduced the effect gravity had upon her body. The result? Kurotsuchi could fly.

She found the Diorite battalion, eight hundred ninja strong, armored and armed to the teeth. Each of them ready to do battle, to die, to prove that Stone was the most powerful of the Great Five. They bowed to her as she passed over them. Orders were barked and men began to dash across the shifting sands as Kurotsuchi led them southeast towards the intercontinental railway connecting Leaf and Stone.

It took them nearly half of the day to make the journey. "Spread out!" Kurotsuchi barked. "Companies one through three, patrol to the east! Companies four through six, patrol to the west! Companies seven and eight, begin planting the explosives! Move, move, move!"

Her men leapt into action and hastened to complete her orders. Kurotsuchi kept a wary eye on the horizon. She saw no great force mustering to meet her on the field of battle nor did she see the telltale plume of kicked up sand that heralded an army's charge. It took her ninja a full ten minutes to cover fifty miles of intermediate tracks with enough explosives to bring a small country to its knees. When they were clear, Kurotsuchi signaled the Quartz lieutenant colonel. "Fire in the hole!" the man roared before detonating the explosives.

It was quite the sight from a mile up. Kurotsuchi watched as the railway burned and collapsed into the sand. As she flew back to her army's encampment, she unleashed a strafing Dust Release attack that vaporized nearly ten miles of track. It left her breathless and exhausted, but seeing the awe in her men was worth it. That it ensured the utter destruction of the railway was just a bonus.

* * *

 **November 1st, 0024 AIT**

Shikamaru breathed a weary sigh and rubbed at his temples. Being the second-in-command of the Leaf was a tiring, thankless job. One that he regretted taking more and more. It left very little time for the important things, like afternoon naps and cloud gazing. And, as if conspiring against him, the world decided to make things even more troublesome than they already were.

Three separate incidents in the space of a single week that threatened to plunge the world into the Fifth War that he and Naruto were working so hard to avoid. Shikamaru lazily watched as the television broadcast the same interview it had been playing all day: the Hidden Steam had re-militarized itself and a self-appointed Yukage had taken control of the once peaceful village in a bloody coup.

" _I want to assure the world that the Hidden Steam has no nefarious intentions,"_ the Yukage, a grizzled old man in the ceremonial robes and hat of the Kage, said. _"Long has the Land of Steam been a peaceful country. I do not wish to change this. However, I cannot, in good conscience, watch as the world is plunged into war and do nothing to defend my homeland. The Leaf and the now defunct Union have aggressively asserted their superiority and control over the various nations for far too long. Now that Stone has seceded, they are trying to bring them back into the fold with violence. As a concerned citizen, I could not allow the Land of Steam to sit idly by while our neighbor aggressively wages war."_

It was a total crock of shit, of course. Shikamaru knew that. Still, it bothered him. The worst part? They couldn't do anything about it. Not now, at least. If the Yukage were to meet an untimely end, he would become a martyr. His words would be proven true. But the Hidden Steam reeked of cloak and dagger shit he prefered to leave to Commander Hyūga. Something fishy had taken place. The Land of Steam hadn't been a military power for nearly half a century, and then a large force of ninja appeared, violently took the reins of the country, and dubbed themselves the Hidden Steam? Something didn't add up.

More worryingly? The trail left by Hidan and the followers of Jashin led to the Land of Steam. Shikamaru was determined to kill that psychopath once and for all.

And Steam wasn't the only problem. To the west, the Tsuchikage had destroyed nearly fifty miles of track connecting the Leaf and Sand. The only two ways to transport men and supplies to their weaker ally was through the Land of Rivers—a nightmare—and through the Land of Waves. They could risk a fleet of ships from the east coast, but who knew if the Mist was truly as neutral as they proclaimed. Naruto was frothing at the bit about Chōjūrō apparently sealing the Two-Tails away. Shikamaru sighed. Nothing made sense there, either.

But neither of those two events were the worse thing that had happened this week. It was the reason why Shikamaru wore the Hat and sat behind the dreaded desk. It was the reason why he signed papers and stamped forms, not Naruto. It was the reason Shikamaru had nearly every man, woman, and child who called themselves a ninja of the Leaf recalled to the village for security—namely to watch over one deadly, possible insane, person currently locked up five stories below his feet.

Ay, the Fourth Raikage, had died after suffering grievous wounds at the hands of the Akatsuki.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Not sure what's going on, but... there was a massive influx of readers on the last chapter. The Tetsu prelude is officially the most viewed chapter I've uploaded. I'm not sure what to think about that... Anyway! Sorry that this chapter is so late and short for my standards. I'm really busy with life right now (nothing worrying) and haven't had much time or motivation to write. Next update should be, tentatively, between the 24th and 28th. Sorry!

I know Shikamaru plays shogi, not chess, but they're (basically) the same game and it is easier to write chess. Easier for western audiences to visualize, too, I imagine.


	85. Chapter 85

**November 1st, 0024 AIT**

Naruto stared down at the body of the man who embodied the Raikage, one arm folded across his chest as if merely sleeping while the other amputated limb lay at his side. The faint sutured outline of dozens of slashes marring his bronzed skin was the only thing—other than his sensory abilities—that told him that Ay was dead. "What happened, Eyepatch?" Naruto asked Dodai.

The man that had saved him during his fight against the Third Raikage, older and grizzled now than during the Fourth War, answered him sadly. "Lord Fourth had a task for Omoi and went in search of him. The men said that Omoi had retired for the evening. When the Raikage found the tent empty, save for a single scroll—" Dodai handed him a ragged, crumpled scroll. "—naturally, he read it."

Naruto quickly skimmed the thinly veiled threat and challenge. He nodded and handed the scroll back to Dodai. "Lord Fourth departed immediately with a squadron of our finest ANBU. The Akatsuki had forced Omoi to fight them. Intel suggests, based on Omoi's reports of words exchanged with the leader of the Akatsuki, that they came for the Thunderswords," Eyepatch explained.

Naruto nodded numbly. He still couldn't believe Ay had died. He was the embodiment of what it meant to be Raikage, what it meant to be a Cloud ninja. Larger than life, loud and in your face, not taking anybody's shit. Naruto never expected him to meet his end on the battlefield. But Ay was many years passed his prime, crippled by Sasuke no less, and facing two opponents that his son had personally deemed worthy.

"How did he... how did it happen?" Naruto asked, dreading the answer.

"The Thunderswords are an immensely powerful weapon," Dodai said. "They're not sentient, but they have some degree of awareness over their own powers and wielder. They bestow upon anyone who wields them a mastery over Lightning Release that surpasses all others save for the most talented, such as the Raikage. Lord Fourth would have emerged victorious had Tetsu Uzumaki wielded any other sword, I am sure. The most powerful technique of the Thunderswords is the passive absorption of electrons from the atmosphere. This absorption can be directed, targeted, to effect certain people or objects, such as—"

"—The Lightning Armor," Naruto said.

Dodai nodded. "The Thunderswords weakened or outright stripped the Lord Fourth of his most powerful technique. Without it... he was no match," the older man said softly.

Naruto glanced at him. Dodai wore the ceremonial white and gold robes of the Raikage. He had yet to don the Hat, but that was merely a matter of ceremony. "Congratulations, Lord Sixth," Naruto mumbled.

"Thank you," Eyepatch said with a slight bow. "I only wish it had not been under such grave circumstances and dire times."

Naruto nodded. "You said Yurui wasn't ready?"

"Indeed," Dodai bobbed his head. "He's powerful, yes, but young and brash. Much like Bee, in that regard. He needs experience in leadership and politics before he is fit to be Raikage. I shall wear the Hat until such time as he is ready to become the Lord Seventh."

Naruto breathed deeply, in and out. In the back of his mind, he extended his sixth sense for people's darker emotions. He reached out, metaphorical hands fumbling, looking for two signatures in particular: his son, and Hibiki Otonari. He felt Bolt, like a stain, dark and resolute and very much agitated. He was still within the walls of the Leaf. Hibiki, however, was nowhere to be found. Naruto frowned and cast his net wider and wider.

He found nothing. Hibiki was not on the continent. It would take time and effort to scour the entire world, but Naruto was confident that the Akatsuki had not fled to far-off, unexplored shores. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. "We'll get the Akatsuki, Eyepatch. I promise," Naruto swore.

And he meant it. But first he had to deal with Stone.

"Go," Dodai said. "You have paid your respects, Hokage. The Lord Fourth would not want his death to affect your position. Cloud will endure, as it always has."

Naruto nodded. "If there is anything the Leaf or I could do... let me know," he said in parting.

Dodai nodded and Naruto broke into a sprint as he dashed southwest towards the Land of Fire and his home.

* * *

 **November 1st, 0024 AIT**

She couldn't take it anymore.

Sarada couldn't remember the last time she had gotten a full night's sleep. She finally had to admit that her powers were not entirely under her control. Her sinistral Mangekyō was slowly killing her. Today, Sarada swore, she would put an end to her rebellious left eye or she would carve the fucking thing out.

Her ocular abilities had always come naturally to her. There was an instinctual knowledge of their workings and techniques. Her Mangekyō ability, Omoikane, had always been based in her right eye. There was never an inkling that she had an ability based in her left eye. And, yet, now she found that not only did she have an ability when using Omoikane with her left eye, she was unable to even control it.

Tonight, it ended.

Sarada settled onto her bed, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She exhaled and activated her Mangekyō. The chakra pathways in her eyes lit up like a fire as energy rushed into dōjutsu. Sarada took hold of her chakra and forced it away from her right eye and into her left. Sarada took another breath and opened her eyes.

She found herself aimlessly wandering through darkness, just like the first time her Mangekyō had begun activating upon its own accord. This Sarada knew what to look for. Her eyes scoured the darkness, the night sky, looking for the tower of white stone in which the white man lurked. As if by the mere thought, the darkness unfurled and the tower revealed itself. Sarada willed her "body" forward, gently gliding through one of the arches atop it. Gravity returned and she felt anchored to the oddly perfectly square and precise stones that made the floor.

"Hello?" Sarada asked, cautiously inching forward. She had prepared herself, steeled herself, to confront the white man. What she hadn't expected to find... was a little boy. Deathly pale with shoulder length inky black hair. Upon hearing her, he turned and frowned thunderously.

He screamed something, loud and angry, his words echoing through the tower. The white man bustled into the main antechamber of the tower through one of the arches. The boy turned to the man, gesturing and screaming, pointing at her and then him. Sarada tensed, ready to fight, as the boy raged and the man calmly spoke down to him. Their argument was explosive, full of one-sided acidic hate on the boy's part. The man said no more than a handful of words that only seemed to make the boy even angrier.

Sarada couldn't tell what they were saying, or what they were arguing about—though she strongly suspected it was her presence—but there was one word she heard. One word she recognized. Omoikane.

As sudden as the argument began, it ended. The boy turned, furious, brows narrowed and teeth bared, before storming over to an arch. He paused, briefly, and snarled at her. This time, Sarada understood his words. "This changes nothing, primitive," he hissed. Then he was gone.

Sarada blinked, swallowed, and returned her attention to the white man and the tower. "Hello?" Sarada ventured, again.

The white man, thin and gangly with flowing hair, smiled sadly at her. His words came slowly and awkwardly, as if he had trouble speaking. "Hello," he greeted her. His accent was strange. Nasally, almost, but also elegant.

Sarada took a breath. "Who are you? Where are we?" she asked.

The man took a moment, eying her, as if trying to think of what to say. "Ah, how do you say in your tongue... ego? No, not is it. Place of the brain? No, mind, that is word. Mind... scape! Mindscape."

"We're..." Sarada hesitated. "In your... mindscape?"

The tower felt so real, so powerful, that she had been certain it physically existed. The pale man bobbed his head. "Yes, place of the meeting of eyes," he said, tapping his face just beneath his eyes.

Sarada felt the same uncanny temptation to lock eyes with the man she had felt before. It was ironic. She knew she shouldn't look into the eyes of another dōjutsu user, and yet, she found herself wanting to look all the more. Sarada chanced a glance. A pair of eyes as red as blood stared back at her. A black star, five pronged, was emblazoned upon a field of inky darkness. A set of Mangekyō Sharingan. Combined with the pale man's horned visage, he appeared entirely inhuman. Perhaps, Sarada thought, he was.

"Who are you?" Sarada asked, repeating her question.

The pale man tilted his horned head. Long, flowing white hair tumbled around him like water. He tapped his face beneath his eyes again. "Told last time," he said. "Omoikane."

"You... you're Omoikane? You're why I can see the future?" Sarada asked, confused.

Omoikane shook his head. He frowned, narrowed his eyes, as if trying to work over the words. Eventually, he must have given up, because he shrugged. "I counsel the heavenly ones," he said. Omoikane made the same gesture to his eyes.

"So we share the same ability, then?" Sarada asked, eager for clarification. If that was true, then she had found someone who could tell her what exactly her left eye was doing.

Omoikane squinted and then, eventually, nodded. "Yes, this is true," he said.

"Can you help me?" Sarada asked, taking a deep breath. "My, uh... my power—our power—it's changed. It used to..."

She saw that Omoikane clearly hadn't followed her line of thought. The language barrier was preventing any meaningful communication. Sarada would have to make it simpler. "Uh," she breathed. Sarada tapped her right eye. "Future," she said. Sarada tapped her left eye. "What?"

Omoikane, it seemed, got the message. He smiled, delighted, and tapped his own right eye. "Good counsel," he said. He tapped his left eye. "One mind, many thoughts."

That hadn't answered her question. Not at all. Sarada frowned, mimed being confused, and tapped her left eye again. Omoikane clicked his tongue, showing some small measure of visible frustration, before snapping his fingers. He quickly dashed through one arch and returned carrying a brush and what looked like a furled piece of bamboo. Omoikane unfurled it and Sarada saw that it was a crude parchment. With quick, elegant strokes, Omoikane drew. Three circles, each with a distinct pattern contained within. Sarada recognized two of them; her own whirlpool pattern Mangekyō and Omoikane's star pattern. The other, a black sphere save for small stars, was unknown to her.

" _Omoikane,"_ the pale man said.

There was a way Omoikane said it, breathed it, swore it, like it wasn't his name, but an oath. Sarada knew he was speaking about their shared ability and not his name. Omoikane drew a much larger fourth circle above the three Mangekyō. From the Mangekyō he drew three arrows pointing towards the large circle. With a few more quick brushstrokes, Omoikane drew a tall rectangle with parapets dotting its top.

Realization dawned with horrifying clarity. Omoikane had drawn their eyes, and their eyes... were connected to the tower. To his mindscape. She looked up at the pale man, mouth agape. He smiled. "One mind, many thoughts," he said. Omoikane tapped his right eye. "Good counsel," he repeated. He tapped his right eye, again, then his left eye. "One mind, many thoughts. _Better_ counsel."

Sarada felt sick. "Two heads are better than one," she mumbled numbly. That was her left eye's ability. _Their_ left eye's ability. They could... combine their thoughts, to increase the strength of their precognition. Sarada thought her right eye was stronger than before. She could recall vague memories of fractured dreams. Her right eye's power expanding, growing. More information, more data. New connections being formed, bridging old weaknesses. Additional points of view being gathered.

Sarada swallowed. She was drawn from her musing by a ringing, clear laughter. Boyish, almost. Omoikane smiled, baring row upon row of pearly white teeth. "Yes, yes," he said, nodding his head. "I shall remember your words."

Sarada mentally berated herself, taking a deep breath. She was the last daughter of the Uchiha clan, future Hokage. She could deal with... whatever this was. "Okay," she said resolutely. She looked around, her eyes landing on the pool in the center of the antechamber. "Why did you..." she tapped her right eye and then gestured at the pool. _"Why did you show me what you did?"_

"Ah," Omoikane clucked. He gestured for her to look at the pool. Steeling herself, Sarada did.

She struggled against the violent tugging at her navel to no avail. Sarada blinked, eyes wide and breaths coming quick, as she found herself standing upon a battlefield. For it could only be a battlefield; the sky was dark and rumbled with thunder, the ground was stained red with blood, the air was tainted with a fowl metallic scent, and the bodies of the dead and the dying were piled atop each other in great mounds. Men and women, a few Sarada thought she knew, and the strange pale skinned people that were the same race as Omoikane. The battlefield yawned on and on, endless in its scope, a world of death and destruction.

As suddenly as the vision came, it was gone. They were back in the tower. Omoikane had grown grim and determined. He wanted to stop a battle? Sarada frowned, confused, not understanding. "What... what do you mean? I don't understand. What battle is this? Why did you show me... my friends and family dying?"

Omoikane blinked, raised both hands, and mimed having two whiskers on each cheek with his index and middle fingers. His brows narrowed, lips upturned in a frown, with his chin raised ever so slightly. Sarada couldn't hold back her laughter. His impression of Bolt was nearly perfect. Then she grew somber. Because if her visions were connected to Bolt... that meant terrible things were on the horizon. "Bolt? Bolt Uzumaki? What about him?" Sarada demanded.

"Bolt... Bolt Uzumaki," Omoikane said, the lilt making her friend's name sound lyrical. "Important," he said, with a nod of his head.

"Important?" Sarada asked quizzically. "Important how? He stops the battle?"

Omoikane shook his head.

"He... he starts the battle?" Sarada ventured. That, too, was possible.

Omoikane shook his head. "Alive," he said. "Or..."

The dark future where her father and the Hokage died flashed before her eyes and made her stomach churn. Then the horrible nightmare of Bolt killing himself in his cell seared through her memory. _"I will be free, Sarada,"_ he had said. _"One way, or the other."_

Sarada froze. It wasn't a nightmare. Bolt _was_ going to commit suicide to escape prison. And his death would, somehow, herald the great battle of the dark future she saw. Sarada staggered under the weight of the knowledge she had gleamed. "I... I have to go," she mumbled as she turned and fled the ivory tower.

Sarada didn't see the way Omoikane grinned as she left.

* * *

 **November 2nd, 0024 AIT**

Bolt was bored.

One thing he had taken up since his imprisonment was training of the mind—most definitely _not_ daydreaming. He plotted, he planned, he strategized. Elaborate schemes to bring entire countries to their knees. Following the destruction of Cloud, Mist would be next. The global distribution of power would be so disturbed that there would never be peace in the west. Stone, Sand, and Leaf would fight their war and dance to his tune, Bolt had made sure of that.

Still, he thought of other things. Techniques. Bolt wondered how Hikari was faring as leader of the Akatsuki. They had been training together, honing each other, for years. He could honestly say he was stronger than her now, but that didn't mean Hikari would be an easy opponent for anyone short of his father. Bolt had tried to teach her the intricacies of advanced Lightning Release techniques, but couldn't. Hikari's primary elemental affinity was Water Release. That was where her true strength laid. If she had mastered even half of the techniques Bolt had thought up, Hikari would be a shoo-in for S-class infamy. Just like him.

It brought a smile to his lips.

The barrier to his cell came down with an audible snap. Bolt sat up, tensed, and ready for a fight. He smiled as, of all people, Kohaku Uzumaki strode into his cell. His chin-length crimson hair was tied behind his head in a neat, utilitarian bun. Piercing amber eyes settled on him.

Bolt quirked an eyebrow. Kohaku sighed. "This really wasn't how I wanted us to meet again, kid," Kohaku said.

"Well," Bolt admitted. "This wasn't how I planned on meeting you either, Uzukage."

Kohaku rolled his eyes. "Not yet," he said. "The old woman still has a few more years left in her."

Bolt knew that Akane Uzumaki had more than a "few" years left in her. Their clan was almost too long-lived. "So," Bolt quipped. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Testing," Kohaku murmured, hands deftly searching his pockets. He withdrew a single sheet of parchment as white as snow. "And I wanted to see what you think... of this." Kohaku waved his hand around the cell.

Bolt frowned. "You made this cage? Very impressive," he said snidely.

"Our mutual friend Orochimaru had a hand in it too," Kohaku said. He crossed the cell and stood before Bolt.

Bolt frowned. Kohaku had him by a few inches and more than a few pounds. An Uzumaki he may be, but the stature of a Hyūga made him seem small by comparison.

"Blood," Kohaku said, guarding the paper with one hand and gesturing impatiently with the other.

Bolt sighed. "I suppose if I refuse to cooperate then the lovely guards outside will gas me and you'll get the blood that way," he half asked, half stated.

Kohaku nodded. Bolt sighed and bit his thumb, offering it to the older man. Kohaku stained the snow-white parchment with a drop of his blood and no more before quickly retreating a few steps to intently stare at the paper.

"Do I get to ask what this is about?" Bolt asked.

The parchment turned a dark black where his blood touched it. It spread through the paper, like a cloying stain, and turned from a snow-white color to a inky black darkness. Kohaku looked up, shocked, and stared at him in disbelief. "You... you actually did it?"

Bolt frowned and sighed. "Did what?" he asked. There was a lot he had done in his time as a rogue ninja.

"You made a death mask!" Kohaku accused him. "Are you insane? There was a reason why only the head of the clan made that sacrifice!"

"If you'll recall," Bolt drawled. "I was, in fact, a candidate for the next head of the clan. I would have had one made either way. What do you mean by sacrifice?"

Kohaku shook his head with narrowed eyes. "You don't know what you've done," he said, almost tearfully. "The death masks aren't a gift, they're a curse. Our most talented minds sacrifice their eternal rest to safeguard the future of the clan. Why would you do that to yourself?"

Bolt shrugged. "Some things are worth dying for," he said.

Kohaku was shocked, angered. He took a threatening step forward. "You don't understand!" Kohaku hissed. "You gave up your spot in the Pure Lands! When you die, you won't go there. You'll go to serve Death. For all time—for _eternity!_ "

Well, that was something the spirits in his death masks hadn't warned him about. "All the same," Bolt said. "Some things are worth suffering a fate worse than death. If I can unite the world, if I can bring global peace, order, and stability... then not having an afterlife is a price I am willing to pay."

Kohaku worked his jaw up and down, like a fish struggling for breath. He was struck dumb. "You—"

The barrier went down with an audible snap. Both men turned to face the new arrival. Neither, especially Bolt, expected it to be a—a _distraught,_ for that was the only word—Sarada. She looked haggard and half dead with wide, bloodshot eyes and dishevelled hair and clothes. Dark bags hung under her eyes and her cheeks were stained pink with watered down blood.

"Sarada?" Bolt asked warily.

Sarada lunged forward, ungracefully, stumbling across the distance and wrapping her arms around his waist in a forceful hug. Bolt froze. After a long, long moment, Sarada released him. She ran her hands up and down his body, patting him down, eyes wild and determined. Bolt shot Kohaku a questioning, pleading glance. The crimson-haired man was already backing away, inky black parchment in hand, with an amused smile on his lips.

"You're..." Sarada croaked. "You're okay? You're alive?"

"Yes?" Bolt answered, his eyes searching hers in an attempt to discern what had upset her. Sarada breathed an audible, shaky sigh of relief. "Sarada? Are you okay?" Bolt asked. If someone had hurt her, he would murder them.

"Yes!" Sarada snapped. "Yes, I am... I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

Bolt had enough experience to know that Sarada meant she was _not_ fine and that continuing to pester her about it would only end poorly for him.

"You're okay, right? Really okay?" Sarada asked, eyes pleading.

"Yes, Sarada," Bolt sighed. "I'm as fine as a prisoner can be."

Sarada nodded numbly. "Right," she said. "Right. Good..."

She stumbled out of his cell, the barrier falling before her. Bolt only barely caught the sight of tears of blood welling in her eyes as she left.

Bolt frowned.

* * *

 **November 16th, 0024 AIT**

Himawari glared at the guards as they carefully inspected her identification card. They were being overly paranoid about security. They had been ever since she had snuck into the facility—not prison; prison sounded bad—to talk to her brother with her fists. That made her a "high risk" visitor. Himawari snorted. She would show them high risk if they didn't clear her in three, two...

"You're clear to enter, ma'am," the guard said politely.

Himawari grinned and tilted her chin upwards as she snatched her ID back and pranced down the corridor. Behind her, the guards began the same verification process with her mother. Himawari sighed, paused, and leaned against a wall while she waited. Honestly, so paranoid. Just because her father was busy trying to micromanage the entire country and facilitate peace talks around the world didn't mean the village was under imminent threat. And if it was, well, she was there to defend it.

Himawari watched her mother nervously fidget with a smile as the guard checked her papers. It had taken nearly a month to convince her to see Bolt again. Himawari thought they both knew, on some level, that Bolt didn't mean what he said. But her brother was a stubborn ass that was determined to take on the world and damn the consequences. He was also incredibly protective and loving and didn't want his family to get hurt for his ideals. In a way, Himawari could respect that. But she couldn't abide by it. She wanted Bolt to be a part of her life, and her his. And she was a selfish little sister. Himawari would get what she wanted and anyone that got in her way would get beat within an inch of their life.

The guard eventually cleared her mother and she thanked him with an awkward bow. The guard nervously fidgeted as she scurried down the hall. It probably wasn't every day that the most powerful woman in the Leaf bowed to him. Mother and daughter shared a small, hopeful look. "Don't worry," Himawari said before striding down the hall and deeper into the bowels of the tower.

The place was crawling with ANBU. Infested, really. High alert really meant high alert. Her and Shikadai's fathers were taking no chances. Smart, Himawari thought. She thought she recognized a guard or two. People Sarada had worked with or told her about. After a few minutes, they rounded the corner of the hall and made the final approach towards her brother's cell. The other cells had been cleared out and their inmates transferred to other secure facilities. It was probably better that way. Bolt would either incite a riot or convince one of them to free him. That would be... bad.

As they neared the shimmering orange barrier, Himawari could see her brother. He paced ceaselessly, arms behind his back, eyes vacant as he stared at the floor. His lips moved in a silent whisper. She frowned. There was a reason they gave prisoners something to do. Television, radio, a book... hell, even a pencil and a few sheets of paper so they could draw. Idle hands did the Nine-Tails bidding, as the saying went. Himawari didn't like that her brother's hands were idle. Bolt might not have been a strategic genius like Shikadai, but if he put his mind to it he could accomplish much. All one had to do was look at the Akatsuki and the Revolution to see as much.

The guards on duty ran through their instructions with a drawl. Himawari tuned them out, stepped forward, and waited for the first barrier to come down. Now, she felt her nerves fray. Himawari had been so sure that her brother would be repentant if she could convince their mother to visit him again. What if he wasn't? What if Bolt just wanted to give them false hope only to snatch it away and crush them thoroughly?

Himawari didn't have long to fret before her mother followed her into the no man's land between the first barrier and the second. With an audible snap, the second barrier fell. Himawari felt the extremely disconcerting feeling of her chakra control being stripped from her. She felt naked, vulnerable. Her chakra was still there, still as strong as ever, but just out of her reach. Was that what Bolt felt? Was he just biding his time? Stewing in his own power until he could unleash it on the guards no more than ten feet away?

Bolt turned, startled by the noise, and snapped to attention so quickly that Himawari could hear his spine pop. The restless energy that had fueled him earlier was driven away in an instant. Himawari smiled thinly as she saw her brother's throat bob as his eyes darted between her and their mother. He looked like one of those baby deer that Shikadai helped take care of in his clan's forests. Himawari stood back and watched the show, ready to intervene if necessary, and ready to mete out punishment if Bolt failed to deliver upon his word.

Bolt worked his jaw up and down, parted his lips, and made a strangled, gasping sound. Like a wheeze, almost. "I..." he swallowed. Bolt looked at his feet like a scolded child before finding his resolve and raising his head. "I'm... sorry, Mom. I'm... I'm not a very good son, but—"

Their mother rushed across the room and wrapped her arms around Bolt's neck before pulling him into a fierce hug. Himawari smiled happily, fighting back laughter, because her brother was forced to stoop in order for their mother to hug him. He was too tall.

"It's okay, Bolt," their mother cooed. "I forgive you. I love you and I always will. You're my baby boy and nothing will ever change that."

Himawari laughed as Bolt's cheeks turned crimson when their mother placed a kiss on his forehead. "Mom, please," he begged. Himawari danced forward and wrapped her arms around her brother.

Slowly but surely, things were righting themselves in her world. She had her brother, she had Shikadai, she had her parents... there was very little Himawari wanted for in that moment.

"Do you think... do you think Dad will visit again?" Bolt asked.

* * *

 **November 16th, 0024 AIT**

" _Do you think... do you think Dad will visit again?" Bolt asked._

Shikadai frowned as he watched the tearful family reunion play out. He felt a little embarrassed, a little guilty, and more than a little voyeuristic. But Bolt _had_ to be under constant, ceaseless surveillance. He was that dangerous, that important. Bolt was his friend, Himawari's brother, and on the political chessboard, a powerful Knight; unpredictable, fast-moving, and lethal in the right hands.

" _Of course!" Himawari declared boldly. "He'll come if he knows what's good for him!"_

As Lady Hinata ran her fingers lovingly through Bolt's hair, Shikadai was reaffirmed in his decision. Better that he was the one to record this visitation for the record. More than that...

" _Good, good..." Bolt said. "I have missed him. A little."_

For someone who had vehemently declared that they would escape, Bolt was doing very little to escape. He hadn't attempted to tamper with the fūinjutsu on the walls of his cell, hadn't probed the barrier for weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Hell, there hadn't even been a rescue attempt from the outside. No second coming of the Akatsuki, no black ops to spring him from his cell in the dead of night. Nothing, nothing at all. It worried Shikadai. Made him nervous, kept him up at night.

Shikadai laughed under his breath as Bolt glared at Himawari when their mother began to braid a handful of his blond hair. His brows narrowed and his right eye twitched in annoyance. Himawari beamed happily and sadistically at him. The Uzumaki family descended into meaningless pleasantries and small talk. The three of them avoided mentioning anything about Bolt's crimes, the Akatsuki, or anything remotely political. Shikadai typed up a transcript even as the conversation was recorded on both digital and analog formats twice over. One set of copies would be safely stored within a metal box designed to shield it from... whatever Bolt had done to knock them back to the warring clan era.

Bolt, for his part nodded along and tried to add to the conversation where he could without mentioning something awkward. It was strange, Shikadai thought, as he watched Bolt from an outsider's view. He was almost inept in carrying out an everyday conversation with, of all people, his family. And yet, when Shikadai had spoken with him over their chess game, he had been in his element; wit sharp and tongue even sharper.

What had changed? Was Bolt simply socially stunted from his time as a rogue ninja? Twelve was an awfully young age to be thrust into the life of a mercenary. Still... Bolt should be better than that. He could fake it, at least.

Himawari and Hinata stood, said their goodbyes, hugged, and then left. Shikadai sat back in his chair, yawned, and cracked his back. Something wasn't right. Something didn't fit. He could see the board in his mind's eye... but not all of the pieces were in play. When your King was in check, you defended him. You committed all other pieces to preventing his capture.

But this... this was the exact opposite.

The King was in check, besieged on all sides, bereft of his powers and followers. The Queen hadn't mustered the army to come to the King's aid. The King hadn't even moved to hide behind his followers to shield himself.

Shikadai sighed and leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands as he watched Bolt begin to pace his cell with his arms folded behind his back. It was almost... it felt like Bolt _wanted_ to be there. And that made Shikadai very, very nervous. In the cell, Bolt stopped pacing. He stood, frozen, before turning and looking directly into the hidden camera's lense.

Bolt smirked, for just a moment, and then resumed pacing.

Shikadai paled. There was no way... absolutely no way for Bolt to know that he was being watched. Let alone that it was Shikadai watching him... let alone what he was _thinking_...

Shikadai turned the monitor off, closed his eyes, and ran his hands through his hair. He was missing something. They all were. Something critically, vitally important. The King was in check, the Queen and the army weren't defending him, they were—no. No, no. Shikadai mentally reset the board. Like Bolt said... it was just a game. They weren't playing by the rules. Shikadai fully put himself in the shoes of the Black King. Encircled, ensnared, trapped without hope of escape or rescue. Facing his equal and opposite on the field of battle... what would he do?

Shikadai began making illogical, illegal moves with his pieces. He worked through scenario after scenario, move after move, strategy after strategy. Hundreds, thousands of variables and outcomes.

Then he found one. A move that no one would ever make. Mentally, Shikadai moved his King _into_ check. And, at the same time... he placed the enemy King into check. Black and White, facing each other one-on-one. It was White's move and the Black King was vulnerable and ready to be captured.

Shikadai paused, withdrew, and examined the board. The Black Queen, at the head of the army, lead their forces to faraway battlefields. They— _seemingly_ —left their King to his fate. But even in this illogical, illegal game, one rule remained. The side that lost their King lost the war. So the Black King would still need to be rescued—no, rescued was the wrong word. He could escape, or he could attack, or...

Shikadai groaned and massaged his temples. There was still a missing piece. Or, rather... the Black King was besieged on all sides by the White army. But the Black King used to be White, didn't he?

The board fell into place, neat and orderly, as Shikadai learned the rules that they were playing by. Black wasn't missing a piece, no...

They had an extra one—a White one.

* * *

 **November 20th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto groaned, re-reading the scroll Shikamaru had given him. "Is this real? Or are you playing a prank on me? Because, Shikamaru, let me tell you... pranks aren't going to improve my mood," he warned.

Shikamaru nodded. "It's real, alright," he drawled as he took a drag of his cigarette.

He wrinkled his nose. "The Land of Rain _and_ the Land of Steam have both closed their borders?" Naruto demanded.

Shikamaru nodded. "That's the gist of it, yeah," he said. "Rain refuses to be the battleground of another Great War and Steam is worried that the Leaf is returning to its more militaristic roots."

Naruto snorted. "That's—that's preposterous!" he exclaimed. "We were sending aid to Sand and Cloud through them! Under international treaty!"

"A treaty," Shikamaru sighed lazily. "That was signed by the Union, not the Leaf. Things have kind of broken down, Naruto."

Naruto ran his hands through his hair. "So, we can't help Kankurō because Stone has a guerilla army stationed in the Land of Rivers—and somehow the Tanikage isn't shititng his pants over that, but he throws a temper tantrum when I fly over to rescue my son—and our shipyards in the Land of Waves have been sabotaged. And, now, Rain has closed their borders. And, on top of all _that_ , the one country that blocks access to the Land of Lightning isn't letting us through to help Cloud? That's what you're telling me?"

Shikamaru nodded and exhaled a wisp of smoke. "Yeah," he said, hoarse. "We're fucked."

Naruto growled. _Nothing_ was going his way in this "war." He and his allies were getting shafted. "Alright," Naruto took a deep breath. "Fine. We don't need to travel by land or by sea."

"Naruto..." Shikamaru cautioned him.

Naruto smiled winningly and pressed on. "Send a messenger to Inari. I want him to start the airship program back up," he ordered.

Shikamaru groaned. "Naruto, come on," he whined. "The airship program was a massive bust. The Tobishachimaru was a failure that almost incited a war. Did you forget the whole thing went down in flames and crashed in the middle of Grass?"

"No," Naruto shook his head. "It crashed because it was hijacked by the Armament Alliance. Otherwise, the design was sound. Inari did good work."

Shikamaru sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Naruto, how are we going to pay for this? We're stretched thin as it is helping Sand and Cloud."

"Take it from my personal accounts," Naruto said easily. "I don't care about the money."

Shikamaru sighed and shook his head. "It's your ass," he drawled, leaving to issue the orders of his Kage.

* * *

 **December 1st, 0024 AIT**

Hikari clenched a fist, the leather of her gloves straining under her strength. She entered the meditative state of mind the Mist had drilled into her; no thought, no emotion, no hesitation. There was only the Hunt.

And a Hunt it was. The Akatsuki healed and recovered, stood before her and at the ready. They were finally ready to move forward with their plans.

"Tsuchigumo," Hikari said quietly, drawing the puppeteer's attention. "Has Stone found the Four or Five-Tails yet?"

The white-haired man shook his head. "Spies with both armies. Will know when they do," Tsuchigumo murmured.

Hikari nodded. "Good," she said. "Kagami, Kagari, you two will go to the Land of Earth and begin the search for the Tailed Beasts there. Focus on the Four-Tails first. You'll need help for the Five-Tails. Tsuchigumo will provide assistance."

Kagami and Kagari cackled as they cracked their knuckles.

"Tetsu and I shall head to the Land of Water and search for the Three-Tails," Hikari continued, rising from her seat. "After that... we'll deal with Mist."

"And what about Bolt?" Hibiki asked tersely.

Hikari frowned at him. "We will trust Bolt and leave him to his gambit. If it works, our victory is assured. And if not... we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Either way, he _will_ be returned to us. Soon, Hibiki," she said. Hibiki sulked angrily at her words. "I want him back just as much as you do," Hikari added more quietly.

She listened idly as Kagami and Kagari boasted loudly about which of them was going to be the one to deal the final blow to the Four-Tails. Inwardly, Hikari reassured herself that they would emerge victorious. Tetsu had spent the last month mastering his newly acquired Thunderswords. Hikari had spent her time putting the finishing touches on her new techniques that she and Bolt had developed together. She was determined to show the world that Bolt Uzumaki was not the only S-class monster lurking within the Akatsuki. The world—the Mist—would come to fear her name just as readily as they did his. They were partners, after all.

"Enough," Hikari said, and the two sisters quieted. "Tsuchigumo, extraction."

The white-haired man nodded. "In three..." he began counting. "Two... one..."

Hikari was whisked away with a powerful tug at her navel. She breathed deep and the scent of the ocean filled her nose.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Things are heating up. I imagine the next few chapters will be a lot of people's favorites... but maybe I'm biased.

Man, I have had the worst month ever. My class load this semester has been brutal and I have four midterms over two weeks. Lots of studying and lots of work. That, and my other hobbies, is why this chapter is so late. I really just didn't have time to write, sorry. I'm not a professional author, this isn't my full time job (as much as I wish it was). Finals are in 2-3 weeks, and then I should hopefully be back to normal upload schedule.

New, actual new, Boruto content in the manga! Yay! As a fan, I really enjoyed chapter 10. As a writer, I thought it was pretty poor—but par the course of manga—writing. Boruto appears to have been handed a great deal of power, or the capacity to gain a great deal of power, due to little in part of his own abilities. In addition, it appears that the seal on his arm will eventually grant him godlike power, which I am not a big fan of. Momoshiki's death irks me a little because of how much trouble Naruto, Sasuke, and the assembled Kage had, but Boruto was able to kill him with a single large Rasengan.


	86. Chapter 86

**November 17th, 0024 AIT**

"We have a mole," Shakadai whispered.

Those were the first words out of his lips. "What?" Himawari asked, not understanding.

Shikadai ducked his head, leaned closer, and motioned for her, Sarada, and his team to do the same. Himawari obliged him.

"The task force is compromised," Shikadai whispered. The chatter of the other patrons of the restaurant masked their conversation from any eavesdroppers. Still, Himawari watched as Sarada discreetly withdrew a sealing tag and pasted it under the table. "We have a spy in our midst, or are being spied upon by someone, somehow."

"How?" Himawari demanded. She was _not_ going to lose her brother again. Not to a security breach. Not to a damned spy.

Shikadai withdrew a small, handheld device with a large screen. "I smuggled out the security tapes last night before I clocked out," he explained. "I spliced the two clips together. One is of Bolt, the other is of me in the surveillance room."

Himawari watched, intently, as the two videos played side by side. Her cheeks grew warm as her closest friends watched her, Bolt, and their mother hug. After they left, her brother began to pace his cell like a caged animal. There was no audio, thankfully. He paused the recording. "As soon as Himawari and Lady Hinata leave," Shikadai narrated. "Bolt goes back to pacing. At the same time—" Shikadai pointed to the footage of himself staring frustratingly at a small screen and running his hands through his hair. "—I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what Bolt's angle is. What his plan for escaping was. Because for someone who made it painfully clear he was going to escape, he sure hasn't tried very hard to actually escape."

Shikadai hit play and the recording resumed. "Here," Shikadai said, pointing to Bolt on the screen. "Is what has me worried."

Himawari watched as her brother stopped pacing, turned, and looked up at the camera. He smirked. At the same time, Shikadai was almost literally pulling his hair out and leaping out of his chair. She frowned and looked at her boyfriend. "Explain," Himawari demanded.

"I was thinking—I do think—that Bolt has an operative on the inside. Someone who will help him escape. That was the conclusion I came to; Bolt isn't missing a piece on the board, he has an extra one. That's why this entire thing feels wrong," Shikadai explained. "This… this is the final nail in the coffin. There is absolutely no way for Bolt to know that he was being observed, no way to know that I was the one observing him, and no way for him to know I was distressed, unless…"

"Unless… he isn't as isolated as we thought," Inojin finished for his team leader.

"Or as we were made to believe," Shikadai said.

Himawari straightened, as did Sarada next to her. "You think Kohaku is the mole?" Sarada asked.

Shikadai nodded. "If he was being fed that information, or if his cell, in all that fuinjutsu, had a feed to the outside… then the only person who could be responsible is Kohaku," he said.

"That's impossible," Himawari denied. Kohaku had helped her and Sarada, personally, immensely. The tracking seal on her shoulder and activated during her fight with Bolt when he attacked the Leaf. It was one of the reasons she had recovered so swiftly, the doctors and Kohaku assured her. The emergency stores of her brother's Yang chakra combined with her own to help her recover. Using that as a basis, Kohaku had been able to decipher and remove the tracking element of the seal while allowing Sarada to keep the one time emergency healing effect. He couldn't be a spy. Not for the Akatsuki. "He wouldn't," Himawari stated adamantly.

"It makes sense," Shikadai reiterated. "The Uzumaki clan is loyal to one thing and one thing only: blood. Bolt was trained by the Uzukage personally, helped defend the village when it was weak, and has known Kohaku for nearly a decade. Kohaku is the only one with the means and motive to help Bolt escape. There is no one else. In addition, he also performed an unsanctioned test during a visitation. During that time, video and audio recordings were disabled. We don't have a damn clue what the two of them talked about. It was for their ears only, except…"

At her side, Sarada stiffened. "Except I interrupted them," she said.

Shikadai nodded. "The logs show that you entered the cell only mere minutes after Kohaku. Can you remember anything—anything at all—about what they were talking about?"

Himawari turned to hear what her best friend would say. Sarada froze, paled, and shook her head. Himawari placed a reassuring hand on her thigh. "I… no, I wasn't," Sarada breathed a shaky sigh. "They weren't talking when I came in. At least, I'm pretty sure they weren't. Kohaku, he… he looked shaken? Maybe. I don't know. He had something in his hands, I remember. A piece of paper. That was… that's all I remember."

The five of them were silent in contemplation. The only sound was that of Chocho quietly snacking on a handful of chips.

"Alright," Inojin broke the silence. "Let's say you're right. Kohaku is a spy and a traitor. He could've easily helped Bolt escape when the Hokage visited Cloud to oversee the appointment of the Sixth Raikage. He didn't. Why not?"

"It wouldn't have worked," Shikadai stated. "My father had the entire village on high alert. The place was crawling with ANBU—literally. Himawari was here, and she alone is a match for Bolt one-on-one. Even if Kohaku wanted to help Bolt escape, they wouldn't have successfully made it."

"We can't say that for sure," Sarada countered. "You're forgetting that Bolt and Kohaku are two masters of fuinjutsu. Given enough time, they could rig this entire city to simply disappear without a trace. It's been over a month since Bolt was captured. That's enough time to throw together something, anything, to allow them to overcome any odds. Short of the Hokage himself, that is."

"I'm almost certain they haven't," Shikadai said. "The Hokage leaving the Leaf was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He won't leave again unless full-scale war breaks out between Sand and Stone. Bolt should have taken the opportunity, but he didn't."

"You said Bolt wanted to be here," Chocho said, her mouth full. "Why?"

"Huh?" Shikadai asked.

"If he wanted to be here, why? What's the point? I thought the attack on the Leaf was a cover for the Akatsuki to steal a bunch of shit, wasn't it? So what's left here that he wants?" Chocho asked.

Shikadai narrowed his eyes and frowned in thought. It was always funny to see someone stump him. "That's a good question, Chocho," Himawari giggled.

"More than that…" Inojin said. "We have a problem. The task force can't continue like this. They'll know something is up the moment we have our next meeting, even if we hide what we know. Shinki and his team are at the throats of the two officers from the Explosion Corps and Yurui wants to return to his people to help them recover. We're falling apart, Shikadai."

Shikadai took a deep breath and nodded. "I know," he said. "But we have to keep it together. Kohaku will only be in the Leaf as long as the task force remains. If we break it up, he scatters to the wind. And with him gone, we'll never know what Bolt planned or how he is going to escape."

Silence reigned. Himawari didn't know what to do. She tried to think like Shikadai, like a Nara. What was the next best move?

"I have an idea," Inojin spoke up. Himawari raised her head. "I… could see about having some people assigned to watch Kohaku during his stay."

"The task force is already under watch, Inojin," Sarada sighed. "ANBU are watching us around the clock."

"Someone better than the ANBU," Inojin clarified.

Himawari could physically see Sarada bristle. "What does that mean?" she asked.

Inojin placed a thumb to his wrist and, miraculously, a mask appeared. White accented in yellow, it looked like a tiger. "How did you get that?!" Sarada sputtered. "It's a class-S crime to be in possession of an ANBU mask!"

"I got it the same way you did," Inojin told her.

Sarada looked at him in disbelief. "You're Tiger? I've worked with you! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm not ANBU," Inojin said. "I'm Internal Affairs."

"Internal Affairs? ANBU doesn't have Internal Affairs!" Sarada protested.

"Not officially," Inojin replied. "My Dad heads it. We watch the watchers."

"No," Shikadai said resolutely. "We keep this between us. We're the only ones we can trust on this. No ANBU, no… Internal Affairs. We keep this low key."

Inojin begrudgingly nodded. Himawari's lips twitched upwards in a small smile as she noticed Sarada eying Inojin like he was a rusty kunai. "So," she said. "What are we going to do?"

"Now that we know something is up," Shikadai said. "We can start planning a counter-attack. We'll need to discreetly keep an eye on both Bolt and Kohaku. Ensure that a situation where both of them can be alone again doesn't arise. I'll discreetly ask my dad to increase security for both Bolt and the task force. We're in a double check situation. Whoever makes the better move next wins the game."

"I can 'visit' my brother more," Himawari offered. It was a win-win for her. She got to spend more time with Bolt, reconnect, and keep an eye on him at the same time.

Shikadai nodded. "Good idea," he said.

"I can watch Kohaku," Inojin said. "Or as much as humanly possible while remaining discreet."

"I'll help," Sarada said. "Between the two of us, it should be easy."

"Alright," Shikadai breathed. He sighed. "Let's head back then. We've got a meeting in twenty and I'm sure Shinki is going to be looking for a fight."

Himawari nodded, sipped the rest of her tea down, and followed her friends out the door.

* * *

 **December 2nd, 0024 AIT**

The sea ebbed and flowed, tendrils of mist licking at the hem of her Akatsuki robe. Hikari breathed the ocean in. She hadn't been home in what felt like... a decade. It was damn near close to that. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she and Bolt were driven from the Crimson Tide and forced to seek shelter in the war-torn Land of Rain. Now Rain was an emerging superpower that owed her and the now Akatsuki a great deal of debt. Debt that Hikari had called in to further sow the seeds of war in the west. Without the Land of Rain offering a convenient land route between Fire and Wind, the Hidden Sand was isolated. It was only a matter of time until Stone struck the final blow. Then, there would only be three countries standing in their way.

It would also give Bolt the perfect opportunity, if ever, to escape. Hikari missed him more than she liked to admit to herself. It was disconcertingly worrying how dependent she had become on his companionship. And, yet, Hikari didn't feel the desire to sever that bond. There was something strangely alluring about trusting your heart to someone and knowing that they will treasure and guard it. Completely the opposite of what she had learned from the Hidden Mist.

"My Lady?" Tetsu asked.

Hikari took a deep breath. Now was not the time to reminisce. She had a mission. It would not do to be distracted from it. Not when their opponent was the mighty Three-Tails. "I'll go down first and try to lure it to the surface," Hikari said. "If I'm not back in three minutes, come down after me. Otherwise... be ready."

Tetsu nodded once, solemn, his hands gripping the hilt of his Seversword tightly. There was no need, Hikari knew, to warn him of the dangers of the Tailed Beasts. Tetsu had faced the Two-Tails in battle and almost single-handedly defeated it with only some assistance from Kagami and Kagari.

Hikari took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and released the chakra in her feet that kept her from falling beneath the waves. The cold hit her like a hammer. Hikari quickly began to circulate chakra within her body to keep warm. She expelled Water Release chakra into the surrounding ocean, usurping control, and dived. The water parted before her and pushed behind. She was faster in the sea than on land. Not even Bolt was a faster swimmer than her, an attribute Hikari took great pride in. Few could say they were better than Bolt Uzumaki at something.

Hikari dove, deeper and deeper, until the ocean become unbearably cold and the light of the sun began to fade. Ice began to form on her clothes and hair. Still, ever deeper she was forced to go. Darkness reigned supreme in the depths. Hikari dared not dive further. The visibility was already poor and the pressure of the water on her body was painful. If the Three-Tails lurked deeper, she would have to devise a different plan. The Tailed Beast, according to months of tracking by the agents of the Revolution and Tsuchigumo's puppets, roamed the north sea along the Great Reef.

Steeling herself, Hikari swam forward. On and on, peering through the yawning dark, until her lungs ached and her blood burned. With an inaudible growl, she exhaled a single bubble of air. It drifted skyward, righting her sense of direction, and Hikari kicked her legs in pursuit. Light returned, and with it, schools of small fish and sealife. When she surfaced, Hikari wasn't sure how far she had swam. She couldn't see Tetsu but knew that he was close by. He would come running once the Three-Tails showed itself. Hikari exhaled deeply before inhaling another long, deep breath. She dove, again, and quickly found herself back in the depths.

Hikari swam below a great swarm of fish, marveling at the shadows they cast, and deftly darted around a shark. It wisely chose to ignore her; smarter than many humans. Eventually the need for air returned and Hikari was forced to surface once more. Again and again she repeated the process, combing the Great Reef in search of the elusive Three-Tails.

Eventually, the reef ended. Hikari bobbed up and down with lazy kicks of her legs as she came to the end of the continental shelf. Before her was a void of shadow darker than the darkest night. Hikari shivered, distinctly colder than the water surrounding her, at the sight of it. Humans were not meant to dive so deeply into the ocean's domain. It was, in her mother tongue, the Great Dark Deep. And yet on some level Hikari knew that the Tailed Beast would not swim with the ocean's many creatures. She knew that if she swam forward, over that abyss, she would what she was looking for.

With great reluctance, Hikari pushed forward. She asked herself what Bolt would have done. Bolt would have pushed forward, fearless, determined to bend even the Deep to his will. So too would she. Hikari fell, her heart racing, as the barely visible ground faded to unfathomable darkness which knew no end. Her eyes played tricks on her. Great arching fragments of stone, older than the world itself, jutted out at her. Deceptively large, Hikari knew they would have been the size of mountains had they been on the surface. Every so often, she thought one would _move_. Hikari froze and stared at the shelf in terror of the unknown. It wasn't real, she would tell herself, before moving on. Hikari stayed near the shelf. If nothing else, it would be the only thing telling her where she was in the abyss.

The stone beside her moved, again, and this time Hikari was determined to put an end to her fears once and for all. She turned, swam closer, determined to convince herself her mind was playing tricks or discover the source of the movement.

What she found surprised her. Statues. Carvings, really, hewn into the rock. Great beasts of the sea and several towering sharkmen from the Land of Water. Looming above them all was a great turtle. It was as incredible as it was unreal. Who had carved the statues? How long ago? Before the water had risen? If not, how did they swim so far down to work? Hikari drifted forward, peering through the darkness, as she examined the... temple. Yes, that was the best word for it.

The detail was incredible. So lifelike. Had the statues not been covered in coral and made of stone, Hikari would have thought them real. The large turtle, of all the pieces, was the most ornate. A great spiked shell of stone that hid corded, raw muscle. Oddly, it had two human-like arms armored with the same spiked shell. Its head was like the maw of an oyster; two great spiked shells of stone that hid a surprisingly bestial human face. One eye was scarred and closed, obviously damaged, and the other was closed.

Hikari reached out to touch the statue's eye and found it warm to the touch. Her eyes widened as she withdrew her arm as if burned. As her limb retreated, the eye opened. Terrible and great, it was an iris of burning yellow wreathed with a sclera of blood. The slit of the eye was large enough for her to have walked through with ease.

The Three-Tails roared, loud and furious, echoing in her ears even so far underwater. A storm of bubbles, each larger than a man was tall, escaped from its maw.

Hikari, stunned, turned and fled. She pumped chakra into the water, her heart beating furiously, as she sped away from the Tailed Beast. Behind her, Hikari could feel the ocean churn and twist as the massive demon gave chase. Tongues of icy water licked at her exposed forearms as Hikari swam upwards. Hikari could feel the ambient temperature of the water rise. She looked down, startled, and narrowly avoided a jet of boiling water flash cooking her. Hikari kicked her legs furiously as purple-blue light began to filter into the Deep from above. She crested the shelf and spilled into the Great Reef. The reef itself, now devoid of every sea creature, was as still as the grave. They were wise enough to flee before the King of the Sea rampaged through their home.

With a strangled gasp, Hikari shot forward. Behind her, she could feel the water tremble as the Three-Tails erupted through the lip of the great stone shelf. Shards of rock, larger than houses, were sent thundering through the ocean. She could hear the Tailed Beast below in rage even beneath the waves. The sun was a disc of white-gold light shimmering through the water. Hikari headed for it, kicking her legs furiously, even as she felt the water under her chakra's control be consumed by a much darker, fouler chakra. The Three-Tails was gaining on her.

Hikari erupted from the ocean, a misty spray of water trailing her, and contorted her body to face the Three-Tails. Like the tide, the ocean rose as the mighty Tailed Beast berthed with a mighty, furious roar. Hikari furiously wove hand signs. A spear of screaming electricity tore itself from her fingers and rammed into the Three-Tails' maw as Hikari thrust her hand forward.

The Tailed Beast glared at her hatefully with beady, blood-red eyes as electricity danced across its shelled carapace. The Three-Tails turned, baring its three crustacean-like tails, and slammed them into the ocean with all the strength of a God. A gust of wind slammed into Hikari as she fell back to the water's surface. She gaped at the sheer size of the literal tidal wave the Tailed Beast had kicked up on a whim. Hikari wove another set of hand signs and the water beneath her feet surged up to defend her as it formed an iron-clad sphere.

The tidal wave hit and Hikari felt her chakra dip as her technique kept her from being consumed by the sea. It passed in an instant, deceptively quick, and carried on. With a quick, furtive backwards glance, Hikari saw that it was headed towards Nadeshiko Isle and the Land of Lightning.

Bolt was right. The Tailed Beasts were too dangerous to be allowed to roam free. Even if they were never captured and used as weapons by humans again, no one being should be able to wreak as much destruction with such ease as the Tailed Beasts.

Hikari dropped the technique and kicked the water's surface with a small fraction of her chakra-enhanced strength. She rocketed forward, leaving an explosion of water in her wake, and lunged at the Three-Tails. Hikari cocked her fist back and threw an earth-shattering punch at the Tailed Beast's armored jaw. The demon's head jerked to the side with a mighty, echoing crack.

Hikari realized her mistake as the Three-Tails reared its head, eyes alight with malice, and unleashed a mighty jet of pressurized water with a furious roar. The wall of water slammed into her so hard it made her bones ache. Her vision was awash with whites, blues, and blacks as the ocean swallowed her whole. Hikari held her breath and righted herself before releasing a small bubble of air. It drifted skyward and she followed it to safety.

The Three-Tails was relentless in its assault. The moment Hikari breached the surface, the Tailed Beast roared and brought one of its giant crustaceous tails down upon her. Hikari quickly scrambled out of the water and steeled herself. She raised her guard, blocking the massive appendage with both arms. The sheer force behind the attack sent shockwaves rippling through the ocean. Hikari focused her chakra, keeping herself above the waves and redirecting the energy into the ocean instead of her body. She was pushing her chakra-enhanced strength to the very limit without releasing her Strength of a Hundred seal.

The Tailed Beast began to withdraw its tail as its strength was spent. Hikari grabbed it by the gray, chitinous shell and pulled with all her might. The Three-Tails roared, something dark and mirthful, as she failed to do more than slowly drag it through the water. Hikari leaped away as another of the Tailed Beast's three tails came crashing down. Her eyes widened as her chakra sensed movement in the depths. Hikari kicked hard against the water's surface, rocketing away wreathed in mist. A great column, a spear, of coral erupted from the ocean. It was beautiful, in a way, all sparkling vibrant greens, pinks, and blues. The way the sun sparkled on the edges, however, told her it was deadly sharp.

Hikari sprinted away from the Three-Tails as more and more spears of coral erupted from the ocean. She launched a backwards Lightning Release technique, doing little more than angering the Tailed Beast. Eventually, Hikari realized that she would never defeat the Three-Tails by running away. Bolt might be a fast runner, but he had never ran from an enemy. He ran towards the danger. So that's exactly what she did. Hikari turned, spinning on the balls of her feet, and headed straight for the Tailed Beast. It loomed over her, destruction made flesh, and roared.

Hikari sensed the spears of coral coming. She skidded to a stop, spun, and brought up her right leg in a powerful high kick. She caught the head of one of the spears as it erupted from the water. It broke, shattering with a painfully loud crack, and rocketed towards the Three-Tails. The spearhead struck the demon in its shoulder and knocked it to its side, to Hikari's surprise. It growled a low, rumbling sound that made the water pulsate. The Three-Tails recovered slowly, awkwardly, like a turtle having been turned on its back. But it eyed her with something hungry, dark, and angry.

She felt something on her leg. Hikari leapt on instinct, realizing her mistake as she sailed through the air. Coral was growing up her leg from the point where her boot had connected with the coral spear. It was clinging to her Akatsuki robe, encasing her leg, and slowing her down. Quickly, Hikari discarded the robe and slipped her foot out of her boot and cut the leg of her pants at the knee with a swipe of her hand.

As Hikari looked up at the Three-Tails, she saw her doom. The creature had its maw parted, a sphere of inky purple and black chakra coalescing between its jaws. The air hummed with an audible sense of chakra and power. Hikari could only stare, mouth agape, as she looked Death in the eyes.

A massive wall of chakra slammed into the Three-Tails, upturning the demonic turtle and causing an explosion of pure white chakra to dissipate into the sea. A massive bank of steam erupted and shrouded the ocean.

"My Lady?" Tetsu asked, a formless shadow among the steam. "Are you injured?"

"I'm fine," Hikari answered, breathing a sigh of relief. "Let's finish this quickly. Someone will have seen the steam and notified the Hidden Mist. We can't let them know we're operating in the area before we are ready to strike."

"At once, my Lady," Tetsu said, brandishing his sword and stepping forward. He radiated chakra like a fire radiated heat.

Hikari took a deep breath, steeled herself for the battle to come, and released the blood-red diamond on her forehead. The seal spread through her like fire in her veins, filling her to the brim with chakra and then providing even more. Hikari shared a nod with Tetsu and the two of them sprinted forward. She went left, he went right. Tetsu led with a mighty slash of his Seversword that unleashed a powerful Flash. The Three-Tails howled in either pain or fury, Hikari wasn't sure. She darted forward, taking advantage of the opening Tetsu had given her, and flanked the Tailed Beast.

With the Three-Tails reeling, Hikari leapt at its exposed shell and slammed her fist into it with a fraction of her full strength. She could feel the shell tremble and bend beneath her attack. Pain rippled through the Tailed Beast as it roared furiously and began to flail. Great waves of water threatened to consume her, but Hikari managed to keep herself afloat. On the other side of the Three-Tails, Tetsu unleashed another Flash.

Hikari leapt skyward. She would finish the fight with a single, earth-shattering attack. Just like how the Turtle Island broke beneath her strength, so too would the Three-Tails. Hikari spun, throwing out her leg and bringing it down in a vicious axe kick. The attack connected solidly with the demon's shell with a thunderous crack. The Tailed Beast screamed, ear-piercing and shrill. A visible shock wave traveled through the water from the force of the attack.

Hikari leaped away as Tetsu unleashed three fiery Flashes in quick succession. His attacks left the Three-Tails' shell a muted gray-orange color, as if it had been steamed. The Tailed Beast lashed out furiously in retaliation, roaring and swinging its crustaceous tails like maces. Great waves and spouts of water reared up, towering over the two of them, and came crashing down. Hikari weaved lightning-fast hand signs and diverted as much of the ocean's fury as she could. What waves reached her and Tetsu, they dodged.

Tetsu waded forward, sword brandished, and unleashed another Flash that broke upon the Three-Tails like water upon rock. Hikari weaved hand signs, leapt, and shot a lance of electricity into the crack she had dealt the shell of the Tailed Beast. The Three-Tails roared and rounded on her, angered and pained, before snapping its jaws open and coalescing purple-black chakra in its maw.

"Tetsu!" Hikari cried.

The crimson-haired swordsman appeared beneath the Tailed Beast in a blur of speed, mist, and frothing water. He had exchanged his Seversword for the dual Thunderswords. Lightning arced across the waves and pooled on the sword's blades. With a powerful upward thrust of both swords, Tetsu unleashed two bolts of screaming, wrathful lightning. The attack must have connected, because Hikari's vision went white as an explosion of light and heat erupted from the maw of the Three-Tails and blinded her. When her vision returned, the Tailed Beast was barely cresting the surface. It weakly swam away from them, a visible wound running from its jaw to its missing eye.

Hikari stood, fists clenched. "Let's finish this, Tetsu," she called.

The swordsman answered her with a nod. Hikari sprinted forward, each footstep leaving an explosion of water behind her, and gave chase. Chakra thrummed through her veins, pulsing like her blood. Weakened and wounded, the Three-Tails could not escape her. She closed in, grabbed it by one of its crustaceous tails, and hurled with all her might. Unlike before, she had the full strength of her Strength of a Hundred seal at her disposal. With a roared battlecry, Hikari sent the Tailed Beast flying through the air. She collapsed to her knees, heaving for breath, exhausted from throwing what felt like the weight of a literal mountain.

Hikari raised her head in time to see Tetsu unleash another two Lightning Release Flashes from his Thunderswords. The two attacks connected with the Tailed Beast midair in an explosion of white-blue chakra. The Three-Tails fell, limp and lifeless, to the ocean's surface. For one long, agonizing moment, Hikari feared they had killed the Tailed Beast. It would take years, according to Bolt, for the demon to reconstitute itself. Then one of its tails weakly twitched as the Three-Tails sank beneath the waves.

"Quick, Tetsu! Before it succumbs to its wounds!" Hikari barked.

Tetsu hastened to follow her orders. He sheathed the Thunderswords in the storage seals on his arms and withdrew the Amber Purifying Pot. With a grunt and no small amount of chakra and effort, the Three-Tails was safely imprisoned and ready for transport back to the Eye of the Storm. Hikari stood and quickly made her way over to him. With an extended hand, she helped Tetsu to his feet.

"Nice work," Hikari breathed. "Let's get out of here before someone investigates."

Tetsu nodded. Hikari formed the half-Ram sign. _"Tsuchigumo, ready for extraction..."_

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

Mamoru wiped his brow as he finished downing a mouthful of lukewarm water from his canteen. Marble Battalion was deep into the northern reaches of the Land of Earth with little more than towering mountains of stone and the unforgiving sun to keep them company. It was dreadfully hot and their lieutenant colonel was a fucking slave driver. Weeks with minimal rest, rationed supplies, and a mission straight out of some damn movie. They were hunting the Four-Tails; the demonic ape of fire and destruction. Mamoru chuckled to himself. At least they weren't hunting the Five-Tails like Limestone Battalion. Poor bastards.

"Mamoru! Get a move on!" Captain Yamaguchi barked.

"Yeah, yeah," Mamoru grumbled. His captain was a good woman. Strong, took care of those under her charge, and her uniform hugged her curves in a way every man in the Third Reconnaissance Company could appreciate.

"Alright, men! Listen up!" Captain Yamaguchi snapped. She stood at the fore of eighty ninja, hands on her hips, chin raised. "We've been assigned to scout the northern reaches of the Akiyama mountains. That includes Mount Akiyama itself. Yes, the volcano. Stop your bitching! Pack light and dress lighter. We move out in five. Dismissed!"

Mamoru bemoaned his luck, wiping the sweat from his brow, and took another drink of lukewarm water from his canteen. He should have known. The moment you start complaining that your lot in life was bad, life found a way to make it even worse...

Mamoru marched towards the part of camp where his platoon was gathering. He fell in beside his squadmate, standing at attention and waiting for their lieutenant to lead them north. "Just our luck, eh, Hokuto?" Mamoru asked.

Hokuto nodded, features blank, and said nothing. The kid was the youngest in the platoon, let alone the squad, and was eerily quiet. Mamoru grumbled under his breath. Then he heard the barked commands of his commanding officer and the only thing on his mind was the sharp stone beneath his feet and the unforgiving sun above his head.

The first two days were the worst. The Akiyama Mountains were controlled by the Akiyama clan, wealthy aristocrats, and had guards stationed up and down the mountain range. It was slow, boring work, no risk of action, with frequent brushes with bureaucracy as the officers assured the guards they were in the mountains on official Hidden Stone business and not there to seize the mines.

Nights were a balm. The night air was pleasantly cool, warm enough to not need a jacket or blankets, yet cool enough to be comfortable. It was also the only time the officers let the enlisted men sit back and relax. Even the shitty rations tasted good after a long, sweltering march through the mountains.

"I tell you what!" Itaru exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He flexed one arm, muscles bulging. Mamoru cringed. The man was built like a brick shithouse and had an obscene amount of muscle on his frame. "When we find the Four-Tails, I'll be the one to put it down! Just watch me!"

"Oh, yeah?" Kozue giggled. She deftly withdrew what looked like an explosive tag from a pouch at her waist and pasted it onto Itaru's back. With a single hand sign, it began to glow with a warm orange-yellow light.

Mamoru laughed as Itaru yelped like a little girl and tried to reach his back. He was so musclebound that he didn't have the range of motion to reach the explosive tag.

"Boom!" Kozue screeched, causing Itaru to jump. The entire squadron, save for Hokuto, burst into laughter. Kozue, through tears, peeled the tag off Itaru's back. "I'm sure the Four-Tails is quaking in its burrow," she wheezed.

"It's not funny!" Itaru barked, red in the face. Mamoru couldn't tell if it was in anger or embarrassment. A little of both, he supposed with a laugh.

"It's not funny," Kozue agreed, dead serious. No one was laughing anymore. "We're scouts. Our job is to find the Four-Tails—that's it. Leave the fighting to the people who actually have a chance. The Tailed Beasts aren't a laughing matter."

"Aw, come on, Kozue," Itaru whined. He flexed, again, kissing each of his biceps. "Nothing can hurt me with these babies."

Kozue hit him in the shoulder and Itaru actually rubbed at the wound as if she had actually hurt him. "This is serious, Itaru. Imagine one day you woke up and read that a local man from your village went out and got into a fist fight with an erupting volcano—and _won_. The Tailed Beasts are walking natural disasters. That's why it's so frightening when one gets beat. Remember the uproar when the Hokage's kid beat the One-Tail?"

Mamoru nodded along with Itaru. Hokuto remained quiet. "The entire country was in a state of alert because one bratty kid was skirting our borders on his way east. The entirety of the Hidden Stone, the most powerful ninja village in the world, was worked up over one kid because he went toe-to-toe with a natural disaster and came out on top," Kozue said softly. "Be careful, please. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Mamoru rolled his eyes. "Will you two just go into the mountains and fuck already?" he whined. Their others from the platoon burst into laughter. Judging by the rock Kozue threw at him, she didn't find it quite as funny.

The next day? Not as funny. Mount Akiyama loomed over them, spewing dark black-gray clouds of ash and smoke into the sky. Rays of sunlight weakly filtered through the poisonous smog to light their way as they climbed up jagged, razor-sharp volcanic rock. Mamoru crested the crags, turned, and extended an arm. He pulled Kozue up, all hundred pounds soaking wet of her, and then helped Hokuto up. Itaru, the musclebound bastard, he let climb up by himself.

The volcano radiated heat. Mamoru was soaked in his own sweat. He would've stripped out of his useless uniform had he not known that the officers would write him up for misconduct. That, or Kozue would report him for sexual harassment. Just what he needed. "Come on, guys," Mamoru sighed. "Let's check this fucking rock and get out of here."

"You got it, Serg," Kozue panted.

Together, the four of them ducked a low-hanging stalagmite and entered an old magma tunnel. Mamoru lit the way with cupped hands that held a small sphere of fire. Compared to the heat of the volcano, it was nothing.

"Holy shit," Itaru breathed, pointing through a hole in the tunnel. "Look!"

Mamoru followed the pointed finger. Below them was a sea of gurgling molten rock. Orange-white, it was almost painful to look at. "Don't touch," Mamoru chided them, continuing on. He didn't think about the horrible death lurking just beneath their feet.

Eventually, they exited the old magma tunnel and emerged into a large antechamber within the volcano itself. Other squadrons appeared, having found their own way into the volcano. Below them, like a bowl, was a lake of lava. It was a scintillating pool of reds, oranges, and yellows that spewed thick clouds of noxious gray gas. Mamoru saw their captain and headed over to give his report.

He didn't make it more than ten steps before he saw something move through the gas. Large, towering, and bulky. The gas moved as if a giant's hand was sweeping through it. Mamoru froze, frightened, and stared into the gas. When nothing emerged or attacked, he willed his heart to cease its fearful, rapid beating. Mamoru jogged over to Captain Yamaguchi. "Captain! I don't think we're alone in—"

She was gaping at him. No, gaping _beyond_ him. Mamoru turned, eyes wide, and saw what she was staring at. A horrible, grotesque green-skinned face loomed over them. The thick clouds of gas parted around it like a waterfall. The face was bestial, a mockery of humanity, with beady, angry orange eyes and a thick coat of blood-red fur. Two bony horns protruded from its brows like a crown.

It was the Four-Tails.

The Tailed Beast lumbered forward, wading through lava, kicking some of the molten rock onto the stone they stood upon. The men nearest only narrowly avoided being incinerated, but were too shocked to even move. In the light of the lava, the Four-Tails was revealed in all its horrible glory. A maw of crude, jagged fangs with two long tusks. Rippling, inhuman muscles that made Itaru look like a prepubescent girl. Lava clung to its fur like water might to a man's hair after a shower. The molten rock ran down its body in almost literal rivers. It was titanic in size. Mamoru had no troubles believing that he could have walked through the slit of the beast's eyes with ease. The Four-Tails rumbled something unintelligible at them. Behind him, a gout of fire soared overhead and struck the Tailed Beast in the face.

The entire cavern grew as quiet as the grave. Mamoru swallowed thickly. "You dumb son of a—" his captain snarled, turning.

The Four-Tails roared. The stone beneath his feet trembled as the Tailed Beast lunged forward. Mamoru was struck dumb, unable to move. The crimson-haired ape slammed two fists, each as large as a house, atop the men closest to hit. They were pulped. Absolutely nothing left aside from a bloody smear on the rock. Then, it breathed fire with a mighty roar and turned a handful of squadrons to ash.

Someone grabbed him from behind. Mamoru screamed and fought against them. "Snap out of it, Serg!" Itaru screamed. By the time his fear had receded, Mamoru was already sprinting towards the exit with his squad. All of his squad... except one person.

"Where is Hokuto?!" Mamoru yelled over the roars of the Four-Tails and the screams of the dying.

"Didn't see him!" Kozue screamed, fearfully dragging him and Itaru forward.

"You two go on ahead!" Mamoru barked. "I'll go back and grab Hokuto!"

"Are you fucking insane?" Itaru roared, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and dragging him forward.

Mamoru struck the larger man in the solar plexus and tore himself from his grasp. "I'm your commanding officer! I'm responsible for you shits! Now get out of here! I'll grab Hokuto and be right behind you! That's an order!" Mamoru barked. He shot a pleading look at Kozue who pulled Itaru forward. Mamoru smiled. He gave her a nod of thanks and then sprinted back to the cavern.

It was something biblical. The Four-Tails was apocalyptic in its wrath. Men, what little weren't turned to ash or crushed, lay dead and dying all around him. Fires raged, burning and consuming stone as easily as if it was wood. Captain Yamaguchi and a handful of the higher ranked officers were fighting a losing battle to distract the Four-Tails as the rest of the platoon retreated.

Mamoru spotted Hokuto. He was standing near the back, to the side, watching the battle between the Four-Tails and the platoon. He was unnaturally, deathly still. "Hokuto!" Mamoru screamed. "Let's go, kid!"

Hokuto didn't budge. "Shit," Mamoru swore under his breath. He sprinted forward, grabbing Hokuto by the shoulders and shaking him. "This is no time to lose your head, kid. We gotta get out of here before—"

A low, rumbling growl echoed behind him. Suddenly, Mamoru realized the cavern was quieter than a battlefield should be. His knees grew weak and his mouth dry. Mamoru swallowed his fear and turned. He came face-to-face with the warped visage of the Four-Tails. Mamoru whimpered in fear and shared a look with Hokuto, who was strangely fearless. His face was blank, void of all expression, eyes narrowed and calculated as they watched the Tailed Beast intently.

"Run, Hokuto," Mamoru whispered. "I'll... I'll hold it off."

Mamoru weaved half a single hand sign before a massive, meaty paw slammed down atop him. He watched, detached, as the Four-Tails retreated back into the pool of lava from whence it came. Mamoru was aware, on some level, that he was dying. He couldn't feel his legs. Hell, he couldn't feel much of anything below his neck. With great effort, Mamoru turned his head. Hokuto laid next to him in death, the only part of his body intact being his head, left arm and shoulder, and a small portion of his chest.

But... but there wasn't any blood, Mamoru noticed, as his vision was ringed in darkness. No blood, no spilled organs, just... his torso was just empty. Then, Hokuto sat up. He crawled forward, away from Mamoru, towards the exit. Mamoru saw the innards of the young man that had been under his charge—that he had died for. A cavity with strangely beautiful swirling writing and wires of metal and plastic.

Mamoru closed his eyes.

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

" **Naruto!"** Kurama howled. Naruto sat up, eyes wide, now fully awake. **"It's... Isobu and Son Gokū!"**

"What..." Naruto gasped, closing his eyes and retreating into the shared mental space where all Tailed Beasts could communicate with each other.

Immediately, he knew something was different. Something was wrong. Something was dreadfully, terribly wrong. The consciousness of all the Tailed Beasts appeared, one-by-one, except for the expected absences of Shukaku and Matatabi and... Isobu?

"Isobu?" Naruto called out, eyes searching the endless white void for the three-tailed turtle.

" **Naruto!"** Son Gokū rumbled.

Naruto snapped to attention. "What's going on?" he asked.

" **It's Stone,"** Son explained. **"They had their ninja attack me. I defended myself, but—"**

Son's chakra and consciousness flickered and disappeared entirely. "Son? Son!" Naruto screamed. "Can you hear me?!"

He didn't get an answer. Naruto reached out, attempting to summon Son's consciousness. Thankfully, he found it. But... Son wasn't returning to the shared mental space.

" **He's fighting, Naruto!"** Kurama yowled.

The other Tailed Beasts were sullen and quiet. "What... what's going on?" Naruto stuttered.

He reached out for Isobu and grasped nothing but the void. He felt helpless, useless, for the first time since he thought Bolt had faked committing suicide. Naruto clenched a fist. He saw red and felt Kurama's chakra surge through him. "No more," Naruto growled. "The rest of you, stay safe! Be on guard!"

He was not going to let the peace he and Sasuke bled for be destroyed. First, Chōjūrō had sealed away Matatabi. And, now, probably Isobu, too. Then Kurotsuchi thinks he would let her take Son Gokū? Naruto would not let the peace be destroyed by petty squabbling among the Great Five. Especially not when the Ōtsutsuki were on their way. The entire planet would be destroyed if their species couldn't come together and defend itself.

" **What are you going to do, Naruto?"** Kurama asked.

Naruto woke and quickly dressed. "What I should have done a long time ago," he growled. "It's time to pay the Land of Earth a visit."

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

"Three, two, one..." Bolt murmured. "Zero."

He opened his eyes and waited. A minute, then two, and then three... nothing happened. Bolt smiled. He was certain of the timing, now. Twenty-four hours. That was it. Twenty-four hours, from the moment he chose to act, and he could be free. He just had to choose the right time to act. Those twenty-four hours would be useless if he squandered them and was recaptured by his father. In twenty-four hours... he could be free.

"One way," Bolt murmured, patting the hidden butterknife in the folds of his cot. "Or the other."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Apologies this chapter is so late. I had final exams, like I said last chapter, and I also came down with the worst cold I've ever had in my life. So on top of having no time to write, I also didn't feel like doing anything other than curling up into a ball and sleeping. So that's why this chapter is late... yeah. Also, Mass Effect: Andromeda dropped... I sunk almost 50 hours into that so far. Anyone else playing?


	87. Chapter 87 -- Prelude: Hikari

**A/N:** This is the Hikari prelude. I'm not sure how popular these preludes are, but I wanted to get this one out before it become irrelevant in the upcoming chapter(s). If you're not interested in her (or any) backstory, this chapter technically isn't mandatory to understand the story. However, it does explain who Hikari is, where she came from, where she learned her skills, and how she came to be the right-hand woman of Bolt and the new Akatsuki. Also, on that note, this chapter's length got away from me. I apologize.

* * *

"Hikari, dear? Can you go look for some herbs? The ones I showed you yesterday?"

Hikari looked up at her mother. "Yes, mother," she said dutifully.

Her mother handed her a basket and patted her on the head. "That's a good girl," she said. "Don't wander too far... or else."

"Or else what?" Hikari pouted.

"Or else," a deep voice rumbled behind her. Suddenly, a pair of large, firm hands grabbed her and began to poke and prod at her sides. Hikari burst into a fit of giggling. "I'll have to come find you," her father growled playfully in her ear. "And you wouldn't like that."

"O—Okay!" Hikari agreed, her lungs aching for air after being tickled.

Her father shoved her out the door and Hikari heaved the large basket forward with both hands. She couldn't see for more than a stone's throw away. The mist was too thick. Luckily, the island she lived on was small. The herbs her mother wanted her to gather grew on rocks down by the shore. Determined to succeed at her mission, Hikari soldiered onwards.

The winding path that led to her family's small cottage took her into the heart of the island where a few sparse trees and bushes grew. Hikari always wondered why no one else lived on the island with them. She was seven, not stupid. From what her parents had told her and what she had read in books, people were supposed to live with other people.

It didn't take long to find the rocky path that led down the beach to the shore. Frothy white waves broke upon large boulders and trees that had washed up in a storm. The wind licked at her exposed skin and made her shiver. Hikari lowered her shoulder and marched down to the pools of seawater where crabs, mussels, and other sealife made their homes. And, clinging to the rocks, just like her mother showed her, were vines of dark green-black.

"Ew," Hikari stuck her tongue out as she grabbed a fistful of the slimy herbs and pulled them free. Satisfied that she had cleaned one rock, she shoved her prize into the basket and moved onto the next outcropping. When the cold became too much to bear, Hikari headed back to the cottage.

Shivering and soaked, Hikari dragged the basket of herbs up the path. It was nearly full, she noted with pride, and weighed more than she could carry. Not for the first time Hikari wished her parents would finally teach her how to use chakra. "I want to be a ninja like them," she muttered under her breath. "It's not fair."

Hikari reached the bottom of the path and looked up. She blinked, not believing what she saw. There were people at her home that weren't her parents! There were... "Four, five... six," Hikari counted. Six people! That meant there were at least four strangers on their island!

Excited, Hikari abandoned her basket of herbs and dashed up the path. She slowed as the mist parted and she caught her first glimpse of the strangers. Tall, wearing old-fashioned robes, with beautiful yet scary white masks. "H-Hello?" Hikari stuttered.

One of the strangers reached behind him and stepped towards her. "Wait!" another one said, grabbing his fellow by the shoulder. The one who had spoken looked to each of his friends before stepping towards her and kneeling. "You must be little Hikari, right?" he asked.

Hikari nodded, eyes wide and watching the strange men.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Hikari," the masked man said. "I'm Taro, from the Hidden Mist. We heard reports of pirates in the area and came to investigate. But we weren't fast enough."

"W-What...?" Hikari asked. She didn't understand.

"Your parents, Hikari. They're dead," Taro said. "I am sorry."

What? That couldn't... her mother and father were ninja! The strongest people she knew. The _only_ people she knew. Her father had always warned her about pirates, but they were a fact of life in the Land of Water. Just like the storms, the wind, the lightning, and the waves. "He... he wouldn't have lost!" Hikari cried. Hot, angry tears welled in her eyes. "He wouldn't have!"

Faster than she had known herself capable of, Hikari darted forward. She scrambled around the masked man and lunged for the door between the legs of the other masked men. She only barely managed to get the door open, catching a glimpse of the horror inside, before unyielding arms of stone circled around her.

"Ah, ah, ah," Taro said. "You don't need to see that."

Hikari sobbed openly as the masked ninja drew her away from the only home she had ever known. "For your safety, we'll be taking you back to the Hidden Mist. You'll be a ward of the Mizukage and enrolled in the Academy. Would you like that, Hikari?" he asked her.

Hikari wiped at her eyes furiously, fighting back tears, and nodded.

"Come along then," Taro beckoned.

Hikari followed after him and the other masked ninja fell into step behind her. Together, the two of them made their way to the shore. From there, Taro carried her on his back all the way to the Hidden Mist.

Hikari didn't stop crying the entire journey.

* * *

"It's a very simple technique!" their instructor barked. "The signs are Rat, Dog, and Ox! Like so!"

Hikari watched as her teacher weaved three hand signs. He took a deep breath and spat a globule of water onto his cupped and waiting hands. From there, the water surged forward, elongating, and formed a whip.

"Water Release..." the man hissed. "Water Whip!"

Hikari ducked as the whip cut through the air and lashed at her and the other assembled students. A few of the students didn't dodge in time and were struck in the face or chest. They tumbled to the ground with a strangled cry. Hikari rose and stood at attention without a care. She had quickly learned that showing sympathy for the other students earned her no favors with her teacher. He was an older man with graying black hair and fierce, scarred features. Instructor Yamamoto, they called him. He was a veteran of the Third War and a strict teacher.

"Get up! Now!" Yamamoto barked. With a whimper, the students that had been struck rose to their feet. "The enemy will not wait for you to recover in battle. You must be fearless and relentless. Show no pain, no fear, and destroy them. I expect each and every one of you to have at least mastered the basics of this technique by next week's first class. Dismissed!"

Hikari quickly gathered her things and filed out of the classroom along with her peers. She kept her head down and marched through the streets of the Hidden Mist on the way back to her small apartment. The Mist was much different than she had expected. Her parents had always avoided talking about the place of their birth, but the image in her mind's eye was nothing like reality. The city bordered a bay from which they had access to the ocean. Coincidentally, it also led to their city being constantly shrouded in a thick bank of fog and mist. Visibility, as always, was poor. The entire city was surrounded by a wall of white-washed stone that was several times taller than even the tallest of trees. The only way in or out was one of two massive, arching gates. Each one was large enough for several thousand people to pass through with ease.

Hikari passed under the shadow of the Mizukage's tower and gaped up at it. It was circular, towering over every other building, with one-sided windows allowing whoever was inside a private, bird's eye view of the entire city. Proudly emblazoned on the front was the symbol of their village. Not wanting to draw the ire of the guards as she had done previously, Hikari hurried along.

Her apartment was small, dark, and dingy. But, at least it was free. Hikari knew that an orphan like her had very little prospects in life. If the Mist ninja hadn't found her... the pirates could have killed her. Or worse. She shivered at the thought of having to live in the red light district for the rest of her days. Hikari sat at the small desk she had been provided and began to review the notes she had taken and the scrolls she had borrowed from the library. She was determined to become the best ninja she could be. Just like her parents. Then she would find those pirates and...

* * *

Hikari weaved hand signs so quickly her fingers hurt. "Water Release: Water Spear Jutsu!" she cried. The spear of water she spat forth hissed through the air and bored through the stone target at the end of the range. Others, slower, mirrored her. Their techniques didn't have the power, range, or speed that hers did. Hikari allowed herself a small, prideful smile.

"Again!" Instructor Yamamoto barked.

Moment ruined, Hikari wove the signs again. She expertly blasted another hole through the stone target.

"Again!" Instructor Yamamoto screamed furiously. The other students began to fall behind. One of them, a chubby, quiet boy, hadn't even managed to hit the target at all.

Hikari frowned. Taking a deep breath, she reached deep within herself for as much chakra as she could muster. Exhaling, she spat forth six spears of water in rapid succession. With expert precision, she drew the four waves of the Mist's symbol in the stone target.

The entire range was quiet. Hikari felt her cheeks grow warm as her peers stopped to openly stare at her. Instructor Yamamoto marched over to her. "You! What's your name?" he demanded.

"H-Hikari, sir," she answered.

"Hikari, hm?" Instructor Yamamoto hummed. "Excellent work. Unlike your peers, you at least seem to have an ounce of talent."

Hikari felt her cheeks grow warm at the praise. Instructor Yamamoto turned to face the rest of the class. "As for the rest of you, I have never had the displeasure of teaching a more talentless, lazy group of wastrels in my career! Get back to work!"

Hikari smiled and returned to the exercise. She was exhausted, her insides burning after using so much chakra, but the rush of recognition allowed her to power through it. Her smile faltered as she noticed some of her friends giving her sour looks.

* * *

Hikari grunted as one of the older students shoulder-checked her. She fell backwards, tripping, and landed on her ass in the middle of the Academy's hallway. "Watch where you're going," the older boy grumbled before stalking away.

The other students either ignored her or gave her sly, dirty looks. Hikari bit her tongue, gathered her things, and stood. She didn't let them affect her. She was going to become a strong ninja, like her parents. Hikari wouldn't let some petty bullying keep her from reaching her dream. They were just jealous of her talent, spiteful of the praise the teachers gave her. More than that, she couldn't let herself show weakness or fear. A ninja of the Hidden Mist was strong and brave in the face of adversity. To be anything else was to make yourself a target.

Inwardly, Hikari seethed as she marched to her class for the day. She froze as she opened the door. Instructor Yamamoto stood in front of his desk chatting with a masked man. Hikari smiled. She hadn't seen Taro in... at least a year, if not more. Yamamoto waved her over as she entered. "Hikari," he greeted her. "This is—"

"Taro!" Hikari exclaimed.

The masked man inclined his head as Instructor Yamamoto cleared his throat. "Yes, Taro. He is a member of the Mist's hunter corps. Today, he's here to observe you. I want you to do your very best in the lesson. If Taro likes what he sees, he might have an offer for you. Advanced, very advanced, classes," her teacher explained.

"Okay!" Hikari exclaimed, agreeing happily. Advanced classes? Anything to get out of her current grade and away from her bullies.

The bell tolled and, one by one, the other students filed into their room and found their seats. Hikari could hardly sit still in her seat. Instructor Yamamoto explained that they would be doing shuriken drills for the day. It was Hikari's favorite ninja art. She favored the throwing needle over any other projectile weapon. They were lightweight, precise, and deadly in the right hands. Hikari leapt out of her chair and dashed into the range before the other students. If she wasn't first, she would have to be last. Someone would push or trip her otherwise.

Yuiki was already waiting for her. Hiding in the shadows casted by a weeping willow tree at the end of the range. Hikari doubted any but her and a few of the other promising students were aware of his presence. Hikari waited until Yamamoto bid them to begin and then began working through her forms. Straight, accurate throws that dotted the straw target dead center. More fanciful attacks, bouncing one needle off another to hit the target from an odd angle. Rapid, precise attacks that had multiple needles protruding from a single entry point in the target.

In the blink of an eye, Yamamoto was dismissing them. Hikari lingered, eager to talk to Taro. To see if she could finally escape her bullies and learn something that would actually be useful in avenging her parents. Hikari peered into the shade of the willow tree, searching for his masked form, but found only shadow. She jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder.

"Sorry," Taro said, some humor lacing his voice. Hikari blushed. "You're quite a good shot. Your teacher tells me you're quite talented in Water Release ninjutsu, too."

Hikari lowered her head and toed the dirt with her standard issue Mist boots. Taro kneeled before her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "You have great talent, Hikari. There is a place for people like you in the Hidden Mist. Black ops—the hunter corps, specifically. The same division I'm in, in fact. Would you like to join us?" he asked.

Hikari looked up and nodded with a small smile.

"Good, good," Taro said. "Here's what you need to do..."

* * *

Hikari paced her small apartment nervously. Taro had told her to wait for him to fetch her at midnight. In just a few minutes, she would leave her old life behind. No more bitter classmates or bullies. No more wasting her time with lessons she had clearly mastered and surpassed. She would finally be on the path to becoming a great ninja like her parents. Finally on the path to vengeance.

She had packed the entirety of her worldly belongings. It wasn't much, considering everything she had was given to her by the Mist. What little spending money she was given went towards food and clothes, and on rare occasion, new ninja tools.

Hikari jumped as she heard a knock on her door echo through her apartment. Excitedly, she grabbed her bag and ran to the door. When she opened it, a fist of cloth was shoved in her face. Hikari had only a moment to react as a sweet, pungent scent invaded her nose.

Then... nothing.

* * *

The moment she awoke, her heart hammered in her chest. Hikari threw her arms out, eyes wide, and felt nothing. She was in complete and total darkness. The kind of darkness that was so dark that it played tricks on the mind and eyes. Made you look for things that weren't really there. She was warm, too. It was pleasant, at first, and then it became uncomfortable. A few minutes of panicked, furious struggling later, the warmth became terrifying. Hikari couldn't tell where her skin ended and the warmth began.

She screamed. Something wet and warm, watery, invaded her mouth. Hikari clamped her mouth shut, spitting the liquid back out. It left a strange taste on her tongue and made the soft flesh of her mouth feel warm and numb. Hikari forced herself to stop breathing. She was underwater. She was drowning. Her lungs ached and her blood burned as the minutes passed. Hikari kicked her legs furiously, trying to swim to safety. But no matter how much she swam, no matter how hard she scrambled, there was no escape. Five minutes, ten, fifteen... she was a daughter of the Mist, greatest swimmers and divers on the planet, but even twenty minutes without oxygen was beyond her.

Hikari sucked in a great, gasping breath of water. It flooded her mouth, her nose, and lungs... and she could breathe. She screamed, again, half in anger and terror. Then Hikari realized she couldn't hear her own screams. She couldn't hear... anything at all.

Hikari didn't know how long she struggled. Only after what seemed like hours did she finally exhaust herself and surrender to her fate. She sobbed, alone and in the darkness, devoid of all her senses; unable to feel, unable to see, unable to hear.

Only she could hear something. After she calmed down, she began to pick up small noises. Her blood pumping through her veins. Her heart beating. Her stomach rumbling. At first it was comforting. Then, as time passed, it became unsettling. Irritating, like an itch that she couldn't scratch.

By the third day, her mind was fraying at the edges.

* * *

Dark, silent, and warm.

Her name was Hikari.

Dark, silent, and warm.

She was eight.

Dark, silent, and warm.

Her favorite color was blue.

Dark, silent, and warm.

Her name was _Hikari_.

Dark, silent, and warm.

Her favorite food was steamed crab.

Dark, silent, and warm.

Her parents were killed by pirates.

Dark, silent, and warm.

 _Her name was Hikari._

Light, sound, and cool.

Hikari felt something release its hold on her and kicked upwards, base instinct driving her to the light. Anything, _anything_ , was better than whatever personal hell she had been sentenced to. She would rather endure a thousand years of bullying at the Academy than go back to that dark and silent torture.

Her head breached the water's surface and Hikari took a gasping breath of real air for the first time in... she didn't know how long. The light was blinding. A single candle hovered before her but to Hikari it was as brilliant and radiant as the sun. Her eyes were watery with tears and her vision poor from disuse. "P-Please," Hikari begged. She could vaguely identify several human-shaped shadows. "Help me!"

"... Put her back in. She's not ready," Hikari heard a woman say.

Pure, concentrated terror and panic coursed in her veins. Hikari screamed shrilly and tried to leap from the water. She barely moved an inch before being dragged back down into the dark, kicking and screaming.

* * *

Dark, silent, and warm.

 _Her name was Hikari._

Dark, silent, and warm.

She attended the ninja Academy in the Hidden Mist.

Dark, silent, and warm.

She still had the first kunai she had thrown that hit the target.

Dark, silent, and warm.

Her name was...

What was her name?

* * *

"What's this one?" Taro asked.

"That's 4-A. Age eight, female," Taro answered. "Sensory deprivation. Last check was five weeks ago. The inspector wanted her to go through the program again."

"She should have taken to the program by now," Taro said. "What do you think, Taro?"

His partner nodded. "She should be ready now. Any longer and we'll be teaching her to speak and walk again," Taro answered. "Open her up."

Taro stepped towards the isolation pod and quickly input the password. The seals along the outside glowed a low white-blue before fading to a dull, lifeless gray. The metal hatch of the pod opened with a barely audible hiss. Climbing up, Taro opened the hatch and waited.

"4-A not coherent," Taro told his partner.

"Fish her out," Taro told him.

"Right," Taro agreed. He weaved three signs and pressed the palm of his hand to the water. It rippled and he could see a pale face in the water. Eyes lidded but open, staring at everything and nothing.

"Is she alive?" his partner asked.

"Yes," Taro confirmed, seeing the girl's slow but still present breathing. "Girl? Hello?" he asked.

She remained comatose. "4-A has taken to the program. Ready to report to the next stage of reprogramming," Taro told his partner.

"Excellent work, Taro. Taro will be pleased to know his new recruit is ready," his partner said.

"Thank you, Taro," Taro said.

* * *

She awoke cold, naked, and terrified to an ungodly blaring, screeching alarm. Fragments of shattered memories seared through her brain, making her wince with every racing thought. Her heart, beating against her ribs like a caged bird, drove her into action.

"Everyone up!" a man barked.

She obeyed for that was the only thing she could do. There were others, too, boys and girls. No more than fifteen, including her. She looked to them, all shivering and as confused and terrified as she was. Where were they? More importantly... who was she? A word came to mind, so simple and yet so foreign. She thought her name might've started with I... or maybe an H? The very thought made her pulse hammer painfully in her skull.

"Form rank! Get into lines!" the man barked.

She shambled forward, awkwardly and without grace, trying her best to avoid tripping over the other boys and girls. Together, they formed a rough, uneven group made up of two vague lines of bodies. Shivering, her body aching and her stomach painfully empty, she looked to the man at the fore of them. Tall and bulky with arms of rippling muscle, the man wore a white mask painted with red tears.

"Welcome to the Hidden Mist's hunter corps!" the man snapped. "You have all chosen, and been chosen in return, to become the next generation of the finest men and women the Mist has to offer. You are no longer man or woman, child or adult. You are not even human. You are a tool. The most powerful tool there is: a hunter! You exist solely for the Hunt! When you eat, it will be for the Hunt! When you sleep, it will be for the Hunt! When you breathe, it will be for the Hunt! When you live, it will be for the Hunt! And when you die, it will be for the Hunt!"

A profound, deathly silence strangled the life out of the room as the man stopped speaking. He eyed each of them, one by one, in turn. "You!" the man thrust a hand that could easily crush her skull forward. He pointed at a boy near her. "And you! Step forward!"

A girl near the end of the line hesitantly shambled forward, awkwardly holding her arms over her chest and groin. The boy did the same. When the two of them stood before the masked man, he handed each of them a single weapon, a diamond-like blade attached to a small hilt with a ringed pommel. She felt like she should know the name of the knife, but it was lost in the sea of fragmented memories that was her mind.

The boy and the girl accepted the knives with fumbling fingers. They shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly. "Fight!" the man screamed, causing them all to shy away in fear. "The Hunt takes only the strong! If you cannot fight, you will die!"

She watched, as wide-eyed and terrified as the others, as the boy and girl clumsily faced each other with brandished knives and trembling arms. Neither stepped forward. A second passed, then two, and then three. She could tell that neither of them would fight. A moment later, a spear of water tore through the girl's throat. Her blood spilled in gushing pools, her body twitching, each spurt of blood pulsing in time with her heart.

She knew she was going to die here. Cold, alone, not even knowing what her name was. Despair was as tangible as the chill.

"You!" the man pointed to her. Her heart ceased beating in her chest. "Boy! Step forward!"

The boy next to her sobbed openly as he stepped forward with trembling legs. The two boys shared looks, wild and terrified, and she knew that they would not make the same mistake as the girl did.

"Fight!" the masked man intoned.

The boy that had been called forward looked at the man with a dumb, shocked expression. The boy that had "survived" his fight did not hesitate. He charged forward with a strangled scream, knife lowered and clutched in both hands. The knife was lodged firmly in the other boy's belly, blood pooling at both their feet. The boy who had been stabbed backed away, eyes wide in disbelief and shock. He feebly clutched at the wound even as he fell to the floor and bled out.

"Excellent work, 3-C!" the masked man shouted. "Step aside, you pass! Next, you and you!"

Two girls stepped forward, tears staining their cheeks and terrified out of their minds.

"Fight!" the man barked.

The two girls each looked to two different bodies. One girl looked to the first girl, whose body still twitched, her hands clasping the knife even in death. The other, the boy, who was clutching at the knife in his belly and feebly crawling away. With a terrified screech, each sprinted for their respective weapon. One of the girls slid on her knees to rest beside the girl whose throat had been blown out, prying her fingers off the knife.

The other ran to the boy. She kneeled at his side, looming over him, trying to wrench the dagger from his belly. He fought her, trying to keep it and his blood and guts inside. "Give it to me!" the girl screamed.

"No!" the boy blubbed, slapping at her hands and face to keep her away.

She saw the first girl rise, knife in hand, and charge at her opponent. The other girl stopped fighting the boy for the knife and began punching him in the face and throat with wild screams. She managed to pry the knife from his belly, spilling his guts, just as the first girl reached her and plunged the knife into her throat.

Both girls separated, the girl who had won looking at her bloodied hands in shock. The girl who had been stabbed held her throat with both hands, choking and drawing gurgling, gasping breaths of air.

"2-B, you pass! Step aside! Next—you, boy! And the girl in the back!" the man snapped.

She closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to watch. She could hear footsteps as the other two stepped forward to fight to the death. Each of them sobbing openly and loudly. The man called for them to begin and she heard frantic scrambling of feet as they sprinted for a weapon. She heard grunts of pain and effort and against her better judgement opened her eyes. The boy and girl were wrestling, rolling on the ground, each fighting over the two knives that lay near the dead girl who had been stabbed in the throat. The boy, larger and physically stronger, pinned the girl and began to choke the life out of her. She closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to watch another death.

Eventually, the sound of struggle stopped.

"1-A, you pass! Step aside!" the man barked proudly. "Next up, you! Boy on the floor! Get up! And you, girl! Open your eyes and step forward!"

She heard the sound of meat slapping against stone as, presumably, the boy crawled forward.

"Girl! Step forward! Now!" the man snapped.

She opened her eyes. She knew she was going to die... but the death ahead of her was less certain than the death that awaited her if she stood still. She marched forward, trembling and terrified, unshed tears welling in her eyes. The boy across from her was just as terrified as she was, and even more determined to live. She could see it in his eyes. If she did nothing... he would kill her.

As terrible as the thought of killing another was, the only thing more terrifying was the thought of being killed herself. In the fragmented shards of her memories, she knew she had a reason for living. A goal, a dream, at the very core of her being. She wouldn't—couldn't—die here.

"Ha!" the boy screamed. She blinked, eyes widening, as the boy charged her with a knife clutched in shaky hands. His feet left bloody footprints on the stone floor.

She leapt back, ducking and dodging, the motions coming as easily as if she had practiced them a thousand times and then a thousand more. The boy took wide, arcing slashes at her, aiming for her neck and face. She caught his wrist as a slash sailed by her, using her free hand to strike him in the elbow. She heard the bone snap clearly. The dull echo of breaking bone was drowned out by his screams. With deft fingers, she snatched the knife from the air as it fell and released the boy. He staggered away, good arm bracing his broken one, tearful eyes staring at her pleadingly.

She hurled the knife at him and it struck true with a solid thud and a squelch as it sunk into his chest. She stared at him as he died. Something understanding passed between them as he fell to the ground, lying in a growing pool of his own blood, waiting for death. A forgiveness, perhaps, an understanding.

"You pass, 4-A! Step aside! Next pair..."

As she joined the other "victors," she closed her eyes and listened as the remaining children murdered each other to live to see another day.

* * *

Four.

That was her name. She was the fourth of seven to pass the Trial of the Bloody Mist, as the others called it, and so... that was her name. Four.

She supposed it was better than nothing. Her memories hadn't become any clearer in the days since the trial. So, she was Four. For now. She was given clothes, weapons, and a mask. As a hunter, she was never to remove her mask. It was as much her face as her flesh and blood was now, because she feared what would happen if she took it off. Seven had removed his after the first night to sleep. When they awoke the next morning, he was gone and had not returned since.

Four knew that meant Seven was dead. If there was one thing she had learned in this place, it was that death was a constant companion.

"Do you think they'll come for us today?" Three asked.

She raised her head. Three was her partner, the other hunters told her. He was the large boy who had strangled the girl. He was much braver than she was. He faced his trial with not a single tear and was the strongest mentally of the six of them. Four shrugged. "I don't know," she answered.

The seven of them had been given four rooms, two to a room except for Five, for some reason, and told to await further orders. They were brought meals at seven, noon, and six every day by a masked woman. Occasionally, a masked hunter would check on them and share a few words of wisdom. They were allowed to mingle and talk, share news, once every day or two.

No sooner did she speak did the door to their room open. Four stood, Three snapping to attention beside her, as the masked man from the trial—"Master" Yamada—entered their room. "Three! Four! With me!" he barked.

Four grabbed her weapons and sprinted after Master Yamada as he left the room. Three was right behind her. One, a scrappy thin boy, and Two, a fierce but pretty girl, were already waiting outside. She fell in behind them as Master Yamada walked down the hall to Five's room. He was tall and thin, with pale skin and long black hair, and was... respected, almost, or at least recognized, by the other hunters. Five opened the door before Master Yamada could reach it. He fell in line behind her and Three. Together, all of them made their way to Six and Seven's room.

Master Yamada opened the door and Four peered inside. She straightened as she saw that Six had hanged herself with a belt wrapped around a bedpost. Seven's bed and belongings were as undisturbed as the night had had been abducted. Master Yamada closed the door as if nothing had happened.

Death, Four mused, was often a constant companion in this place. But not always an enemy. Sometimes it came to you as a friend. Six had been released from the torment that this place represented. But Four couldn't allow herself to die. Not yet. Not before she had recovered her memories and remembered what her name and dream were.

"Today will be a lesson in Anatomy and Anatomical Combat," Master Yamada told them as he led them down another hall. "As hunters, you will be given targets to hunt. You are to take a trophy—the head—and ensure that all else is destroyed. To do that, you must become intimately acquainted with the human body, its strengths, and its weaknesses."

Master Yamada opened a seemingly random door and ushered them inside. The room was dark and cold, sparsely lit, occupied by several long metal tables with raised lips. At the fore of the room, standing under a light, was a masked woman with a bun of inky black hair. On the table before her was... a corpse.

"Welcome," she said. "I am Hanako Yamada. You may address me as Master Yamada."

Four thought that the woman's name was odd. All thought was driven from her mind as the new Master Yamada began to carve into the corpse's neck. Black-brown blood, thick and congealed, spilled from where her knife cut.

"This is the jugular, a series of veins that bring deoxygenated blood from the head back to the heart by way of the superior vena cava. It possesses a number of weak points that present prime targets for attack..."

Four felt her stomach churn.

* * *

"There is no emotion. There is no thought. There is no hesitation. There is no disobedience. There is only the Hunt," a masked Master Yamada intoned.

Four let her mind wander, warm and muddled, as her mouth parroted the words their fellow hunter. "There is no emotion. There is no thought. There is no hesitation. There is no disobedience. There is only the Hunt," she rattled.

Master Yamada repeated her message, again, her voice undulating and lifeless. It had a way of ringing in her ears and bouncing around in her skull without her mind really hearing the words. Four probably should have been more concerned about how easily they all absorbed the words, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Next to her, Three mumbled the words under his breath. One, Two, and Five did the same. Minutes or hours later, Four couldn't be sure which, Master Yamada left and they were given food.

They at wordlessly. That night, Four drifted off to sleep mouthing the words like a lullaby.

* * *

Four knew her training couldn't be that easy.

The next morning, she and she alone was taken away from the others. For an instant, Four thought she was going to die. That she was going to find what, exactly, had happened to Seven first-hand. Instead, she was led to a small, dark room deeper in the facility by one of the many "Master Yamadas."

Master Yamada, a short stout man with bulky muscled arms, stopped before the door. "You are to enter this room. Inside, you will find a prisoner who is a traitor to the Mist. He sold classified intel to our enemies. Your mission is to extract what intel he sold and who the buyer was. Begin," he said.

Four swallowed and opened the door with trembling fingers. Inside there was a man blindfolded, gagged, and bound to a metal chair bolted to the floor. The room was almost blindingly white in color, sterile, with many small tiles. Like a communal shower, almost. The floor was angled so that it formed a trough in the center of the room where a large industrial drain was located. On the far wall was a small silver surgical table with a number of instruments.

Four snapped to attention as the man began to moan through his gag and fight against his restraints. Right, her mission. She wasn't Four, she was a hunter. There was no emotion. There was no thought. There was no hesitation. There was no disobedience. There was only the Hunt. Four muttered the words like a mantra under her breath as she walked forward.

Quickly and harshly she pulled the gag from the prisoner's mouth. "Please, help me! I didn't do anything! I swear!" he begged.

Four took a deep, silent breath. "Tell me what you know," she commanded.

"I—I don't know anything! I don't know what you people want! Please, I haven't done anything! Let me go!" the man sobbed.

"The intel you sold," Four clarified. "What was it and who did you sell to?"

"What? I—I haven't sold any intel! I'm a fisherman! Please, believe me, I'm not a traitor!" the prisoner screeched fearfully.

Four swallowed. "This is your last chance," she warned him. "Things will be easier if you cooperate."

The man bowed his head, tears wetting the blindfold and running down his cheeks as he sobbed. "Please," he begged weakly.

Four exhaled slowly through her nose as she padded over to the surgical table where a number of instruments were displayed on a white cloth. Knives, clamps, forceps, needles, scissors, saws, and retractors. With a trembling hand, Four reached for a forcep. She hesitated, recalling a lesson with Master Yamada on Torture and Interrogation, and picked up one of the pairs of scissors. They were heavy with thick blades, more akin to clippers than anything else.

Taking a deep breath, Four turned and made her way back to the prisoner. The man was openly sobbing, an incoherent mess of pleas and apologies. "There was no emotion. There was no thought. There was no hesitation. There was no disobedience," Four mumbled under her breath. "There was only the Hunt."

The words made her feel better. She could focus on them and not on what her body was doing. It was almost like watching someone else perform the torture. Like one of Master Yamada's lessons. Four leaned forward, grabbing the prisoner by the jaw like she had been taught. She augmented her strength with a pulse of chakra, tightening her grip, and forcing the man to open his mouth. Deftly, she slipped the clippers in before he could protest or struggle and cut one of his teeth in half.

His screams echoed in her skull. "The intel," Four demanded. "What was it? Who did you sell to?"

"Please," the prisoner sputtered, blood spilling down his lips. "Please! I didn't do anything! I'm innocent!"

Four blinked, long and hard, before forcing his mouth open and chipping another tooth. Still, the man didn't break. She withdrew, hands shaking, and returned to the surgical table. She placed the clippers back where she found them, staining the white cloth red, and withdrew a handful of needles.

The prisoner was barely coherent. Blubbering and moaning in pain, struggling feebly against his bindings so strongly that they began to cut into him. Four kneeled before him, setting the pile of needles on the tiled floor, and grabbed his right hand. The prisoner began to fight her but his arms and legs were bound to the chair with little to no room for movement. There was nothing for him to do. With her superior strength, Four grabbed the index finger and forced it to extend and still. With her free hand, she picked up a single needle and inserted it beneath the man's fingernail.

"The intel," Four breathed, her voice cracking. "What was it? Who did you sell to?"

All she got in return were screams. She inserted another needle, then another, and repeated her question. He didn't answer. Stomach churning, Four stood after the right hand could no longer hold any more needles.

She stood, eyes wide beneath her mask, as the man collapsed into himself as sobs wracked his body. He... he should have broken. Why wouldn't he talk? She... she was going to have to continue, wasn't she?

Four couldn't do it.

She stood there as the minutes passed, frozen, muttering the mantra of the hunter corps over and over as if it would give her the strength to continue. It took her mind off the horror, but it didn't compel her to complete the mission.

Four quieted as the door behind her opened. Master Yamada stood in the doorway. Somehow, Four knew he was displeased with her even though he was masked and his body language displayed no hint of emotion.

"Kill him," Master Yamada commanded.

Four looked back to the man. Could... could she kill him? It was one thing when she was fighting for her life, but... this man wasn't a threat, he had no weapon, and he couldn't even move. No, Four decided with a shake of her head, she couldn't.

Master Yamada signalled to someone over his shoulder. Four stood on her toes, peering over him, to see who he had called. Suddenly, he thrust his hand forward. A spear of screaming electricity tore through the prisoner's chest, killing him. Four gaped. She blinked as four masked hunters entered the room. But they weren't going for the body... they were going for her.

Four struggled with all her meager training as the hunters attacked.

* * *

"Four, wake up."

Four blinked, her eyelids heavy. She awoke, bloodied and broken, wishing desperately that she had simply died. She hurt everywhere, a bone-deep ache that permeated every inch of her body. She had failed her test and had been punished accordingly. Four lulled her head and gazed up through her mask at Three.

"You have to get up, Four," Three told her. "We're being given our first assignment. They'll kill you if you can't perform."

Four feebly sat up. She was in a bed, her bed, in her shared quarters with Three. "How long have I been out?" she asked.

"A week," Three answered. "Get ready, quick."

Four struggled to her feet, nearly stumbling, and quickly dressed in the green and blue robes of the hunter corps. Her hands trembled as she fastened her sash and pouches of needles within. It felt like one of her wrists had been broken and crudely healed.

And, just as Three said, a few minutes later a trio of hunters strolled into their quarters. "Prepare yourselves for a Hunt, initiates," the man leading them said.

Four quickly followed after Three as the two of them trailed behind the hunters. They passed through what seemed like miles of underground hallways and tunnels, each gate heavily guarded by masked hunters, before Four saw something she had forgotten the beauty of.

Sunlight.

It filtered in through a small slit in the wall, barely large enough to call itself a window, but it was enough. She could feel the warmth of the light on her skin and smell the sweet, salty scent of the ocean on the wind.

"Four, come on," Three begged her.

Four scurried after their group as the leader of their group waved at the guards and the large gate doors opened. Four held a hand before her eyes to shield herself from the intense brightness of the day. She could only remember fragments of her memories from her time before being a hunter-in-training. It was the first time she could clearly remember the outside world.

They traveled north. Four could hardly recall the journey. She, like Three, was too busy marveling at the outside world. The trees, the breeze, the waves, the sun, the clouds. The schools of fish leaping from cresting waves, the birds that circled and preyed upon them. The fishing boats, old and wooden, bobbing in the water as burly men pulled nets full of fish from the sea.

Their group made their way north towards a small chain of islands, unseen and unnoticed by the civilians. They moved quickly across the waves, shielded by the mist, or swam beneath ships when conditions did not allow for hiding.

It was night when they reached their destination. Four gasped as she surfaced and sucked in a great breath of salty air. She followed Three as the two of them trailed after the main group of hunters. The island they reached was small, a spit of sand dotted with rocky outcroppings and grizzled trees clinging to life. A few log cabins were built upon the shore, just above the waves' reach.

Suddenly, the lead hunter rounded on them. "Our mission here is to locate and remove three enemies of the Mist," he said, a lifeless monotone. "They are extremely dangerous war criminals guilty of treason against the village. Strike to kill."

"Yes, sir," Four echoed, lagging behind Three and the other two hunters.

Four could see shadows moving against torchlit rooms inside the cabins. She ignored them, keeping a wary eye on the houses so as to remain unseen. Three was staying low to the ground ahead of her, focussed on following after the senior hunters.

Their leader lead them up a small, winding gravel path that led to a cabin at the top of a hill. Four crept after Three, the both of them nervously palming a fistful of needles. She and the other hunters stood outside a window. Glancing in, Four saw a man, a woman, and two small girls sitting before a roaring fire atop a bear's pelt. On the wall hung several weapons, ninja's weapons, and on the mantle of the fireplace were two headbands with the character for "shinobi" engraved in them.

"Three, Four, you two will deal with the children," their leader commanded. "We will deal with the mother and father."

Four froze, legs as unmoving as stone.

"In three," their leader breathed. "Two... one..."

The senior hunters broke through the glass, lunging forward in a single motion with swords drawn. They forced the mother and father from the home, slashing at their necks with their shortswords. Three hurdled over the window and into the room and Four numbly followed.

Three already had the children pinned by the time she had entered the cabin. The senior hunters returned a moment later, swords stained with blood. Their leader glanced at them. "Kill them," he ordered casually.

Three looked to her and Four could see how wide his eyes were. She could see something cold and hard settle there. She didn't so much as twitch as Three slipped a knife into the side of one of the girl's necks— she had forced herself to learn not to react. It was one of the first lessons of survival she had taught herself after waking up and becoming a hunter.

Then they all looked to her as the little girl lay dying.

Four swallowed. Her mind raced. She had killed during her Trial, but that was different. Life or death. She couldn't kill that man she had been learning to torture from. He was helpless, defenseless. Just like this girl— small, weak, sobbing, younger than Four herself.

But the memory of the savage beating, the vicious torture in all but name, the senior hunters had gifted her after she had failed to kill the man she had tortured. Her body was still broken and bruised from it. She knew that this time... this time they wouldn't stop. This time it was life or death.

Four stared down at her hands. If she did this... there would be no going back. She would be Four— _shi_ , death.

"Please," Three urged her with a whisper, handing her his knife.

Four took a breath as her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife.

* * *

"Four," Three called.

Four looked up.

"It's time," he said.

She nodded. Idly, she debated the pros and cons of practicing her "nervous" emotion. Four reasoned that a normal person would be nervous had they completed two years of training and education and were receiving official recognition. In the end, she decided against it. She was a hunter— there was only the Hunt.

Four followed Three as he led the way to the briefing room. The senior hunters she met in the hallway gave her stiff nods of approval. One, Two, and Five joined them.

Their series was being promoted.

Four stood at attention, as did the others, as they waited to be addressed by one of the senior hunters that mulled about the briefing room. Maps, charts, orders, and scrolls littered the room, hunters coming and going as they received or gave orders and departed for missions. Eventually, one of their teachers approached them— Master Yamada, their Anatomy and Anatomical Combat instructor.

"Master," Four greeted, bowing, the others mirroring her.

"Congratulations," the woman said, voice level and lifeless. She handed them each a package of brown paper and twine. "Your uniforms. Welcome to the Hunt, hunters."

Master Yamada— no, just... Yamada, now. Hanako Yamada. They were true hunters now. They served the Mist, their Kage. Hanako turned, quickly grabbed three scrolls from a nearby table, and handed them to them. Four and Three and One and Two each received a single scroll, while Five got his own. "Your first mission," Hanako spoke.

Four unfurled the scroll.

" _A-class Mission: Assassination,"_ it read. _"Target: Ayame Terumī. Threat assessment: ninjutsu-three, taijutsu-two, genjutsu-one..."_

* * *

A nameless boy, not even fit to be called a number.

A broken and mangled man, ruined by her hand.

A little girl, young and innocent, now cold and pale.

An older man, graying and wrinkled, proudly standing before her and brandishing a cane. Blood welled through his shirt.

A man and a woman, madly in love, strong in mind and body as they faced her. Now, bloody and tear-stained, they embraced.

An old woman, a nurse, so far gone that she hadn't even known Death had her until it was too late.

A teenager, furious and eyes welling with self-righteous anger, cloying acidic mist all around them. Needles pocked his body, skin and muscle and bone liquefying.

Her countrymen, wide-eyed and desperate, their headbands scarred as they backed away.

Enemies of the State, Cloud ninja, skirting their borders.

Mercenaries, drunken men and women, simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Two, unable to handle the pressure, abandoning the Hunt, only for the Hunt to find her.

One, angry and betrayed, punished for his vengeance; tortured and broken in the ways only the Hunt could promise.

The countless dead, unnamed, uncared for, their cold, dead eyes staring into her very soul. Four awoke, calm, blinking away the last vestiges of her nightmare— though it would be inaccurate to call it a nightmare anymore. She dreamed of them, saw their faces, saw their accusing stares, every night. It had been worse since she had been ordered to hunt down One and Two. It was easier when the specters were simply unnamed faces. But Four had a name— a number— to put to their faces— their masks.

Four stood, bathed, and dressed. She had a mission report to file today and was eager to get back on the Hunt. Her mind is absent as her body puppets its way through the halls and leads her to the mission briefing room. Four spotted one of the clerks on duty and marched over. "Ms. Yamada," Four breathed. She produced a furled scroll from the folds of her robes and handed it over. "Mission A-1-G-7, completed successfully."

Hanako looked to her, a slight gleam in her eyes that told Four she was annoyed. "Take it down to the basement," the woman told her.

Four frowned. She wasn't supposed to be in the basement— in Records. They had designated clerks for that. "Where's the clerks?" Four asked.

"We're short of hands," Hanako said tersely. "Joint operation to destroy a mercenary company in the north."

Four nodded, placing the scroll back in the folds of her robes. She turned and marched back through the halls of the underground complex until she came to the set of hidden stairs that led deeper underground where the hunter corps kept their records. It was dark and unnaturally dry, a seemingly endless room hewn from sheer rock that contained row upon row of bookshelves. There were countless tens of thousands of scrolls, books, and folders. Four inhaled, the dry must of parchment filling her nose.

She had been a hunter for two years now— four if she counted training. Four wondered why they weren't allowed to see the paperwork they were required to do. She quickly familiarized herself with the layout of the room, finding the row of bookshelves where a list of executed traitors to the Mist were kept. Two more ninja had abandoned the Mist, seeking a peaceful life elsewhere in the Union and taking secrets of the village with them. A waste, Four thought.

She found the correct row of shelves and made her way down and down and _down_. There were... a lot of traitors, Four thought. More than she had expected. She had to have been walking for nearly ten full minutes before reaching an empty shelf to place her scroll. Satisfied that her duty was completed, Four began the trek back to her quarters.

That was, at least, until she caught the barest glimpse of a word, a name, on the tab of a folder sticking out of a shelved box.

 _Hikari._

The name seared through her mind like liquid fire. Left her gasping for breath. Four's knees buckled and she collapsed. When it stopped feeling like someone was pounding on her skull with a hammer, Four found herself lying against a bookshelf and trembling violently as cold sweat dampened her skin. Her head lulled, eyes finding the folder with her— with her _name_ on it. Four felt her mind clearing, ever so slightly, like a ray of sunshine piercing a cloying mist after long months of winter.

Swallowing, Four— no, in the deepest recesses of her mind, she whispered her true name— crawled on her hands and knees over to the box. Learning her name hadn't dulled her training, though. She eyed and memorized the folder and box's location, how it was arranged. She would return it to its original state when she was done reading.

And she _was_ going to read that folder. Four couldn't not read it, now. With trembling hands, she opened the folder.

What greeted her was a photograph of a young girl. Four froze when she realized that the girl was _her_. She had forgotten what her face looked like. She hadn't removed her mask in... years. The training that had been burned into the very core of her being commanded her to never remove it. Exhaling through her nose, Four read on.

Her name was Hikari. Her surname had been redacted, a black bar of ink destroying whatever had been written on the file. Her birthday was unknown, but was listed as the day she had joined the Hidden Mist. Her place of birth was unknown. Her mother's name was Airi and her father's name was Katsuro, both of their surnames redacted. Her father had been born in the Mist and her mother hailed from the eastern Land of Water. Both had become ninja at a young age. Both had fought in the Fourth War. Both had survived, alive but scarred. Both had retired, moving away from their homeland.

And both had been executed for abandoning the village against the mandate of the Mizukage.

Four's blood turned to ice in her veins.

Below the glaring red stamp that marked her parents as deceased was a scrawled note, a series of numbers and letters. A case number. Four committed it to memory, burning it into her very soul. She replaced the folder where she had found it, ensuring that nothing looked out of place. Then she began searching for the file that had ordered the execution of her parents.

It didn't take long for her to find it. The Mizukage had its own shelf of orders. Four unfurled the scroll.

" _By order of the Mizukage, all ninja of the Hidden Mist are hereby ordered to return to the village within one (1) year following the signing of this order. They are not to fraternize with other ninja villages or its citizens, especially those belonging to the Union. All ninja are to be on guard against the possibility of war and civil unrest following the peace treaty and the upheaval of the Way of the Ninja. All those who do not heed these summons shall be considered enemies of the State."_

Four's eyes widened, fragmented memories aligning. They weren't whole, didn't feel real, like— like stained glass. Shattered, broken irrevocably, and then soldered back together.

But it was enough.

Taro and the other hunters that day... they killed her parents, not pirates, and then they— they _abducted_ her. Brainwashed her. Turned her into the very thing that she had sworn to destroy. She had killed and tortured in their name, countless tens of innocent people. Mothers and fathers, children... people who just wanted to live in peace, away from the horror of war.

For the first time in four long, long years, Hikari— _Hikari_ — cried.

She was going to kill them all.

* * *

In the dark of night, the sky was illuminated a warm orange-yellow that lit up the city. Hikari smiled grimly as she fled the Mist, fires raging from the explosive tags she had set and detonated. She prayed that it had been enough to kill every hunter in the corps, but Hikari knew there was simply too many of them. The ones on active duty, at least, would have survived.

Her work was not yet done.

Hikari didn't know where she was going. She didn't know what she was going to do with her life other than seek revenge— not just for her parents' deaths, but for what the Mist had done to her. What they had forced her to do.

And yet... Hikari still couldn't remove her mask. Her hands trembled so violently every time she tried that she couldn't even hold a kunai or weave a hand sign. It felt like the mask had been stitched to her face. Like it had become a part of her, inseparable.

Hikari wondered what her face looked like underneath.

So, she headed north. The Land of Lightning was what she was familiar with, more so than the Land of Fire. She would disappear, hide, plan her revenge. Then she would return to the Land of Water, the Mist, and finish what she started.

That night, camped out beneath the stars on the far northern reaches of the last island between the Lands of Water and Lightning, Hikari stared at her Mist headband. The metal gleamed in the starlight, four waves crashing upon an unseen shore. Whatever— _whoever_ — she was... she was not a ninja of the Mist. Even if she couldn't stomach removing her mask.

Her hands didn't tremble as she carved a perfectly horizontal scratch through the symbol of her village.

* * *

They found her.

Hikari knew she shouldn't have been surprised. She knew she shouldn't have expected to escape. She understood that, when she attacked the Mist, she was probably committing suicide. Now, bloodied and bruised, robes torn and slashed, she sprinted across the waves with a pack of hunters and ninja on her heels.

She was going to die.

Just like the boy she had murdered so she could live to see another day, so she could become a hunter.

Hikari growled. If she was going to die, she was going to take as many of them with her to the Pure Lands as she could. The first rays of dawn crested the horizon, illuminating the beaches of the Land of Lightning in the distance.

There... there she would make her last stand.

Her boots sunk into the wet sand as she reached land. Hikari spun, hands grabbing a fistful of throwing needles, and hurled them at her pursuers. One dropped, dead, but the others dodged or deflected her attack.

Hikari dodged a swing of a sword, punching the masked man in the ribs hard. She heard his bones _shatter_ and he went down, boneless, and did not rise. She danced away as throwing needles peppered the sand, dripping in poison, and killed another hunter with an expertly timed Water Release technique. Hikari hissed as a ninja slashed her from behind, his sword cutting deep into the soft flesh beneath her ribs.

Still, she fought on.

Hikari killed another two ninja. Chūnin, she thought, before a cell of three hunters had her ensnared. They tired her, death by a thousand cuts, execution of a stronger opponent by the textbook.

She was going to die.

Hikari cried out as a barrage of needles came at her from behind. She danced away, slow from the pain and loss of blood, evading all but one. That one, however, caused her to lose all feeling in her legs. She fell to her knees, collapsing backwards and pitifully crawling away.

Taro— and it was _Taro_ , the fucking bastard that had killed her parents, abducted her, and brainwashed her into becoming _just like him_ — loomed over her like the shadow of death.

"I'm sorry it came to this, little Hikari," he said, voice cold and lifeless.

He brandished his shortsword, point poised to cut her throat.

The hunters behind him cried out as a hail of shuriken and kunai cut them down. Taro snapped his head up, looking behind her. Hikari lifted her gaze to follow but immediately fell onto the dark-skinned man who appeared in a blur of crackling electricity. He obviously hailed from the Land of Lightning; tall, bronzed skin, broad shoulders, bulging muscles, and sun-bleached hair. He dressed like a ninja of Cloud, too, all whites.

And he was wreathed in chakra, blue-white, electricity screaming. Hikari's eyes widened. Lightning Armor.

Before she could even blink, the man had his arms wrapped around Taro's stomach. He lifted her parents' killer high, even as he struggled, and roared as he slammed Taro down.

"Liger Bomb!"

When the explosion of sand cleared, Hikari stared blankly at the bloody smear that had been the man poised to kill her. Large, strong hands, calloused from decades of fighting, shook her softly. Hikari looked up, blinded by the sunlight, into her savior's face. The first thing she noticed was the man's headband, one of the ones from the Fourth War with the character for "shinobi" engraved upon the face.

It had a jagged line marring it.

"Hey, girl," he rumbled, voice deep and baritone with just a hint of sing-song. "You okay?"

Hikari stared blankly. She didn't know.

"You got a place to go?" he asked.

Hikari shook her head.

"Well," he sang. "You look like you're on the run, judging by that headband o' yours. 'Case you might not've seen it, but I'm a rogue too. Eiji Yagami, leader of the Crimson Tide mercenary company, at your service."

Eiji did a little mock bow, his hand miming removing a hat.

It brought the ghost of a smile to Hikari's lips.

Eiji grinned broadly. "Well, little lady, if you've got nowhere to go, and you're a rogue like me, what do you say to some good, honest, unlawful mercenary work?" he asked lyrically.

Hikari smiled, ever so slightly, beneath her mask and nodded.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I'm unsure which member of the Akatsuki will be next. Hikari's prelude is undoubtedly the longest, as she is the most important and relevant. The Akiyama sisters or Tsuchigumo will likely be the next, followed by Hibiki later in the story when he is a more prominent character.

The hunters refer to themselves as either Taro Yamada (male) or Hanako Yamada (female). These are the Japanese equivalent of John and Jane Doe. I went for a "Joo Dee" vibe, if you're familiar with the Avatar setting.


	88. Chapter 88

**A/N:** This is a double chapter release! The previous chapter is the Hikari prelude.

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

"I have located the Four-Tails," the puppet chattered behind her.

Kagami rounded on it. "About fucking time!" she growled. Already, she could feel her heart beating faster and her blood thrumming in her veins. The Two-Tails had been terrifying in its strength, she and her sister had nearly died, but it was the best fight either of them had ever had.

"Where is it? I'm dying to get out of this shit hole," her sister asked.

Kagami nodded eagerly. Being back home... brought back bad memories. Memories of a stifled, controlled life under the rule of their father. She and Kagari were nobody's trophy daughters. She hated being back in the Land of Earth.

"Five hours, fourteen minutes due north by northwest from our current location," the puppet relayed. "Deploying combat puppets. I will guide you there."

The puppet chattered as it darted forward, down the mountain and away from their camp. "Hey, wait!" Kagami shouted, grabbing her pack and creating a slab of stone with a quick Earth Release technique to ride down the slope. Kagari hopped on behind her. Kagami whooped as they crashed at the bottom of the mountain, their board shattering into a thousand fragments. She broke into a sprint, her sister behind her, as they chased Tsuchigumo's puppet.

After an hour of running, it became apparent where they were heading. "Sis," Kagari whined.

"I know," Kagami grumbled. The Akiyama Mountains. If she saw even one of her father's guards, she was going to blow them sky high. "Home sweet home," she hissed.

The puppet dropped back to match their pace. "Four-Tails has defeated a contingent of Hidden Stone ninja to the north, near a large active volcano," it reported. "Little damage was done to the Tailed Beast but there were heavy casualties sustained by the Stone ninja."

Kagami had no great love for her village. They had never done anything for her more than give her basic training and enough bureaucratic red tape to hang herself with. They were the _Explosion Corps_. They blew shit up. It was in their name. But, if there was one thing Kagami was grateful for... it was getting her and her sister away from their father, even for a short time. So, just this once, she would be a good patriot and avenge her countrymen.

"Got it," Kagami grunted.

They ran farther and farther north until they were forced to travel on old goat trail's when fleeing civilians and retreating ninja flooded the roads. The Stone ninja carried their dead and their dying, their wounded hobbling along with horrible burns and scars. Still, Kagami knew there were far less of them than a standard Stone unit would have. Most of them, she thought, were probably incinerated by the Four-Tails.

Mount Akiyama, for which her family was named, loomed above them in the distance. A voluminous black-gray cloud of volcanic ash drifted skyward from the mouth of the volcano. It looked as if it had erupted, but Kagami knew better. She had grown up with a bedroom view of the volcano. If it was erupting, everyone in the entire country would know. No, this was... the Four-Tails.

Kagami grinned.

Tsuchigumo's puppet army began to gather and fall in on them. Men, women, and children, farmers, miners, and lumberjacks from the countryside. A few Stone ninja, even. Tsuchigumo had cast his net far and wide, creating innumerable puppet spies for the Akatsuki. A pair of eyes and ears in every village from the Land of Water to the Land of Wind, Bolt had said. Kagami had underestimated how many puppets that actually was. More than that, she saw puppets built exclusively for combat. Many-armed puppets for dispensing a hail of needles, shuriken, and kunai. Puppets with bulbous backs containing gallons upon gallons of oil for flamethrowers. Barrel-chested armor puppet with shield-like forearms for defending themselves and others. Puppets with large, revolving abdomens that spewed sealing tags at a blistering pace.

And Tsuchigumo's personal combat puppet, the corpse of Danzō Shimura.

"Let's go!" Kagami howled eagerly to him. The hours of sprinting across the countryside only served to increase her desire to fight the Tailed Beast.

"Sure wish we had some backup for this," Kagari grumbled.

"We'll be fine," Kagami reassured her sister. She watched as Kagari reached for her abdomen and rubbed at the scarred flesh beneath her shirt. The Two-Tails had left its impression on her. Kagami took great pleasure in the demonic cat's yowls of terror as they sealed it away.

"I am more than adequate in providing assistance during the battle," Tsuchigumo said, his human puppet parroting his words in Danzō's deep, rough tone. "This puppet has been specifically equipped to battle Tailed Beasts and other S-class threats."

"Yeah, sure," Kagami rolled her eyes. What good were weak puppets of steel and plastic against the unbridled might of a Tailed Beast?

"Well," her sister mused as they drew closer and closer to the volcano. "Let's do this."

Kagami nodded to herself, her chakra exploding within her pathways and begging for release. Her heart hammered in her chest, a steady thud, thud, thud that drowned out all other sound. Her blood thrummed, erratic and wild, as adrenaline coursed through her. Kagami felt the ghost of a grin spread across her lips.

There was nothing quite like it.

They found the Four-Tails looming over a rocky plateau that overlooked a pool of bubbling magma that belched thick clouds of noxious gas. It was eerily still, like a statue, and didn't react to either the three of them or Tsuchigumo's puppet army clambering through the volcano.

Kagami grinned, the corners of her lips tearing. She snapped her fingers five times in quick succession, releasing the explosive buildup of chakra in her system. The Tailed Beast roared furiously as her attacks peppered it. To her side, her sister unleashed a wave of acidic quicklime that cascaded over the Four-Tails and rained down upon it. The Tailed Beast swept a giant, blood-red furred paw at the acid, hissing furiously as it burned through its coat and ate away at its hide.

Kagami jumped down to the rocky floor, light on her feet, and continued to unleash a barrage of explosive sparks that bloodied the Four-Tails. Overhead, Tsuchigumo maneuvered his many puppets into position.

When the Tailed Beast attacked, they were ready for it. Kagami could only vaguely recall the strategy they had planned with Bolt prior to his capture. The only thing on her mind was the fight. Nothing else mattered. This, right now, proved she was alive.

The Four-Tails roared and spat forth what Kagami could only call a meteor. A rounded, vaguely spherical volcanic boulder that was ablaze with fire so powerful that the flames were near white in color. Countless thousands of chakra threads speared it, grabbed it, threw it off course. Kagami saw it veer away from her and she tore into the Four-Tails with another barrage of Explosion Release attacks. The meteor vanished as it collided with a length of parchment held between two identical puppets whose bodies were made of giant scrolls. An instant later, it rocketed forth from the scroll back at the Four-Tails.

The Tailed Beast caught it in a massive, meaty fist and crushed the boulder like it was a twig. Kagami harried the Four-Tails explosive sparks aimed at its face while her sister continued to coat the demonic ape in corrosive quicklime. Tsuchigumo's puppets rained down thrown weapons and jets of water that failed to pierce the Tailed Beast's thick hide.

There was a lull in the combat that made Kagami's heart flutter in her chest. The Four-Tails reared up on both hind legs, arms raised at it beat its giants fists against its chest and unleashed and earth-shattering roar. The sound of the Tailed Beast pounding on its chest reverberated in her skull like the drums of war.

Kagami screeched as something thin and bony wrapped around her waist. "Calm yourself," the puppet chattered. She stilled and watched as a wave of magma poured from the Four-Tails' maw and completely submerged the rocky outcropping she had been standing on.

"Holy shit," Kagami breathed with a grin. She had been mere moments from being melted into slag.

The puppet released her, depositing Kagami next to her sister. The two of them shared a nod and savage grins before weaving hand signs. Together, they unleashed a powerful Earth Release technique that rippled through the volcanic stone and erected a wall of earthen spears that lunged at the Four-Tails as the enraged ape charged them. The Tailed Beast broke through their defensive fortification, shrugging off everything Tsuchigumo's puppets could throw at it, and threw an angry fist at them as large as a house.

Kagami pushed her sister out of the way and dived for safety. The Four-Tails' punch shattered and pulped stone, a strength Kagami had only seen when Hikari demonstrated her monstrous strength augmented by her Strength of a Hundred seal.

Kagami let loose a nervous peal of laughter and grinned.

"Burn for me, baby!" Kagari howled as she spat another gout of corrosive quicklime atop the Four-Tails.

Kagami joined her sibling with raucous laughter as she tore into the Tailed Beast with another barrage of explosive sparks. Kagami sprinted through an old magma tube pocked with holes as the Four-Tails turned on her and attempted to incinerate her with a mighty breathful of white-hot fire. She attacked sporadically through the small holes, unleashing more explosions upon the demonic ape.

The main antechamber of the volcano burst into flame, sending a wall of superheated air slamming into Kagami that left her reeling. Tags of parchment, marred with inky black symbols, drifted earthward as Tsuchigumo began to systematically release them from his puppets. The Four-Tails shielded itself with a giant, meaty forearm and ran for cover. Its loping gait carried it across the volcano in a single bound where it leaped up and grabbed onto a magma tube.

Kagami swore as cracks spider-webbed beneath her feet. She latched onto one of the holes in the tube and clinged for life as the stone beneath her feet crumbled and fell into a pool of bubbling magma far below. "Tsuchigumo!" Kagami barked. "Little help!"

Kagami released her grip and dropped into the waiting belly of an armored puppet as its claws sunk into volcanic stone. It jostled her as it quickly scaled the volcano and found a safe place to deposit her inside another larger, more stable magma tube. Kagami picked herself up and sprinted forward. She could feel the volcano tremble as the Four-Tails continued to climb, swinging from tube to tube. Below, she could hear Kagari cackling as she attacked and the chatter of puppets as they swarmed.

Kagami weaved hand signs as she ran. She used an Earth Release technique to destabilize the volcano and caused chunks of volcanic rock to fall upon the Four-Tails from up high. She grinned as the Tailed Beast roared and the volcano shuddered as it began to move once more. An ear-splitting roar made her head spin and Kagami dived into the safety of the stone wall with an Earth Release technique. Her chakra parted the rock as easily as if it was water. It was the only thing that saved her from being pulverized as the Four-Tails began to whale on the magma tube she had been in.

As the Tailed Beast raged and tore massive chunks of stone from the volcano wall, Kagami realized that they needed to finish things fast before the Four-Tails actually caused the volcano to erupt. Kagami didn't want to be anywhere near the mountain when it blew.

She needed to bring out the big guns.

Kagami emerged from the wall of the volcano and entered another lava tube far above the volcano, near the rim. She began to weave a long chain of hand signs, each one causing her hands to be wreathed in an ever brighter lightning. When she finished, her hands glowed white-orange, ringed in fiery red. Kagami leapt, eyes wide, out over the volcano's main chamber. Tears welled in her eyes as she choked on the gas spewing from the magma below. The Four-Tails snapped its head up at her with a growl. Kagami grinned maniacally as she cupped both hands and brought them down.

"Explosion Release!" Kagami howled. "Obliteration of the Earthly Plane!"

The world erupted in a sea of blinding white light that seared her eyes. Kagami felt her chakra leave her like a retreating tide as she unleashed an explosion unlike any other before it. The ground trembled and the volcano raged.

"Shit," Kagami swore as she tumbled blindly to the ground. She blinked away the spots in her eyes as the world swam before her. Her attack had scoured the insides of the volcano, left them raw and crumbling, and the Four-Tails lay at the bottom of the volcano in a sea of magma.

But the Tailed Beast wasn't down. It got to its feet, a little slower than before, but it fought on all the same. Its blood-red fur was charred and blackened, clinging its graying hide in cloying, shell-like clumps. It reared back, fists pounding against its chest, and parted its maw of tusks and fangs.

Strong arms wrapped around Kagami. "I got you, sis!" her sister shouted against the dull roar of the battlefield.

Below, purple-black chakra began to coalesce in the Four-Tails' maw. Kagami's eyes widened. "Look out, Kagari!" she hissed.

Kagami struggled for a better position to use her Explosion Release to propel them to safety. Kagari looked down, eyes wide and lips parted in a silent gasp. Finally tearing her hand free, Kagami unleashed a fiery explosion with a thrust of her palm that sent the both of them careening into the volcano wall. A moment later, a beam of black-purple chakra rocketed skyward and hit the rim of the volcano. An explosion that dwarfed anything Kagami could create consumed the sky and the apex of the mountain.

Kagari skidded down the side of the mountain and came to a stop as her boots glowed blue-white with chakra. Kagami quickly extracted herself from her sister and found her legs unsteady. Already the Four-Tails had zeroed back in on them, another sphere of purple-black chakra growing between its maw.

"We're fucked," Kagari muttered savagely beside her.

Kagami blinked, and in the space between one breath and the next, a spectral blade of purple-blue chakra had been thrust through the Four-Tails' jaw and into the roof of its mouth. The Tailed Beast had only an instant to howl in pain before the attack it had been charging detonated. Kagami's eyes watered as she was thrown backwards into the ground and crushed by a concussive blast of wind. When her vision cleared, cracks were webbing through the volcano wall.

But the Four-Tails was not down. It reared on its hind legs and pounded its chest savagely, each strike like the beat of a titanic drum. **"I am the honorable Son Gokū, Monkey King of the Water Screen Cave! King of the Sage Monkeys!"** it roared, blue-purple blood spilling from its mouth. **"And I will not be defeated!"**

"It..." Kagami gasped. "It can fucking talk?!"

The Four-Tails took one lumbering step forward towards the sisters before it paused, frozen, and collapsed to its belly. A single puppet dropped from somewhere above them and stood next to the Tailed Beast. "Tsuchigumo!" Kagari exclaimed, pulling her sister to her feet. Kagami mumbled her thanks.

" **T-Those eyes! How?!"** the Four-Tails rumbled.

Kagami frowned. As they drew closer, Kagami could see the faintest hint of red in Tsuchigumo's human puppet's right eye. "Sleep," Tsuchigumo commanded with a wave of his hand. As if compelled, the Four-Tails struggled weakly before closing its eyes.

Up close, she could make out what the Four-Tails had been fearful of. Kagami herself had faced on before in battle and could honestly say it was a personal thrill: the Sharingan. The human puppet fell, collapsing to its knees. Its hand shot up to grasp at its right eye socket and it drew in shallow, ragged breaths.

"Where the hell did you get a Sharingan?" Kagami demanded.

Tsuchigumo took a few rasping gasps of air. "During the attack on the Leaf," Tsuchigumo explained. "Bolt managed to secure a pair by killing an unknown member of the bloodline."

"How the hell can you even use it?" Kagari pondered aloud. "Isn't that, like, an Uchiha thing?"

"The body of Danzō Shimura contained two oddities," the puppet said in its deep, baritone voice. "High quantities of unparalleled in quality Yang chakra, especially in the right arm. Theorized explanation behind the corpse's preservation. The other was strangely high quantities of powerful Yin chakra, especially in the eye socket. Uncommon for both to be present in one person. Theorized former dōjutsu user. Tests concluded the Byakugan was not the eye used. Sharingan was most likely. Very taxing to use, even with the corpse's predisposition."

Kagami breathed a shaky sigh as her heart began to calm and the thrill of battle left her veins. "Let's call Tetsu and get his giant ass down here, then," she grumbled. "I'm fucking exhausted. Let's seal this thing and go home."

"Negative," Tsuchigumo replied succinctly. "Hikari and Tetsu are currently in phase one of another operation. We'll secure the Four-Tails ourselves and prepare to provide backup."

"What?" Kagami choked. She was _not_ ready to fight another Tailed Beast so soon. She had used too much chakra in taking down the Four-Tails. "What fucking operation? I thought we were the only ones fighting a Tailed Beast?"

"Classified," Tsuchigumo answered, his human puppet standing. It weaved several hand signs and produced four scrolls. "Place one scroll at each of the cardinal directions."

Kagami growled as she snatched the scroll and limped over to the Tailed Beast's right side. Her sister smiled apologetically and took the other two while Tsuchigumo moved to the head of the Four-Tails with his scroll.

"Now what?" Kagami demanded.

Tsuchigumo clapped his hand and the scroll she held erupted into acrid smoke. Four puppets, each towering over her, appeared with giant scrolls clutched in the palms of their hands. Each scroll was as large as she was tall and twice as thick. Kagami took a step back as the scrolls were unfurled.

A chain of purple-white chakra shot forward, a spearhead at the tip, tore into the slumbering Four-Tails. The Tailed Beast didn't even whimper.

"Stay close," Tsuchigumo instructed them. "We'll be making the jump to the Eye manually."

Kagami swore and stepped closer to the Four-Tails. So close, in fact, she could reach out and thread her fingers through its blood-red fur. She was not looking forward to their space-time travel method. She had been violently ill for days after they had fled their old hideout.

The volcano began to rumble. Magma bubbled up, releasing thick plumes of noxious gas. "Oh, fuck," Kagami breathed.

Mount Akiyama was erupting.

"Tsuchigumo! Get us out of here!" Kagami screeched.

"In three... two... one..." Tsuchigumo counted.

The last thing Kagami saw was a rising tide of molten rock before being whisked away to the safety of the Eye, Four-Tails and all.

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto stood at the head of a group of the people he trusted most in the Leaf: the former Team Ten, Shikamaru, Ino, and Chōji; the former Team Eight, Kiba, Shino, and Hinata; Lee stood alone, Neji dead and Tenten crippled; Team Ebisu, Konohamaru, Moegi, and a newly healed Udon; Tsunade and Shizune lingered near the back with Sakura not far from her old master; from the younger generation he had summoned Himawari, Sarada, and Shikadai. They mulled about, shifting from foot to foot, and he could see the clear questioning in their eyes as they wondered why their Hokage had summoned them.

"We have a problem," Naruto said, drawing their attention. "I learned earlier today that the Hidden Stone has attempted to capture and seal Son Gokū. I have... I have been unable to contact him, so I can only assume that they have succeeded."

The room was deathly still. Then it erupted into a clamor of voices yelling over the other to be heard. Naruto raised his hand and they were silenced. "I am going to the Land of Earth to find out what happened to Son Gokū ensure Kokuō remains safe, and put an end to this war once and for all. While I'm gone..." Naruto's gaze drifted over to Konohamaru. "Konohamaru will assume the role of Hokage."

Naruto could see Konohamaru's eyes bulge as he leaned forward comically and paled. "N-Naruto! I'm honored, but I can't," he stuttered.

"You've always been the next candidate for Hokage," Naruto said with a grin. "Just for a day, you can pretend you're Lord Eighth."

"I'm not strong enough to defend the village while you're away," Konohamaru admitted, looking abashed.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Konohamaru," Naruto said. "That's why I'll be leaving a clone behind, just in case, to ensure the safety of the village."

"B-But, why then?" Konohamaru asked.

Shikamaru exhaled a wisp of smoke as he lowered a cigarette from his lips. "A trap," he rasped. "You think the Akatsuki will take advantage of your presumed absence and try to free Bolt. You're learning, Naruto."

"Gee, thanks, Shikamaru," Naruto grumbled. Honestly, why did everyone think he had ramen for brains? He could strategize... sometimes.

"Are you sure it was Stone that captured the Four-Tails?" Shikamaru asked.

Naruto nodded. "Son told me just before we lost contact," he explained. "He drove off a force of Stone ninja. He thought they were scouts."

Shikamaru breathed a raspy sigh as he took another drag. "Troublesome," he groaned.

Naruto frowned. "What is?" he asked.

"This whole thing smells rotten," Shikamaru grumbled. "The Akatsuki hasn't done anything—that we know of—for two whole months since Bolt was arrested. No attacks, no escape attempts, nothing. It's just... odd."

"You think... you think they're the ones responsible for the disappearance of the Tailed Beasts?" Naruto asked.

"I don't know," Shikamaru sighed. "But I know we're being fools for just assuming they're sitting on their asses. The Stone ninja could have weakened or distracted the Four-Tails for the Akatsuki members to attack and gain the upper hand. Even if they aren't as strong as Bolt... we can't underestimate their strength."

"My Dad's right," Shikadai spoke up. "Bolt would never have allowed himself to be captured if he didn't think his other pieces in play couldn't get him out of checkmate. That's his style: lead from the front. We're too busy dealing with him to see the others coming. More than that... Bolt would never allow himself to have weak teammates."

Naruto didn't want to believe it. He had gotten to know the Tailed Beasts in the years following the war. They were his friends. He knew how strong they were. The number of people in the world who could even survive going toe-to-toe with them could be counted on one's hands and feet. The number who could actually defeat one? Less than that. Was he... was he being blinded by his friendship?

"We could always just ask," Himawari suggested. "It's not like we don't have my brother locked in the basement."

"We already did," Shikamaru sighed. "Naruto didn't detect any dishonesty with his empath sensing. So either he told the truth, which is becoming more and more unlikely, or..."

"Or he found a way to trick me," Naruto finished with a frown. _"Kurama?"_ he asked.

" **Don't look at me,"** the fox rumbled. **"You humans are all the same snivelling brats to me."**

"We should assume the Akatsuki had a hand in, or was responsible for, one or more of the Tailed Beasts disappearing," Shikamaru continued. "Hidan and the new Akatsuki member travelled through the Land of Steam before the coup. It's possible they were the ones who took down the Three-Tails."

Naruto sighed. He was so sure that Chōjūrō had something to do with Isobu's disappearance. The Mist had withdrawn from the Union so quickly at the first opportunity... it just felt strange. "You're right," Naruto admitted. "We should assume the Akatsuki is up to something, even if we don't know what."

Shikamaru nodded. "If you're leaving to find out what happened to the Four-Tails... I'll go find out what happened to the Three-Tails," he said. "While I'm gone, I'll find out what happened with the Land of Steam. If the Akatsuki had a hand in either... I'll find out. Either way, Hidan can't be allowed to roam free."

Ino and Chōji nodded in agreement with their old team leader. Shikamaru smiled grimly. Naruto knew the three of them were angered by his son unearthing Hidan. He had killed their teacher... Naruto could empathize with that. Hidan had killed his own teacher, too, many years after the war ended. Naruto frowned.

"While we're both gone," Shikamaru drawled, eying his son. "The task force will be on high alert. You're the first and best line of defense against the Akatsuki if they attack. You can hold them off until Naruto's clone deals with the threat."

"Lee?" Naruto asked. "Can I count on you being there to help them?"

Lee straightened and struck a pose, pumping his fist and nodding. Naruto smiled fondly, expecting to hear an exclamation about "youth." He took a deep breath. "Alright," Naruto said. "Let's move—"

Sai appeared, slipping out of the shadows and staggering on his feet. His breath came quick and shallow. "Naruto!" he exclaimed, face paler than normal. "The Akatsuki! T-They, the... Mist!"

Naruto's eyes widened.

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

Hikari took a deep, shuddering breath and placed the mask upon her face with trembling hands. Not her hunter ninja's mask, which she had been unable to cast away even years after leaving the Mist, but one of the Uzumaki clan's feared and secret death masks.

She felt a foreign, cold chakra invade her body. Powerful and strangling, like a weed wringing the life out of a bed of flowers, yet hesitant in its attack. Before her eyes, a man appeared. Tall and deathly thin, Hikari could count his ribs beneath the folds of his snow-white funeral robes. White-silver hair with a strand or two of blood-red spilled to either side of a mask that depicted a horned, snarling skull.

Hikari shivered. "I need your help," she said.

"... We do not serve those not of the blood," the High Priest rasped.

"Bolt has been captured," Hikari stated resolutely, her chin held high and her shoulders back. "I am attempting to free him. I can accomplish the task on my own, but the help of you and the others will greatly increase my chance of success."

The High Priest hummed, a sound like sandpaper grinding against stone. He drew in a ragged, rasping breath. "Very well," he intoned. "We will lend you our aid until the Eternal Sentinel is returned to us."

As if he had never been there, the vision of the High Priest withered and faded from before her eyes. Hikari breathed a sigh of relief as she removed the death mask.

"My Lady?" Tetsu questioned, behind her.

"They agreed," Hikari said. "We're ready. If—when Mist falls, that should be enough to draw the eyes of the Union away from Bolt and onto us. If that doesn't give him his window of escape, nothing will."

Tetsu nodded resolutely, bowing slightly. "We should get going," Hikari stated. "Kagami and Kagari should reach the Four-Tails today if Tsuchigumo's intel is still good. That will kick the bee's nest on the western front."

Tetsu fell into step behind her as the two of them marched through the halls of the Eye. "Still no sign of the Five-Tails, my Lady?" he asked.

"None," Hikari answered with a small frown. The Five-Tails had proven most elusive, evading both Tsuchigumo's spies and the Hidden Stone ninja. For a giant, five-tailed dolphin-horse, they should have been able to find its location easily.

Hikari faltered as she reached out and connected to their astral communication network. _"Tsuchigumo,"_ she echoed. _"Requesting summons to the Hidden Mist."_

" _Acknowledged, Hikari,"_ Tsuchigumo said. _"Your rallying point is located in the financial district, downtown Hidden Mist. Village defenses will register your intrusion in exactly sixty seconds following your summoning."_

" _More than enough time,"_ Hikari said, more to herself than either Tsuchigumo or Tetsu.

" _Let me know when you are ready,"_ Tsuchigumo echoed softly.

Hikari broke away from Tetsu and quickly slipped into her and Bolt's quarters. She dressed, quickly and ritualistically, slipping out of her casual clothes and hunter's mask and into her Akatsuki robes. The charcoal-gray form-fitting pants and undershirt, the heeled boots with the white guard in the style of the Hidden Rain, and the flowing black robes dotted with blood-red clouds. Hikari stared at herself in the mirror before lowering her gaze to her palms. She willed the storage seals there to activate, surrendering the treasures within; a ring of silvery metal that clasped a pearly white diamond. Hikari carefully slipped White onto her right middle finger, clenching her fist. With a deep breath, she reached for her hunter's mask and replaced it upon her face.

Perhaps, after today, the instinct to always cover her face would finally fade. Perhaps today was the day Hikari finally freed herself of her instinctual fear of the looming shadow the Hidden Mist cast.

" _I'm ready, Tsuchigumo,"_ Hikari said.

" _As am I,"_ Tetsu echoed her.

" _In ten, nine, eight..."_ Tsuchigumo began to count down.

In Bolt's stead, she was the leader of the Akatsuki. He was entrusting her with his dream. Hikari could not allow herself to fail at this critical juncture. _"Stick to the plan, Tetsu,"_ Hikari said. _"You will challenge the Mizukage for his sword, and I will focus on keeping the rest of the village distracted."_

" _Yes, my Lady,"_ Tetsu swore.

" _Three, two, one..."_ Tsuchigumo said.

Time and space were stretched thin as Hikari felt a powerful pull at her navel. An instant later, amid a cloying wisp of acrid smoke, she appeared inside a small middle-class home in the style of the Land of Water. Hikari took a breath. It reminded her strongly of her childhood. She had not been inside the walls of the Hidden Mist in... more than a decade. A young man in his twenties stood before them, expression blank, and Hikari knew he was one of Tsuchigumo's puppets.

The puppet nodded to them and quickly slipped out the front door and fled into the city to hide and gather intel during the battle. Hikari took a deep breath and shared a glance with Tetsu. He was as tall, broad, and powerful as always. Garbed in his Akatsuki robe and armed with the massive Seversword held casually and easily in one hand, he was an intimidating sight.

Thirty seconds passed and Hikari decided that Tsuchigumo had had enough time to mobilize and organize his puppets. "Good luck, Tetsu," Hikari said, stepping for the door.

"I will not fail you, my Lady," Tetsu rumbled.

Hikari nodded. They both couldn't afford to fail. Not here. And Hikari knew she wouldn't. It was time to prove to the world that Bolt was not the only S-class threat lurking in the Akatsuki. She and Bolt had trained together for years, honing their skills, developing new and powerful techniques never before seen. Today, she would prove it. To the world, to herself, and to the Mist.

The moment she stepped through the door, the entire world paused in solemn awe and terror. Hikari felt the eyes of tens, then hundreds, of people as she and Tetsu emerged from the house, their gaze drawn to the infamous Akatsuki robes. Civilians and ninja alike gaping in open fear. With a twitch of her fingers, Hikari withdrew two fistfuls of throwing needles from the storage seals on her palms. She hurled them with such strength the needles hissed as they parted the air. Two ninja, standing near a fish stall and watching over the market square, dropped dead as her needles pierced through their eyes and into their skulls.

Then the screaming started.

Tetsu broke away from her, sprinting north towards the center of the city where the Mizukage's tower loomed above and watched over all. With a single swing of his sword, he cut down a three-man cell of chūnin that had leapt into action and rallied to their village's defense.

Hikari, however, had a different destination. One that was both of strategical importance to crippling the Hidden Mist, but also on a deeply personal level. The hunter ninja compound. Although she was certain all of her former tormentors and teammates were dead, Hikari would take no small amount of pleasure in ensuring no one ever suffered through what she and those other children were forced to endure. That it crippled the Mist was simply a bonus.

She headed south, towards the crags overlooking the bay that allowed ships to dock and trade with the city. The hunter ninja's compound, Hikari knew, lay deep beneath the bay's waves, sheltered within one of the city's drained aquifers. A cell of five ninja, a jōnin, a chūnin, and three genin leapt from the rooftops and barred her passage. A fistful of needles easily downed the genin, leaving her to deal with the chūnin and jōnin. Both men charged her, the jōnin wielding a sword and the chūnin brandishing his fists. Hikari traded blows with the chūnin, her chakra-enhanced strength turning his bones to pulp, before expertly dodging slashes from the jōnin that were almost pitifully slow in comparison to either Bolt or Tetsu's nigh preternatural speed. She ended his life with a flick of her wrist and a needle lodged in the man's neck.

The chaos of battle overtook the city and Hikari slipped into old patterns easily. She avoided the civilians, they weren't the target of the Akatsuki, and did not go out of her way to kill ninja whose sole purpose was to evacuate and guard the civilians. She kept to old alleyways and rooftops, occasionally pausing ever so briefly to slay whoever barred her path or challenged her. When Hikari began to smell the slightly sweet, salty scent of the ocean, she knew she was getting close. She took a deep breath and clenched a fist. The weight of the death masks Bolt had entrusted her with—including his own—were a tangible weight in the storage seals on her palms. Hikari was determined to use them only if strictly necessary. She would not, however, risk Bolt's mask falling into enemy hands. Death would be preferable.

Hikari crested the crags of the bay and leapt into the water far below. There were cries of alarm, people filing onto large ships and old wooden fishing boats alike. A few ninja attempted to attack her. They quickly learned not to attack a master of Water Release in her natural element. Hikari dispatched their attackers with expertly precise and deadly lances of pressurized water.

It was only a short swim forward, out into the ocean's open waves, guiding herself on memory alone through the thick mist that consumed her, before Hikari found the hidden island entrance to the hunter ninja compound.

It appeared she had not been fast enough.

There were tens, perhaps a hundred, masked hunters lying in wait for her. They wore featureless white masks decorated with demonic, slitted eyes and fierce warpaint and were garbed in the traditional blue and green robes of their profession. They mulled about, shifting nervously from foot to foot, palming weapons and sharing nervous glances with their comrades. Hikari shifted her gaze to follow one hunter as he stepped forward. He was tall, thin, with coiled muscles that she could see shifting beneath his robes. His black-gray hair was held in a loose knot behind his head, stray strands falling over his hunter's mask. The newest head of the organization, Hikari presumed.

"Hikari Yagami," the man spoke, loud and clear and ringing in the silence of the mist. "You are surrounded. Lay down your weapons and surrender, by order of the Mizukage."

Hikari looked to her left, her right, seeing the hunters begin to spread out and form cells in preparation of a battle. She could see their fear in their eyes, the way they were too wide, too focused, catching the light. The way sweat beaded and trailed down their necks.

"All I am surrounded by is fear..." Hikari said, clenching a fist. "And dead men."

The hunters charged, silent as Death itself, only the sound of ringing steel giving away their movement. Hikari withdrew two fistfuls of needles and spun on the balls of her feet as she hurled them at her oncoming attackers. The hunters were well-versed in her chosen weapon and were able to easily block or dodge her attack, save for two. The closest of her attacks, armed with swords, Hikari danced away from. She kicked one in the side of the knee, pulping his bones and blowing his leg away in a spray of bloody mist with her chakra-enhanced strength. The other hunters seemed more wary to engage her after her display of strength.

Their leader lunged at her, fists coated in shimmering gauntlets of water. Hikari danced away, dodging, and the gauntlets surged forward like battering rams to strike at her. With a sharp breath and an even shaper exhale, Hikari spat a wall of water into the man and knocked him away with sheer blunt force.

The others swarmed her. Hikari kept them at bay with wide, sweeping chakra-enhanced kicks and arcing blades of pressurized water that cut through stone as easily as paper. Her hands were a blur as her needlework took down those that were too slow to dodge or recover, or who outright had no business fighting a ninja of her class in the first place.

The ground ran red with blood until there was none left to face her save for their leader, kneeling and panting as he held a broken, mangled arm. "You... won't win," the man rasped.

Hikari approached the dying and defeated man. He made no move to defend himself. Casually, she rested the palm of her hand against the blood-stained hunter's mask he wore. Hikari heard footsteps, numerous and furious, as boots slapped against water and stone. Men and women, ninja and hunter alike, poured forth from the mist and surrounded her. Hikari looked to them, head panning as she took in the reinforcements that had been called. Mercilessly, chakra-enhanced strength coursed through her body. She crushed the man's skull, mask and all, and let him drop the ground.

There were many of them. Too many of them. She didn't have time to count them all. Three-man cells, chūnin and genin led by grizzled jōnin. A few stood out to her. Two cells of hunter elite hunter ninja. A cell of fishmen, towering above their human comrades. Swordsmen with blades that were obviously enchanted with power beyond mere steel. Less than a hundred teams, more than fifty. Hikari had confidence in her strength, but she was not arrogant like Bolt was. She knew her limits. And, she prayed, Bolt would learn his. If he so admired the Raikage, he should know that the Third died not by an enemy, but by exhaustion.

Hikari took a deep, steadying breath as she reached for the well of chakra that dwelled between her Gates of Opening and Healing. The seal pulsed, responding to her need, and burned across her body as it spread and filled her with the power of a thousand of her future selves. It was time to put months, years, of training with Bolt to the test. Hikari had been there when Bolt had challenged himself, tested himself, made the leap of faith across the divide that separated an A-class ninja to an S-class ninja. Back then, she could only watch as he charged forward. Heedless of the danger to himself, unable to follow.

Now? Now... Hikari would make her own leap of faith. She found the yawning abyss before her, clear and tangible as any canyon, unfathomably deep and dark. Two options lay before her: succeed, or die.

Hikari knew which she would choose.

Her chakra coiled within her, like a snake, furious and hissing and poised to lash at her enemies. There were no hand signs to weave, no name to speak. It was a technique that had to be felt in one's veins, with every beat of her heart, with every breath she drew.

Water Release users were thought of as the weakest of all elemental users. Lightning and Fire could be generated, and there was not a place on this Earth where the Wind did not touch. And none of their people ventured far from the land, even in the Land of Water, giving Earth Release users more than enough ammunition for their arsenal. But Water? Water had to come from without. In dire circumstances, it could be generated within. But never in sufficiently large quantities. That was what separated Water Release users; from dabbler to legend.

Tobirama Senju was one such legend. The greatest Water Release user to ever draw breath, creating entire lakes with a single exhale.

But Hikari was not a Senju, and though her Strength of a Hundred may have given her the ability to store as much chakra as Tobirama had naturally, it would be a waste to squander her chakra so. Hikari had learned, at a young age, that a Water Release user stranded adrift a sea of dirt and rock had to make due with what little liquid they had at hand. Drawing vapor from the air, draining it from the plants. But... there was one source of water that no one had ever tapped. Hikari wondered why.

By weight, the human body was nearly sixty percent water. Hikari would know. The Mist had been very thorough in her education.

Her chakra lashed out at the same time Hikari thrust her grasping hands forward, an intangible sixth sense guiding her technique as it sank its claws into her enemies. The ninja that had been charging her faltered, some dropping, others sensing hesitating as their instincts screamed at them. Hikari seized control, usurping their bodies, commanding them to move as she willed. Some, she found, resisted. If only briefly, before she reversed the flow of their blood and killed them. She didn't have the strength of will or chakra to fight for control of _every_ body.

Hikari lined them up, standing them in rows. Their fear radiated from their bodies, nigh tangible. They stopped struggling as more and more of their comrades either died or obeyed her commands.

Hikari found her body trembling as her chakra left her in ever greater waves. She did not have the stamina to maintain the technique against so many for so long. She selected a single survivor at random; a little girl who looked as if she had been in an Academy classroom until the very moment the Akatsuki had appeared within the walls of her home.

The others? Hikari exsanguinated them with barely a thought. The small island, barely a spit of sand, was drowned in a literal tide of blood. Her body sagged as the technique ended, her strength spent. Hikari drew in ragged, deep breaths as quickly as she could without her vision going dark around the edges.

She couldn't appear weak now. Not when she carried the mantle of Bolt's dream on her shoulders. Hikari straightened, shoulders back and chin held high, as she approached the trembling, sobbing girl. "Live," she told the girl. She looked up at Hikari with wide, tearful eyes. "The age of the Great Five is over. The time of the Akatsuki has come."

The girl turned and fled, scrambling over the corpses of the dead and slipping through rivers of blood. She hit the water in a mere instant and was lost to the mist. Hikari knew she would carry the message and it would its way to the ears of whoever dared stand against them.

Hikari sucked in a long, deep breath, the scent of copper so strong she could taste it on her tongue. She lifted a trembling hand to her face, grasping the mask that she had been too terrified to remove for so very, very long. Her fingers found the edge, easily disabling the technique that held it to her face, and Hikari was surprised at how quickly she cast away what had been her second face for nearly her entire life. The mask stared up at her, slitted eyes taunting her, as it bobbed up and down atop a puddle of blood.

Hikari clenched a fist, tapping into more of her stored chakra, and brought her fist down upon it. The mask shattered into a thousand pieces, disintegrating to dust, and the island beneath her fist trembled as the strength of her punch carried itself deep into the ground. Waves reared up, disturbed as the aquifer below the bay was obliterated by her attack. Hikari sprinted back towards the Hidden Mist as the island sank beneath the waves.

She didn't look back.

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

Tetsu strode forward, ever moving towards the center of the city and looming tower that gazed over the Hidden Mist. There, he knew, his foe awaited him. Many rose to challenge him, and all fell to his blade as he forcibly cut a path of death and destruction through the village. Eventually, the ninja stopped trying. Tetsu could respect that. There was no dishonor to admit when one was facing a foe greater than themselves.

Tetsu quickly understood why the Mist ninja had stopped attacking. The Sixth Mizukage stood before him, surprisingly short of stature for such a storied swordsman. Tetsu dwarfed him, easily, by at least two feet. The ceremonial robes and hat of the Mizukage were cast away to reveal short-cropped, sky-blue hair and angry eyes hidden behind combat goggles. The Mizukage was flanked by three swordsmen, one woman and two men.

Tetsu's eyes rested on their blades. The Mizukage, hands gripping the hilts of the Twinswords tightly. The woman, blonde, thin, and tall, willowy like his Lord, brandishing the Needlesword. One of the men was a burly, portly man, barrel-chested with bulging, muscular arms and a fat nose. He wielded the Bluntsword, the hammer held in his right hand and the axe in his left. The last was, surprisingly, a fishman. Tall and muscular with broad shoulders, he stood nearly as tall as Tetsu himself was. He gripped the Blastsword tightly with both hands.

"This one challenges you to a duel," Tetsu rumbled, his own hands gripping the hilt of the Seversword tightly. "For the honor to wield the Seven."

The Mizukage stood at the fore of those assembled against him. "Ito," he said, tone firm and commanding. The woman quirked her head. "Yuudai," the wielder of the Bluntsword grunted. "Hideaki. We do this together. Don't underestimate him."

"Yes, sir," they chorused.

Tetsu drew one of the katana sheathed at his hip, wielding it in his left hand. Chakra effused his swords, shrouding them in a blue-white cloak of chakra. His opponents brandished their swords in return.

The Mizukage was the first to attack. He leapt skyward, the Twinswords held one over the other, chakra blossoming across their blades, coalescing and pooling upon itself until it formed a giant hammer. Tetsu eyed the technique approvingly. It reminded him strongly of his own people's Saber technique. Tetsu held his Seversword in a reverse grip, brandishing the flat of the blade like a shield.

The Mizukage struck with all the force of a Tailed Beast. Tetsu locked his knees as the cobblestone streets beneath his feet shattered and cracked under the force of the blow. Tetsu focused on the three followers of the Mizukage as they darted forward. The wielder of the Needlesword was fastest. She dashed forward, a blur, and hurled her sword at him like a spear. Tetsu knocked it away with his katana. He saw the shine of wire-thin steel connecting the pommel of the Needlesword to its wielder. As he withdrew his sword, he cut the thread. Ito growled as she tugged on the wire and her sword remained where it had impaled itself in the ground. Tetsu continued his free sword's movement, slashing upwards and unleashing a Flash upon the Mizukage as their blades were freed from their clash.

The wielders of the Bluntsword and Blastsword charged forward as their Mizukage blocked his Flash. Tetsu sent an arcing Flash cascading towards them. The two men leapt, jumping over it, and Tetsu caught the both of them with a single slash of his Seversword. The wielder of the Bluntsword blocked for them, catching Tetsu's sword with the axe. "Go, Hideaki!" he bellowed.

Tetsu looked up as the fishman used the flat of the Seversword to leap skyward. He brought the Blastsword up, both hands gripping the hilt tightly, and the tags on its blade began to glow orange-red. The Blastsword came down with a roared battle cry, the air blossoming with explosive fire in the wake of the slash.

Tetsu disengaged, scampering away, as the street was consumed in a concussive blast of light and heat. He held his katana up defensively, shielding his eyes, catching the barest glimpse of a blur reclaiming the Needlesword.

The blue-haired Mizukage attacked. Tetsu narrowly avoided a technique that resembled a controlled Flash as it slashed through the fire of the Blastsword and attempted to bisect him at the waist. Blue-white chakra trailed from the Twinswords, like a tail, giving the swords a much greater reach. Tetsu was again reminded of the strong similarities to the Saber technique, albeit far outstripping it in scale and power.

Tetsu was forced to retreat, again, as the wielder of the Bluntsword slammed the hammer down upon the street and caused shockwaves to ripple through the ground. Tetsu caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision and twitched away. He narrowly avoided being impaled by the Needlesword, its wielder keeping to the rooftops and harrying him from a distance. Tetsu would not allow them to make a mockery of an honorable duel any longer. He let go his katana, fist lashing out, catching the Needlesword as it passed him.

"Ito! Let go!" the Mizukage barked.

Tetsu gave a mighty tug, the chakra wire connecting the Needlesword to its wielder going taut as he pulled the woman towards him. She yelped, screaming shrilly as she tumbled through the air. Tetsu rounded on her and unleashed a Flash from his Seversword. The wielder of the Blastsword leapt between them, unleashing another explosive slash of his sword. Their two techniques collided with a clap of thunder, detonating with such force that the buildings around them crumbled inward and collapsed.

Tetsu quickly picked up the Needlesword, determined to not let its wielder become an annoyance. She would not strike him. Her speed was a pale shadow of his Lord's. But she would distract him from facing the others in honorable single combat. The longer he held the Needlesword, the more Tetsu could feel a foreign, dark knowledge fill his mind. Knowledge of sewing and corpses, in the human body's weakest points where the Needlesword would most easily pierce them.

Tetsu shook his head, clearing it of the Needlesword's presence. He stored it within one of the seals on his arms, clarity returning to him as he quickly drew his katana once more. The Mizukage and the wielder of the Bluntsword charged him as the fishman saw to the former wielder of the Needlesword. Tetsu held the Mizukage at bay as he slashed at the portly man trying to shatter his katana with either the axe or hammer of the Bluntsword.

He would not be able to win using only the Seversword, Tetsu realized. He batted away the Twinswords as the Mizukage attacked, a vicious combination of slashes with both broadleaf swords that left little room to do anything other than dodge and block. With his free sword, Tetsu unleashed several small, weak Flashes that put some much needed space between him and his two—now three, as the wielder of the Blastsword rejoined the battle—opponents.

Tetsu quickly sheathed his katana and withdrew the Thunderswords from the seal on his arm. He placed one of the comparatively smaller Thunderswords in his mouth, biting down hard on the hilt, and wielding the sword's twin in his free hand. Satisfied, Tetsu brandished the Seversword as the Thunderswords aggressive chakra welled within him and bestowed upon him their knowledge of Lightning Release.

Lightning danced up and down the blades of the Thunderswords as the former wielder of the Needlesword rejoined her comrades wielding a common shortsword. His opponents brandished their blades, each edging forward with their eyes cold and determined. Tetsu lunged forward, thrusting a Thundersword forward and unleashing a lance of screaming electricity that tore through the air. He lashed out with the Seversword, the air hissing in agony as the massive blade swung forward.

The Twinswords came together, forming a makeshift shield with the flat of their blades, and blocked his Seversword from cleaving his assembled foes in half. The wielder of the Blastsword danced away from the lance of lightning his Thundersword generated while the wielder of the Bluntsword charged him with a battle cry.

Tetsu shoulder-checked the portly man, thrusting the Thundersword held between his teeth forward with a jerk of his head. Lightning arced, following the pattern of the slash, and nearly impaled the man in the neck.

The woman who he had stolen the Needlesword from charged him with a screech. Tetsu parried her sword with his own, their blades sparking as they danced around each other, before he stepped into her guard and hooked his elbow around her forearm. He threw his hips back as he grappled her, snapping the bone and throwing her to the ground. She screamed in pain as he brought up an armored boot to crush her.

The fishman charged him, coming to her rescue, brandishing the Blastsword menacingly. Tetsu strained against the Mizukage as their two swords grinded against each other, locked in a struggle. His chakra was set ablaze in his heart, burning through his pathways. Tetsu channeled chakra into the Seversword, orange-red tongues of flame licking at its edges.

Tetsu unleashed a point-blank Fire Release: Flash that had his opponents wide-eyed and retreating. The woman whimpering in pain at his feet screamed as fire exploded across the street like a rising tide before she was silenced forever. Tetsu waded through the fire, the hem of his Akatsuki robes set ablaze, and threw the Thundersword clenched in his free hand forward. It sunk into the charred cobblestone street, glowing white-blue with electricity. Tetsu quickly withdrew his newly and honorably claimed Needlesword from the storage seal he had placed it in.

Its grisly, dark knowledge filled his mind again. As the smoke, billowing and black-gray, cleared, Tetsu could practically see the paths in his mind's eye as the Needlesword supplied them to him. He caught a glimpse of the Blastsword wielder, the fishman distraught and screaming as angry tears spilled from his eyes, and Tetsu hurled the Needlesword like a spear with such strength that it was wreathed in a cone of mist and unleashed a concussive boom as it left his hand.

The Needlesword struck true, piercing through the fishman's chest and obliterating his body from the navel up. The moment the wielder of the Blastsword died, the Thundersword he had impaled into the ground violently expelled the electric charge it had been gathering and rent the ground as fissures of blindingly white lightning lunged at the Mizukage and the wielder of the Bluntsword.

"Yuudai, jump!" the Mizukage barked.

The portly man seemed to hesitate, sorrowful eyes resting on the deceased fishman, but followed his Kage's orders.

Tetsu dashed forward with a small, grim smile, eager to claim another of his honorably won prizes. His pulled the Thundersword from the street as he passed, quickly gathering and sealing away the Needlesword and Blastsword. Tetsu was not willing to risk using the volatile, explosive sword without first training to wield it. The brief contact between the palm of his hand and hilt of the sword as he sealed it away spoke of chaos; fire and explosive destruction.

"I'll make an opening for you, Yuudai," the Mizukage said, not bothering to hide his plan. "Take him at the first opportunity."

The wielder of the Bluntsword nodded, brows narrowed in anger as he got his head back in the battle. The Mizukage lunged at him, Twinswords glowing blue-green, like the ocean, with chakra. Tetsu batted away one with the Seversword, forcing the Mizukage to block with the other as he thrust a Thundersword forward. Tetsu pushed, slashing at the blue-haired swordsman with the Thundersword clenched between his teeth. Lightning lashed out, eager to claim another victim.

The wielder of the Bluntsword charged in, heedless of the danger. Tetsu could respect the man. When learning some of the more dangerous and advanced forms of the Heavenly Flying Sword style, he had frequently been required to throw caution into the wind and run into the sharp edge of a waiting sword. Master Nishimura had been a good but harsh instructor.

Tetsu blocked a savage swing of the Bluntsword's axe with his Seversword, ready to slash forward and either bat the man away or cleave him in two. The Mizukage slapped the flat of both Twinswords down, glowing green-blue, and caught his Seversword, holding it fast. Tetsu's eyes widened as he realized what the two men were attempting to do. The wielder of the Bluntsword raised his hammer high and brought it down with a roar even as Tetsu lunged forward with his Thundersword.

He was too late to stop the hammer from connecting with the butt of the axe. Tetsu watched as his chakra-reinforced Seversword was cleanly cleaved in two no more than two feet from the crossguard.

He was not too late, however, to stab the wielder of the Bluntsword in the throat with his Thundersword. The portly man let out a gurgling, choked croak of pain before releasing the axe and hammer and falling to his knees. He clutched at his throat, blood welling and seeping through grasping fingers.

Tetsu turned to face an enraged Mizukage, snarling at him with bared teeth and a barely contained growl. Tetsu frowned at his broken Seversword, angered that it would take days, if not weeks, to regrow after feasting upon copious quantities of human blood. He sealed the broken Seversword back into its seal on his forearm and removed the Thundersword from his mouth.

"You'll pay for that," the Mizukage hissed.

Tetsu ignored the blue-haired swordsman's goading and eyed the discarded Bluntsword, lying in a growing pool of blood behind him. His eyes returned to the Mizukage, inching forward with the Twinswords glowing a brilliant blue-green color.

He had grown tired of the battle. The Mist could not offer him a suitable challenge. Still, Tetsu would honor his opponents like all others he had fought before them. An honorable duel in single combat, a warrior's death.

So, too, did it seem the Mizukage had grown tired of him. Angered enough and no longer held back by his subordinates, Tetsu suspected he was about to witness the full power of the Twinswords and their wielder. The two broadleaved swords' glow began to intensify, becoming blinding as they glowed blue-green-white, like sunlight dancing across the sea's waves. The Mizukage brought them together, forming a single, massive two-handed sword.

Tetsu's brows narrowed. Even to his untrained senses, he could tangibly feel the sheer radiating chakra. He recalled that the power of the Twinswords was the ability to store chakra, stockpiling it for later release. Akin to his Lady's power, Tetsu reasoned. The Mizukage was going to unleash decades of stored chakra to utterly obliterate him.

Tetsu's lips twitched into a grim grin.

He would honor his opponent's wishes. If it was to be a duel of quantity of chakra they could bring to bear, Tetsu was unwilling to retreat. He dug deep, dredging up chakra from the very pits of his being. Like embers exposed to a new wind, they blazed to life. The Thunderswords reacted to his need, devouring ambient electrical charge in the atmosphere and greedily feasting upon it. Lightning danced across his skin, burning through his Akatsuki robe. Tetsu shrugged the tattered garment from his shoulders. He could feel two primal forces of nature, Fire and Lightning, mixing and coalescing in the core of his being. A radiating, eclipsing inferno roared to life in Tetsu, stoked ever higher by his desire to defeat his opponent and claim the Twinswords.

The world slowed to a crawl for Tetsu as he was wreathed in Lightning Release chakra. This, he realized, must be what his Lord felt when using his Lightning Armor. Tetsu smiled thinly as he brandished both Thunderswords, the sky darkening overhead.

The Mizukage roared, releasing a furious battle cry, swinging the Twinswords forward. Tetsu's eyes darted skyward even as his arms lashed out. A colossal blade of green-blue chakra erupted from the Twinswords, reaching as high as the clouds, before crashing down upon him. For a moment, Tetsu saw the wavy, iridescent lights that danced in the night sky over the Land of Iron.

The beauty of his opponent's attack was washed away by a scouring white-gold light, wreathed in red-orange chakra. Tetsu's Flash cascaded forward, writhing and coiling as if it had a life of his own. It followed no pattern of movement he had ever seen before, like a cracking whip or swishing tail. Tetsu only had but an instant for his eyes to widen as the Flash passed by stone— glowing red-orange for an instant before fading to wisps of gas.

The world was awash in a sea of white as their two techniques collided.

Then, darkness.

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

Tetsu awoke, muscles aching and skin raw.

"Don't move," a woman commanded.

Tetsu cracked open an eye. Quite literally, Tetsu assumed, because he felt the skin of his eyelid tear and break. "Yes, my Lady," Tetsu rasped.

Hikari loomed over him, unmasked, her hands glowing with a crystalline green chakra. "That was very foolish of you, Tetsu," she chided him. Tetsu would have chuckled had he the strength. "Between you and Bolt, I am beginning to think it is a genetic trait of Uzumaki men to heedlessly put themselves in harm's way."

Tetsu cracked a small, feeble smile. His Fire Release: Flash, more powerful than any he had unleashed before— let alone seen or heard of— must have damaged him, too. He was thankful that the fire had burned away his ability to feel pain or Tetsu was sure his mind would have broken under the agony.

"Well done, Tetsu," Hikari said softly. "We've won. Sleep now," she commanded, a hand wreathed in green chakra passing over his eyes.

"Swords," Tetsu rasped, darkness creeping into his vision.

"I will fetch them," Hikari promised. "Just.. sleep."

Tetsu did.

* * *

 **December 14th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto rested his head in his hands. The Hidden Mist, attacked? The Mizukage— Chōjūrō— assassinated?

He didn't want to believe it.

"Shikamaru," Naruto said hoarsely. "Take Sakura and a squadron of medics with you. See if you can't help the wounded."

He expected Sakura to protest the order, but she turned and quickly fled, Tsunade and Shizune hot on her heels as they barked orders to assemble a medical ninja and supplies.

Naruto couldn't ignore it anymore.

The Akatsuki— Bolt or no Bolt— was a threat.

* * *

 **December 27th, 0024 AIT**

The night was dark and cold as Hiashi hobbled through the gardens of the Hyūga estate. The flowers were wilting and barren, dying as winter choked the life out of them. He found his way to an unmarked grave, far from the beaten path, a simple marble gravestone surrounded by dying sunflowers.

Hiashi sat, the grass damp and soaking through his robes, and sighed. He uncapped a bottle of rice wine, spilling some of its contents across the grave. "It's been a long time, brother," he breathed.

A year, to be precise. Hiashi visited every year on the same day, rain or shine. December 27th— the day Cloud had tried to take his daughter from him, the day Hizashi had sacrificed himself so that their children would not die in a pointless war.

The day Hiashi had cast aside his heart for the greater good.

He took a long drink of the wine, shivering as the chill of the night seeped into his bones. "I miss you, brother," he admitted. "I don't know if you would have been proud of your grandnephew or not and it frightens me. Old age," he laughed.

Hiashi stared at the grave for a long time until he heard shuffling feet echo through the gardens as his clansmen noticed his absence and began searching for him.

"Either way," he said, taking another sip of wine. "The Hyūga have had their vengeance. Perhaps you can rest easier."

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

"Three hundred and twenty-nine," Bolt breathed, sweat dripping down his neck. "Three hundred and thirty..."

Prison was fucking boring. He slept, he ate, he exercised, and then he began the whole day again.

The telltale whoosh of air alerted him to the barrier falling. Bolt turned, breathing a sigh as he saw that it was only a guard bringing him food. He huffed and stood, stretching as his muscles protested the movement. He approached the tray of food, wondering what barely edible goop they were going to feed him today.

Bolt froze for an instant before his rational mind commanded him to act natural.

There, upon the tray, was a single biscuit, hard as a rock, swimming in brown-gray gravy.

But it wasn't the food that had surprised him.

It was the barely visible swirling pattern, the symbol of the Uzumaki clan, that had been drawn in the gravy.

Bolt wanted to grin so badly the muscles in his cheeks burned with exertion.

It was time.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Sarada sat on her bed, moonlight streaming through her window and illuminating a single framed picture on her desk. She stared at it, eyes welling with unshed tears. It was a photograph of her, Bolt, and Mitsuki just after their graduation. Konohamaru stood behind them, smiling broadly and resting his hands on her and Mitsuki's shoulders. A young Sarada smiled back at her, eyes wide and bright, untainted by the ninja world. Mitsuki wore a small, knowing smile and glanced wryly at Bolt.

Bolt was sullen, arms crossed and lips pursed in a petulant pout. Funny enough, she couldn't remember what he had been upset about. Sarada thought it might have been how his father hadn't been there to congratulate him in person.

She smiled sadly at the memory.

Sarada took a deep, shuddering breath as she reached a trembling hand out. She carefully, reverently, picked up the crude necklace Bolt used to wear. An old bolt with a length of chakra wire welded to it at either side of its head. It was rusted now, flecks of red-brown marring the threads. He had given it to her as a promise on a spit of sand in the Land of Water. He swore he was safe, that he would come back. That he would still be her friend.

Sarada hated him for lying to her. More than that, she hated herself for believing him— no, for failing to discern the lie on that day on the atol. If she had just fought harder, kept fighting, then things would have never turned out this way.

But she hadn't, and they did.

Sarada draped the necklace back over the frame of the picture. She stood, legs feeling weak with nerves. Her hand fell, fingers brushing over cold, scarred steel. Her ninja headband, the symbol of the Leaf proudly shining in the moonlight. She had cared for it religiously over the years, oiling and shining it, changing the fabric when it was torn, charred, or simply too filthy to wear.

Bolt's own headband rested next to hers, a stark contrast. A long, jagged scar ran horizontally through the symbol of the Leaf. It was warped, dented, and scratched, pocked and scarred from countless battles that Sarada could only imagine.

She had taken it on a whim from Bolt's room in the Akatsuki's mountainous hideout. It felt wrong to let it be bagged and tagged, another item of damning evidence against him. The headband was a symbol of the Leaf, whole or marred, loyal ninja or rogue. It was a message, a statement, a way of life.

Sarada took another deep breath, fingers grasping the fabric of her headband and wrapping it around her skull, holding her hair back. She leaned forward to claim Bolt's headband, her eyes catching the reflected moonlight in the picture.

Bloody tears streaked down her cheeks from burning eyes of black and red.

Her fist curled around Bolt's headband as she pocketed it.

What she did tonight... she did to save Bolt.

To save the world.

Sarada strode from her home, garbed in her ANBU armor.

* * *

 **A/N:**

And we're back! Thank you to all the guests who've picked up the story since my previous update. I encourage you all to make accounts. TND has actually been growing and I now get about 1k hits regularly per day, which is a lot in my humble opinion. These two chapters are longer than average by almost double, so you're getting about a full month's worth of word count despite the long gap. **Most likely, moving forward, I'll move to one update every two weeks.** It's a lot more difficult than you would think to consistently write 7-8k words a week with high standards of technical writing, plot clarity and progression, and balancing my real life obligations and other hobbies.

Next chapter marks the official end of the Akatsuki v. Union arc and we'll be seeing Bolt coming back into the picture more prominently.

Hikari didn't have a particularly large role combat wise this chapter, as it was more for the closure of her character arc as she finally cuts the last tethers the Hidden Mist held over her. Tetsu draws ever closer to his goal of assembling all of the Seven. His battle with the Mizukage was difficult to write because I wanted to get the difficulty right. Mist is the second weakest ninja village, after Sand, and their Kage represents that. Darui and Kurotsuchi are stronger than Chōjūrō, but it's hard to not make Chōjūrō a pushover at the same time, you know?

Remember when y'all were freaking out that Bolt was getting a Sharingan? Now you know who he gave it too. Shin's eyes function a little differently than in the manga. I've taken creative liberties with them for plot reasons that will be revealed next chapter. It seemed like he was such a throwaway character that Kishimoto didn't even bother to create a real skillset for him and his clones.

The first Boruto episode is out! And, man, I fucking loved it. It really captured the magic of the original series that I fell in love with. And the animation? Smoothest I've seen in the series outside the movies and a few select important scenes in the anime. I enjoyed Denki and Iwabe's character and Boruto's characterization. One of the problems I've discovered as I've grown older is that I have outgrown the shounen genre and no longer enjoy the whole "dumb protagonist who succeeds with limited resources, talent, and techniques by sheer force of will, trying hard, and fighting for their friends." I'm sure there's an actual word for that trope... Anyway, I think that was one of the reasons I grew so disillusioned with the manga near its end. I started the series as a young teenager and ended it as a young adult with more refined tastes (fuck that sounds pretentious).

Hopefully by the time _The New Dawn_ wraps up, and, God willing, my interest in the series doesn't wane, I hope to write another story in the Boruto generation. I actually had two very different archetypes for Bolt for two very different stories. One, similar to various villains in the series (Nagato, primarily) and another similar to a wanderer Jiraiya-esque hero. Hopefully I can explore the less villainous Bolt in a future story and his (very different) skillset.


	89. Chapter 89

**A/N:** Since I love you guys... here, have the third longest chapter in the story. Also, double release!

* * *

 **December 16th, 0024 AIT**

Kohaku ran a hand through his hair and let a sigh escape his lips as he meandered through the halls of the Hokage tower.

Things were so fucked.

Being an ambassador was hard fucking work. His clan's hair color and headband drew more than a few wary looks by civilians and ninja alike as he wandered the city. People were scared and Kohaku knew scared people made bad decisions that led to even worse actions. The tension in the city was nigh tangible. The name "Uzumaki" used to be a symbol of hope, thanks to the Hokage. But ever since his clan emerged from hiding, ever since Bolt had come to the fore of history as the world's next premier rogue ninja? Now the name brought fear to some and a dark hope to others.

Fucking blond brat. Always making a mess that Kohaku had to clean up. He was going to die of an aneurysm before he even became Uzukage. It wasn't enough that Bolt turned the world on its head, no, he had to go and make himself a death mask. Kohaku wished he could slap his grandmother upside the head. What was she thinking? She freely gave knowledge of the clan's techniques to a boy that they wouldn't be overseeing during his training and he had gone into the deep, dark end of the fūinjutsu pool. Bolt had a long life ahead of him— doubly so because of his Uzumaki blood— and now the only thing waiting for him at the end of it was an eternity of servitude to their Dark Father and his work. He would never be able to reunite with his loved ones, never be with his clansmen...

Well, Kohaku supposed, he would be able to keep Bolt company in death as the years yawned into infinity. He would be taking the mask once he returned home. Now that he thought about it, it brought a smile to Kohaku's face. He would have an eternity to berate the little shit on the errors of his ways.

Kohaku just hoped neither of them would take that next step of their journey too soon.

He sighed, finally having navigated the maze of halls of the Hokage tower and reaching the task force's headquarters. Annoying meetings. More squabbling and bickering and less action. Kohaku idly wondered what they would be arguing about today as he turned the doorknob and stepped into the room.

Kohaku paused in the doorway, eyes taking in the much emptier than normal room and the hard expressions of the Leaf ninja. He stepped forward but not of his own will. Young Shikadai, hands forming the Rat sign, stepped forward from the opposite side of the room with a yawning shadow spanning between them.

"Kohaku Uzumaki," Shikadai said calmly. "You are under arrest."

"Uh," Kohaku said dumbly. "What?"

* * *

 **December 18th, 0024 AIT**

"I still don't like this," Himawari commented quietly, inching closer to Shikadai as the two of them walked the streets of the Leaf in the dying light of the sun.

"It was a risk we couldn't afford to take," her boyfriend explained in a whisper. "I told Kohaku as much. He wouldn't tell us what he and Bolt talked about. If he's innocent, Kohaku won't mind sitting in a cell until we can prove otherwise for the safety of the village, for the world. And if he isn't innocent, well..."

Himawari nodded sourly. It still didn't sit well with her. Shikadai sighed next to her. "Just think of it like this," he said. "As part of the task force, it's his duty to help us fight the Akatsuki and bring them to justice. Right now, this is the best way Kohaku can help. It's keeping the world safe. It's keeping our home safe. It's keeping your _brother_ safe."

"Alright," Himawari sighed, frowning as she caught a few dark glances from the people walking the streets with them. She paused, eying them back. They lowered their gaze and scurried away. "I just think it's going to be trouble later. Trouble for you," she added quietly.

"You're worried about what the Hidden Whirlpool will think?" Shikadai asked.

Himawari nodded. "They're our ally and Kohaku is their ambassador. If Whirlpool finds out we've imprisoned him, they're not going to be happy," she said.

"They'll understand," Shikadai assured her. "And if they don't... I'll gladly pay that price if it means keeping the Leaf safe from the Akatsuki."

Himawari grumbled and let the topic go. She wouldn't let Shikadai take the fall, though. If push came to shove, she was a Sage. No one was strong enough to take Shikadai away from her. Not her brother, and certainly not the Whirlpool.

The two of them slipped into the Akimichi barbecue joint that the students from their Academy year frequented. Himawari frowned as she got a few more dirty looks from the people loitering outside. She sat down with Shikadai at a table and the couple across from her shared a glance and lowly whispered to each other before standing and leaving.

"What the fuck is their problem?" Himawari growled, not bothering to lower her voice.

The restaurant quieted. Shikadai cleared his throat nervously as people looked away and hid behind their menus.

"Ignore them," Chōchō said, plopping down next to Shikadai with a plate of ribs. "They're being stupid."

"Hey, Chōchō," she and Shikadai echoed. Himawari was kind of pissed that she was crashing their date, even if her family did own the restaurant. "So, why is everyone looking at me and Shikadai like we're going to start throwing explosive tags at them?"

Chōchō stripped the meat from the bone of one of her ribs before answering. "Like I said, they're being stupid," she said.

"Care to enlighten the rest of us?" Shikadai pressed.

Chōchō tapped her cheeks and nodded to her. Himawari frowned. "They're scared," their friend shrugged. "Lots of bad shit has been happening recently. First Cloud gets absolutely destroyed and not one, but _two_ Raikage get assassinated, and then Mist gets attacked and the Mizukage kicks it too? Not to mention the whole business with, you know..."

The Four-Tails. It was hard to keep what happened in the Land of Earth under wraps. Mount Akiyama erupted and drowned a third of the country in volcanic ash. The surviving remnants of the battalion sent to find the Four-Tails reported seeing the Akatsuki moving towards the volcano before it blew. Wasn't hard to put two and two together. Himawari could only hope her dad could get a handle on things.

Himawari lowered her gaze and stared holes into the menu. She relaxed as Shikadai put a hand on her shoulder. Across from them, Chōchō shrugged and belched. "The people know war is on the horizon and they feel the weight of our guest of honor in the city—" her brother. "—so they're taking it out on you."

"What?" Himawari snapped angrily. "Just because we look alike?"

"Well, yeah," Chōchō frowned. "Except for, you know, the hair and tits."

Shikadai leveled a piercing stare at Chōchō for her.

"Hey, don't blame me," Chōchō said indignantly. "I'll take some of those good Hyūga genes anyday."

Shikadai sighed. "Troublesome," he grumbled.

For once, Himawari agreed. Chōchō said her goodbyes and waved over a waitress as she disappeared back into the kitchens.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

The tensions in the city— around the world— was high. Himawari could feel it tangibly. People were emigrating to the Land of Steam and Frost and no one knew why. The Revolution was out in force, defending both countries and providing aid to the Land of Earth as it reeled from the eruption of Mount Akiyama. Public support for her brother's movement was at an all time high.

If something didn't change, if someone didn't do something... the world was on the precipice of snapping.

It didn't help that both sides in the Sand-Stone war were at a standstill. The Hidden Stone had a literal army camped on their side of the border and the Hidden Sand had a ragtag army half the size— and that was counting the puppets. Everyone knew Stone was the stronger country, the stronger ninja village. A war between the two would be a slaughter. The only thing keeping the two countries from destroying each other was a spattering of Leaf ninja reinforcing the Hidden Sand and, of course, her father.

Himawari couldn't take much more of it. The world needed to either make peace or war and not pussyfoot between the two. She was worried for Bolt, for their father, for her countrymen, for Shikadai, and for the future.

Perhaps that was why it was so easy to convince herself that this was the right path.

Shikadai's hand on her shoulder, firm and unyielding, stopped her from angrily marching to the Hokage's tower. "Himawari!" he hissed. "Let's calm down and think this through. If you do this now, while you're angry, you won't ever forgive yourself. Trust me. Please."

Himawari shrugged Shikadai's hand off and rounded on him. It was early morning, she hadn't slept, and there were hardly any people in the streets at such an early hour— good, because Himawari was fucking tired of people staring at her like she was going to murder them all just because she and Bolt were siblings. "This is the only way I know how to fix things, Shika!" she hissed back at him.

Shikadai rolled his eyes, putting himself between her and the tower. "If you take Bolt's chakra away... he'll never forgive you," he whispered hoarsely. "He doesn't know how to be anything else. For as long as I've known him, the one thing he could be proud of was how good of a ninja he was. If you take that away from him, he will hate you. He will— I don't think he could handle that, Himawari. He _literally_ doesn't have anything else in his life. I think he'd rather die than be a civilian."

Her heart was already beating wildly in her chest but it seemed as if it was trying to crawl up her throat at the thought of Bolt killing himself. No, that wouldn't happen. Himawari swore it. She was going to take away his chakra precisely so that wouldn't happen. So that they could be a family again. So that this stupid war could end and everyone could go back to their lives.

"Then how do I fix things?" Himawari demanded. "We can't all be tactical geniuses like you, Shikadai."

She saw the way he flinched as if struck. "Please," Shikadai begged, knowing he couldn't physically stop her if push came to shove. "Please don't do this. Let calmer head prevail. The Hokage will smooth things out in the west and my father will figure things out in the east. The task force will continue hunting the Akatsuki and the Will of Fire will win in the end."

"How can you have hope? How can you leave things to chance like that?" Himawari demanded, angry tears welling in her eyes. She couldn't risk losing her brother to something as stupid as the Will of Fire.

"If you can't believe in that, believe in me," Shikadai offered.

He was asking her to choose. Choose between believing in him or risking losing Bolt forever. Himawari closed her eyes, willing herself not to let her bottom lip tremble, not to let the tears fall. When she opened them, Himawari knew Shikadai could see the answer in her eyes.

"Troublesome," he breathed, face weary.

"I'm sorry—" Himawari began.

"—No," Shikadai sighed. "No. If you're going to do this... I'll do it with you. It shouldn't be your sin alone to bear."

When Himawari turned and resumed her march towards the Hokage's tower, it was with Shikadai at her back and sadness and determination in her heart. She pushed open the doors, the chime signaling their entry. A weary secretary with dark bags under her eyes greeted them.

"We're here to see Bolt," Himawari said. Her voice didn't even tremble as she said the words.

The secretary shook her head. "I'm sorry, but visitation to the prison has been suspended for one month barring—"

"—Barring special clearance, yeah," Shikadai grumbled. He held out his key card. "I've got it."

The secretary frowned and took the card, her eyes scanning it thoroughly. Himawari frowned as she heard a hollow, rolling sound. She looked around for the source and couldn't find it. The secretary gasped, her eyes wide, awake, and terrified, looking past Shikadai's key card at the ground. Himawari followed her gaze.

It was a head. A human head. Thick, red-black blood pouring from the gaping veins in the neck. The woman's face was frozen in a mask of pure horror. It lulled, rolling back and forth, vacant eyes staring up at them.

Himawari was too shocked to even move as a blade of lightning erupted from the secretary's chest and splattered her and Shikadai with boiling blood. The woman gurgled, gasping for breath, and dropped Shikadai's key card as she collapsed in a pool of her own blood.

At the far end of the hall, emerging from the underground stairway, was her brother. Bolt was smiling a feral grin with wild, wide eyes. He was dressed in the charcoal-gray shirt and pants of the Akatsuki, the white guards on his boots standing out in the dimly lit hallway.

"We have a Code Black," Shikadai hissed beside her, hand held to his ear where a small radio buzzed. "Code Black, Hokage's tower! Now! He is—"

A spear of screaming electricity pierced the radio, slicing through Shikadai's ear. Her boyfriend hissed in pain, blood spilling down his neck, and Himawari was finally able to shake herself from her stupor as she placed herself between him and her brother.

Cold shock was replaced by cataclysmic rage as another person emerged from the stairs to stand beside him.

Sarada.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Getting through the front door had been easy. She was ANBU. No one had dared stop her, let alone question her. Sarada swiped her key card and door unlocked with an audible click as the light on the lock changed from red to green. Her comrades nodded their recognition and respect to her from the shadows as she passed.

They were probably going to die in the next few minutes. Some at her hands. The only reason Sarada didn't shed a tear was because she had none left to cry.

She quickly descended the stairs into the bowels of the Hokage's tower. The floor that had been cleared out for Bolt was at the very bottom. The guards there were most numerous. Sarada steeled herself as she walked through the door.

Her eyes burned as her Sharingan whirred to life. The first guard met her eyes and she could see the slight panic and fear there. Her chakra invaded his, coiling around it and consuming it like a snake. He was her thrall, enslaved by her illusion. And so was the next, and the next, and the next. They stared into the distance, eyes unseeing, or collapsed unconscious. No alarms sounded, for she had foreseen and disabled or avoided them with her Mangekyō.

Before Omoikane, there could be no standing against her.

Sarada rounded the corner, caught the eyes of the two ANBU standing guard over Bolt— thankfully not her friends— and knocked them unconscious. She approached the shimmering barrier of orange chakra warily, as if it could burn. But it wasn't the barrier Sarada was worried about. It was the man inside. He had already burned her once.

Bolt stood in the center of the room, hands held behind his back, and casually rounded on her as he spun on the balls of his feet. He was grinning. That same arrogant, knowing grin. The one where he thought he had already won.

It was made doubly worse because Sarada knew he already had.

She stood before the barrier, the control seal no more than a foot to her right, and sucked in a ragged breath. "Why?" Sarada demanded.

"Why?" Bolt asked, tone mirthful.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Sarada asked pitifully.

Bolt peered down at her, a lazy smile on his lips. "Twenty-four hours," he said.

"... What?" Sarada didn't understand.

"That's the limit of your Mangekyō," Bolt continued. "Twenty-four hours of precognition. Functional omniscience against anything or anyone you set yourself against. You're a very powerful woman, Sarada."

Her heart was hammering in her chest. How did he know? Who told him? "How?" Sarada croaked.

Bolt looked smugly pleased. "When you fought the Akatsuki after I killed Orochimaru, you knew the abilities of one of my Paths. You told your team it could heal, yet I had only ever displayed the Universal Healer's ability to manipulate biology with her Yang chakra," he said. "Then you managed to face me in single combat and dodge my Thunder God Mode not once, but twice. Then all of our clandestine meetings over the years... you were always very good at finding me, even when I didn't want to be found."

Sarada was frozen as she listened.

"But you're not all powerful, Sarada," Bolt said. "Like every ability, your Mangekyō has a weakness. For as much as it empowers you, it blinds you— and not just in the physical sense. For twenty-four hours you become a literal God. No one could defeat you. Not even me. But you don't think beyond those twenty-four hours because you can't see beyond them. You tipped your hand."

"That... That's it?" Sarada whispered. Bolt had only seen Omoikane in battle _once_ and he had divined its power and weakness?

Bolt smiled. "I lead the foremost organization of rogue ninja in the world, Sarada. My enemies include every single ninja village ever founded on this continent. I have fought against and either swayed to my side or killed some of the most dangerous people alive. I have grown exceedingly good at reading people and their abilities, you'll find."

Sarada swallowed and released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "You still haven't answered my question, Bolt," she pointed out.

"I suppose I haven't," he smirked. "To be honest, it was a gamble. Betting on you freeing me, that is."

Sarada blinked. "You... you risked everything assuming I would snap and rescue you?" she demanded angrily.

"Well, consider it an educated gamble," Bolt shrugged. "The plan, if I got caught, was always to sow discord behind enemy lines. And it worked marvelously. You, my sister, my father... the entirety of your little "task force," all in one place and all with their eyes on me."

Sarada's eyes widened.

"Tell me, how has my Akatsuki fared without my leadership? I'm actually quite interested," Bolt asked.

"... They've been doing what you ordered them to do," Sarada settled for.

Bolt smiled. "Good. Very good," he breathed.

"And what would you have done if I didn't rescue you?" Sarada asked.

Bolt shook his head, blue eyes staring into her Sharingan. His smirk faded and his eyes grew distant and icily cold. Sarada shivered and he spoke the words that had haunted her dreams for months. "I will be free, Sarada," Bolt said. "One way... or the other."

With a trembling hand, Sarada unlocked the cell. The barrier shimmered brightly before fading entirely. Bolt was across the threshold in an instant, so quick her Sharingan almost missed it. He rested a hand on her shoulder and she shuddered at the touch. "It looks like you might be one of us after all, Sarada," Bolt smiled.

The two guards at either side of them died with a wave of his hand and a blade of lightning. Sarada couldn't bring herself to look away as Bolt stripped and dressed in an Akatsuki uniform he summoned from the storage seal on his forearm they had been unable to crack.

"I'm not like you," Sarada finally said as Bolt slipped his boots on. He looked up at her. "I'm not going to be part of your Akatsuki. I... I should hate you. I want to hate you. But I—" she couldn't say the words. "—but I don't. I saved you because I don't want you to die, partially."

"Partially?" Bolt quirked an eyebrow.

"And partially..." Sarada hesitated, then smirked. Bolt had tipped his hand. She wouldn't tell him about the ability of her left eye or the visions of the dark future she had seen. "Because your destiny isn't to kill yourself here."

It was immensely gratifying to see Bolt frown in disappointment. "I see," he said. "Well, let's get this over with."

"Wait," Sarada called, stopping Bolt as he strode down the hallway. He had killed three more guards in the space of a few seconds. "Your escape plan is flawed," she said. "The Hokage isn't gone. He left, yes, but he also left a clone behind in case the Akatsuki attacked or you escaped."

She could see the way his jaw clenched.

"But I can hold him off," Sarada bargained. "But you have to escape quickly."

Bolt glared at her. "I suppose this miraculously coincides with me killing as few people and doing as little damage as possible?" he posed.

Sarada nodded. A small, small concession. She slipped a hand into her pocket and withdrew his headband. What had he said? He had either swayed to his side or killed some of the most dangerous people alive? Now her morbid curiosity about the damage to his headband had been sated.

"Thank you," Bolt breathed. "For this, and the warning,"

Bolt slipped the headband over his skull, pushing his hair up and out of his eyes. Sarada followed him. She winced every time her illusions came violently undone as Bolt ended the guards' lives.

When they reached the surface, Sarada felt the full weight of her best friend's betrayed, furious glare as it sunk into her chest as tangible as any blade.

" _I'm sorry, Himawari,"_ Sarada wanted to say.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Himawari had no words to describe the anger that erupted inside her. There weren't any words in any language to describe the visceral feeling of betrayal coursing through her veins like molten steel.

"Hello, Himawari," her brother's annoyingly smug voice echoed.

She saw red. With a furious battle cry, Himawari charged forward.

"Hima, no! Wait!" Shikadai yelled.

She had only an instant to regret her decision. She wasn't using Sage Mode. If her brother or Sarada attacked her... she would be dead. Bolt, with a lazy grin, leaned forward and exhaled a mighty gust of wind. Himawari sucked in a breath and channeled Earth Release chakra into her skin, hardening it, darkening it.

The wall of wind slammed into her, as solid as any rock. Himawari grunted as she was propelled backwards and slammed through the glass doors of the Hokage's tower. An explosion of dust, wood, and shrapnel followed her, the entire frontal wall having been destroyed. Shikadai materialized next to her, slipping out of her shadow. "That wasn't very smart," he hissed, helping her to her feet.

Himawari stilled, harmonizing with the natural energy all around her, and quickly began to activate Sage Mode. Bolt and Sarada lazily strode from the tower through the destroyed wall as sirens began to blare. It was only as she attuned with nature did Himawari realize people were already mobilizing to respond to the threat. She smiled, knowing that her friends and the task force had her back.

Then her father— or, rather, his clone— appeared in a yellow-gold blur of chakra.

"Let's not play games," Bolt said, stepping forward. "I am leaving this place, one way or the other. I am done playing around. If you stand in my way, I will kill you all if need be. Stand aside."

Himawari growled. Now that her brother was free... it would be impossible to strip him of his chakra. The True Gentle Fist was too complicated for her to use in combat. She needed time to concentrate, time to focus on Bolt's pathways without him fighting her.

"You won't escape, son," her father said, his voice carrying over the sound of the alarm and the distant screams of panic and fear. "We've upgraded our security since the last attack. You won't be able to summon yourself away. Do you really think you can beat everyone here? Beat me?"

Bolt grinned, mouth wide and teeth bared. Sarada, however, was the one to speak. It made her blood boil. "We don't need to beat you, sir," she said respectfully. "We just need to not lose against you. Something that is far, far easier to accomplish. You are a clone— half as strong as the Hokage. Only the Hokage can create the spheres of black chakra and only the Hokage houses the consciousness of the Nine-Tails inside him. And because of your unwillingness to do what is necessary, you will lose here. I have foreseen it."

"Shit," Shikadai whispered. "This... this is what Sarada was talking about."

"What?" Himawari hissed, still gathering natural energy.

"Remember when we were fighting the Akatsuki after the attack on Orochimaru? Sarada said the only way Bolt could win against the task force was if she personally did something. This is it. She was talking about if she betrayed us," Shikadai whispered in horror.

No. Himawari would not believe that. Sarada was her friend. Her best friend. She wouldn't betray the Leaf. Sarada wouldn't betray her. Bolt must have— her brother must have done something to Sarada. He was controlling her. Forcing her to fight them. That had to be it.

The Leaf was about to become a battlefield again. Everyone was quiet and still for a few moments before Bolt broke the tension.

"As fun as this is," he drawled. "I have places to be. Villages to destroy. Kage to kill."

His Lightning Armor roared to life with such ferocity that it kicked up a gust of wind. Himawari narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose as the sweet, pungent scent of ozone hit her. "I really must thank you. This place has been good to me," Bolt told them. "I haven't had this much rest since before I went rogue. Always fighting, always training, always moving. And the medical care? Top notch. Someone will have to give my thanks to Sakura and Lady Tsunade."

Their father _moved_ , so fast Himawari could barely register it with Sage Mode.

He ran straight into a spectral hand of bone that swatted him away like a fly.

Then chaos erupted.

The Hokage tried to attack them, again, only to run face-first into another spectral, bony fist that burned to life out of thin air. Sarada marched forward, orange-red flames of chakra licking at her ANBU armor. Himawari could see the tears of blood streaking from her right eye.

For a moment, doubt clouded her mind. Could Sarada _really_ hold her father at bay? He was the Hokage. The strongest man in the world. Himawari had seen feats of strength that defied reality at times. Was the power of Omoikane enough to overcome that?

Sarada's rapidly growing Susano'o seemed to suggest that, at least, she believed so.

And then Himawari had more pressing horrors to face. Fully immersed in Sage Mode, she keenly felt it as the natural energy in the city— already waning due to the technology and culture— just... _left._

Like the tide retreating before a tsunami.

That was the most apt example.

Her eyes found her brother, stepping forward to face the task force as Sarada kept their father from attacking. Red-orange lines, like painted lightning, burned across his skin. They settled and darkened, becoming an inky black color, and left Bolt looking wholly inhuman.

The Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva. Orochimaru had managed to pull that much out of Bolt. It meant something in the spoken language of the Uzumaki fūinjutsu script, but Himawari couldn't remember what it meant. All she could think about was the Cursed Seal greedily devouring the natural energy around her in great gulps. It was an ugly, unnatural technique. It made her stomach churn. It consumed natural energy with little care for the damage it did to the world and regurgitated insane quantities of natural lightning. Like a bottled thunderstorm, lightning on demand.

That was how Bolt got around his weakness to natural _chakra_. He simply didn't use it at all.

"You asked me what I did to Cloud, didn't you, Shikadai?" Bolt called out, his Lightning Armor beginning to take on a white-gold color. "Let me show you!"

Sarada appeared next to him, wreathed in red-orange chakra. She rested a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear even as the four arms of her Susano'o batted away her father with an almost sickeningly casual ease. Bolt seemed displeased with whatever she said, but Himawari was thankful as the Cursed Seal retreated and Bolt dissipated the natural lightning he had accumulated.

Then the two of them returned to their respective battles.

"Looks like you won't be seeing the Wrath of the Thunder God after all," Bolt commented, striding forward. "But it doesn't matter. You're not stopping me either way."

Himawari lunged forward, putting herself between Bolt and the task force as he raised a hand wreathed in lightning. She had fully activated Sage Mode and could easily handle whatever her brother threw at them.

A spear of lightning shot forward, hissing and crackling and screaming, before it dissipated harmlessly along with his Lightning Armor.

"What?" Bolt said dumbly, looking at his hand as if it had betrayed him.

Himawari grinned as she heard Shikadai scoff proudly beside her.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Time bowed low before her, penitent, as her clan's dark bloodline burned in her eyes. Sarada gazed into the abyss, seeing and knowing all, every possible move the Hokage would make, every word he would say. And she knew what each of her moves would be in turn, each of her responses to his begging and questioning.

Bolt was right. She did feel like a God. And yet Sarada knew that this was but a small taste of the true might she could bring to bear. That she would be forced to bring to bear. All the fear surrounding her clan's genocide finally made sense to her. No one should have as much power as she felt.

Sarada saw, knew, unseeing. The Hokage was a golden blur of chakra and need as he lunged at her, hands outstretched to knock her unconscious. That was his weakness. He could not bring himself to kill her or Bolt. She had foreseen it. And that was why she was going to emerge victorious.

Sarada didn't even feel the pain anymore. The pain within was far greater than the pain without could ever be. The air shimmered as if heated as her Susano'o erupted to life. Spectral bones and muscle, thick hide and wispy robes, plated armor. Gravity loosened its hold on her as she ascended the spinal column of her construct, coming to rest within its skull. The four spectral arms of her Susano'o obeyed her better than her own limbs of flesh and blood.

The Hokage was ungodly quick. But not as fast as the Thunder God, and she had already beaten that enemy. Her arms moved as she willed them, timelines aligning as she demanded, and she prevented the Hokage from striking her or attacking Bolt. It was not that her Susano'o was faster than the Hokage, nor was it that she could react in time to his preternatural speed, Sarada simply knew the outcome of the battle before it had even begun. She put her spectral limbs between the Hokage and where he wanted to go, that was all.

The Hokage stopped. He stared at her, eyes wide and pleading, and time bowed before her, whispering its secrets to her. A thousand conversations, a thousand forks in dialogue, all for her to choose between. Sarada's cheeks were stained red with blood.

"Sarada, please!" the Hokage pleaded. "Don't do this! If you stop now, we can work this out!"

But she would not, could not, be swayed. Not by words. Those were the strongest weapon in the Hokage's arsenal. Too many of his foes had fallen to mere words. She steeled herself, closed herself, wallowing in the fraying timelines and readying herself to defend Bolt; her friend, and more than that... a key figure in defending the world.

Sarada could not allow herself to lose.

The Hokage growled in equal parts anger and frustration, the blue of his eyes mixing with the foul red of the Nine-Tails. Even with its disembodied spirit half the world away, its chakra was still monstrous and terrifying. Two disembodied arms of golden chakra erupted from the Hokage's right arm, their three hands cupping as chakra began to pool and whir. Sarada closed her eyes, the distant agony of her body echoing through her mind, and fully gave in to her Uchiha blood.

It was an odd feeling. Disconnected. She had foreseen the power that lurked within her chakra, of course, but it was another thing entirely to feel it course through her very being. A name, a memory, passed down through the eons through her blood, ancient as creation itself.

"Amenonuhoko!" Sarada beckoned.

And the Heavenly Jeweled Spear answered.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

It was like fighting Sasuke, before they had received Hagoromo's gifts.

It was still damn unfair, Naruto thought, wishing he was the Original. This fight would have been over and done with if he could have created Truth-seeking Orbs or had the fox gather natural energy for him. Instead, he had a paltry amount of natural energy stored in reserve that he was saving for when he had no other choice but to use it and a good chunk of Kurama's chakra.

Naruto didn't know if that was going to be enough to defeat Sarada's Mangekyō ability. Not without hurting her, at least, and he knew that the Original and Sasuke would be absolutely pissed if he did that.

Still... if he kept doing what he had been doing— trying and failing to get into close range so he could beat some sense into his wayward son and Sasuke's daughter— he was going to lose them both.

He would have to hope Omoikane gave Sarada enough warning to evade or endure near lethal attacks. If he remembered right, Mei had good results at getting through Sasuke's Susano'o with Boil Release. He willed two arms of golden chakra to emerge and help with the transformation as he began to form a Boil Release: Rasengan.

Naruto hesitated, mouth agape, as Sarada began to radiate chakra like the sun. Two of her four spectral arms reached skyward, red-orange chakra blossoming in the palms of their hands and forming a long haft with a curved, broad blade at one end and a weighted sphere at the other. A bough of some kind of exotic, flowering plant was tied near the head with a flowing length of fabric.

Sarada's roar echoed across the battlefield for all to hear. "Amenonuhoko!"

Naruto swore under his breath, hurling the completed Boil Release: Rasengan forward. His eyes widened in surprise as one of Sarada's two free Susano'o arms was flung forward, fingers splayed. He was struck dumb as his attack shattered and dissipated, batted away like he was still learning the Rasengan from Jiraiya.

Then he was struck in the face by a wall of inviolable power, like a God smiting an ant. Naruto grunted as he was flung backwards as if struck by the full strength of Kurama.

Naruto picked himself up, shuddering, because he had— or the Original had— felt that kind of attack before.

It almost felt like...

Shinra Tensei.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Bolt growled as he felt his Lightning Release chakra be drawn earthbound and dissipated. Even his Lightning Armor was being drained at a rapid, unacceptable pace. He allowed the technique to end before even more of his chakra could be leeched. The veins in his temples rippled as his Byakugan scoured the land. Bolt forced his stomach to not churn as he looked underground and saw a mass of writhing iron sand, a good portion of it molten or superheated and thus useless to any Magnet Release user.

"Shinki," Bolt spat. "Very clever, Shikadai. Very clever."

The puppeteer from the Hidden Sand lingered at the rear of the group assembled against him, his two teammates standing guard protectively in front of their leader. Bolt let his gaze wander to each of them in turn. There _was_ an impressive force of ninja that had come together for the sole purpose of defeating him and his organization. Bolt honestly wasn't sure if he could beat them all on his own and on any other day he would have relished in the challenge.

But not this time. Bolt had nothing to prove to the shattered remnants of the Union. He had spent nearly four long months away from his friends and he was going to see them again one way or the other. Bolt would escape the Leaf and return to them or his spirit would part from its earthly prison and dwell in his death mask that Hikari held.

He didn't need his Lightning Armor or Thunder God Mode.

Himawari lunged at him with a roared battle cry at the same moment that Shikadai lashed out with his shadow. Tetsu's master unleashed an arcing crescent Flash and Inojin created several towering, inky monstrosities. The two burly men from the Explosion Corps unleashed two arcs of golden lightning that Bolt knew would detonate in an earth-shattering explosion and the masked hunters from the Mist hurled poison-laced throwing needles at him.

Bolt closed his eyes and dove into the waiting ocean of Yang chakra he kept simmering in the pits of his being. It rose in a wave that sent a pleasant warmth coursing through his body, aches fading and old wounds healing, before Bolt directed it to take the form of chains. His clan's secret technique searing through his mind, that spark of an idea of Yin chakra given physical form. The very antithesis of freedom. Bolt wanted to _seal,_ he wanted to _suppress,_ he wanted to _subdue,_ he wanted _domination_.

The Adamantine Sealing Chains reacted to his will, erupting from his lower back as he split them into four separate chains. He brought two up around him, encircling and ensnaring, a shimmering barrier of lavender chakra erupting from the links of the chains and forming a barrier. The other two chains reared their spear-tipped heads over his shoulders like snakes ready to strike.

The combined attacks broke on his barrier like the waves against rock. Bolt smiled as his clan's chains parted all attacks. The barrier surrounding him warped as his sister slammed her fist into it like a battering ram, Sage Mode augmenting her attack. Bolt sent one of the chains he had reserved for attacking hissing forward, cutting through the air with the spearhead. Himawari danced away as he attempted to trap her with looping arcs of the chain and thrusts of the spearhead.

Bolt looked away as Sarada began to radiate enough chakra that it lit up the sky, visible only to his Byakugan. The others continued to futilely attack him and he folded his arms. His eyes widened as Sarada summoned forth a spectral red-orange naginata and then completely decimated the clone of his father. The Hokage sailed through the air down the streets of the city until he crashed into the ground and tumbled ass over end. He was on his feet in an instant, though, sporting little to no damage. He lunged at Sarada again, crossing the distance in an instant, but Sarada blocked him with an invisible wall of strange chakra that Bolt couldn't even begin to discern the source of.

Then she swung her naginata, bringing the head down in a vicious cleave. It rent the street asunder and a fissure erupted, exploding and tearing into his father with the force of a Tailed Beast. His father emerged from the rubble looking no worse for wear, darting forward with spectacular speed. Bolt smiled wryly as Sarada gestured with her naginata and the Hokage's tower flew skyward as if it had wings. Before he could reach the base of her Susano'o, Sarada had brought the entire building down on him.

Satisfied Sarada would be able to hold the Hokage off until he was done seeing to the interlopers in front of him, Bolt returned his gaze to the task force futilely attempting to breach his barrier. Ensconced inside the safety of his Adamantine Sealing Chains, there was very little Bolt had to fear.

Still, when Himawari leapt back and held her arm aloft, a whirring sphere of orange-yellow chakra in the palm of her hand, Bolt took caution. He commanded the two chains he had reserved for attacking to reinforce those used for the barrier.

"Rasenhakkō!" Himawari roared, hurling the burning star at him.

Bolt closed his eyes, holding his forearm over them. Even then, he could still see the blinding light as it pierced the veil of his flesh. He felt a pleasant warmth cascade across his skin, like sunshine in the summer, and then it was over. Bolt blinked, the streets around him having been reduced to a charred wasteland of fire, smoke, and molten asphalt.

He bent at the knees, bracing himself, and leapt through the air and sailed over the damaged city streets. The spherical barrier of chains remained ever constant and static, shielding him from all sides as the task force continued their assault. Bolt landed gracefully and began a leisurely stroll towards the city gates. His Byakugan revealed the upgraded barrier towering over the city. It had been made to include the anti-summoning barrier that Kohaku had used against him several times now. Bolt made a note that he would have to consult the Divine Summoner about ways to avoid such countermeasures in the future. Perhaps altering what dimension they used to facilitate the transfer?

"Stop him!" Shikadai barked.

All at once, Bolt was blinded by a colossal tidal wave of iron sand. It drowned him, smothered him, a veritable ocean rearing up and slamming down. Bolt frowned as he felt the constant weight begin to draw more and more chakra from his barrier. Sighing, he narrowed his brows in concentration and managed to manifest a fifth length of chain. It erupted from his chest, spearing through the barrier and the tide of iron sand beyond it. It cut great swathes of sand down, and each grain that was struck did not rise again as its chakra was dispelled.

Bolt smiled. Orochimaru had been right. His clan's chains were probably not suited for fighting small, highly agile opponents like most Kage class ninja. But they were exceptionally powerful when facing something like a Tailed Beast or weathering the onslaught of more than a dozen A and S-class ninja.

Bolt frowned and looked up as a shadow loomed over him. His eyes widened as a massive, tanned fist descended from the sky. It slammed into his barrier, the force of the blow shattering the stone beneath the sphere of chains and causing the street to collapse. Bolt sighed and prepared to leap to safety again. He sailed through the air, and honestly, he expected more from Shikadai after all his preaching during their games of chess.

And Shikadai delivered. Chōchō returned, attacking again before he could land. Both of her hands, each as large as a house, clapped around him and his barrier as if she was swatting a fly. Bolt was honestly surprised as the giant woman held him prisoner with just her hands. It was honestly quite clever. Bolt couldn't attack through the barrier with anything other than his chains.

Bolt closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the fifth chain, and slowly began to change the idea his Yang chakra had given physical form to. His chakra became a little darker, a little more sinister. _Domination_ , he had. _Pain_ , he added.

The fifth chain reared its head, the links of lavender steel wreathed in white fire. It lunged forward, digging into the meaty hands that held him, and Bolt smiled as he heard and echoing bellow of agony. Light returned as Chōchō released him. The giant woman reeled, feet crushing houses beneath her boots. Bolt braced himself as he landed and resumed his march for the city gates and the freedom that lay beyond it.

There was, quite simply, nothing they could do.

Bolt watched the battle in the ever growing distance as Sarada and his father continued to clash over and over again. Whilst Sarada had nothing in her arsenal that could actually defeat the Hokage, his father was unable to find a path to escape her. And, Bolt knew, his father didn't have the strength of heart to kill Sarada and walk over her corpse to capture him.

He had done it. He had escaped.

He was mere feet from the gates— from freedom— when Shikadai appeared before him from a pool of shadows.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Shikadai was breathing heavily as he stood between his childhood friend and the gates of the city. He was wracking his brain, his mind going a mile a minute, trying to think of a way to keep Bolt from escaping. If he rejoined the Akatsuki now after all that they had accomplished without him... the world would fall to his influence. Shikadai was sure of it.

"I won't let you escape, Bolt," Shikadai declared. If he could get him to talk, it would buy him some time. "I've outsmarted you once before and I can do it again."

The other task force members rallied to him. Shikadai breathed a sigh of relief as Himawari stood beside him, no worse for wear other than some minor chakra exhaustion. Shikadai cursed himself for locking up Kohaku. Their only counter to the Uzumaki clan's chains were Kohaku and his chains. Shikadai's thoughts raced as he considered the implications. Was Kohaku a spy? Sarada was the one that had betrayed them, but all the evidence pointed to Kohaku. Was Shikadai wrong? Had his actions been the reason Bolt could escape?

He had to know.

Bolt quirked his head, a lazy grin on his lips.

"How did you get Kohaku to help you?" Shikadai demanded, continuing to look for the move that would put Bolt into checkmate.

Bolt laughed. "Kohaku? On my side? Clearly you don't know him very well," he chuckled.

"Don't lie, Bolt," Shikadai pressed. "The evidence doesn't."

Bolt's grin grew ever wider. "One little glance and you start jumping at shadows, Shikadai. How unbecoming of a Nara," he quipped.

The blood turned to ice in his veins. That was impossible. Bolt had knowingly planted the seed of doubt in his mind with that single smug glance. Planned for Kohaku to be suspected of spying? But how did he even know where the camera was? How did he know Shikadai was watching? Nothing made sense.

"There was never a spy," Shikadai murmured to himself. Himawari looked at him, shocked. No one could have known the exact placement of the camera. No one could have known he would be the one watching the tape. No one could have known exactly what action to take to trip him up.

It was impossible.

"I'm afraid this little game of ours is over, Shikadai," Bolt sighed, marching forward. "Checkmate. You lose, this time."

The others began to launch attacks with a renewed fervor. They didn't so much as cause a ripple in the barrier's chakra. Bolt was mere feet from leaving the range of the Leaf's defensive barrier and then he would be free to be summoned away.

Shikadai couldn't let that happen. If there was one thing he knew about Bolt, it was that he was too arrogant for his own good. He let his pride and emotions lead him instead of his mind and logic. "Just going to run away, Bolt?" Shikadai snapped. "That's the only thing you've ever been good at, anyway. Running away from your problems. Leaving Himawari alone."

 _That_ did it.

Shikadai swallowed as Bolt paused, mid-step, and then turned. He grinned wryly, something angry in his eyes. "Shikadai, Shikadai," Bolt sneered. "You think you're so much smarter than everyone else. You think you're worthy of the attention of the Thunder God? Well, here I am. You have my attention. You will not be pleased that you do."

Shikadai swallowed. If there was one other thing he knew, it was that Bolt— the whole Uzumaki family, really— had a mean temper. And while Himawari was quick to anger, hers was a candle that burned too brightly. The flame that burned twice as brightly burned half as long. Bolt was the opposite. He bottled things up. His anger would grow and grow until it erupted like a volcano. Shikadai hoped he wasn't about to regret his taunt. Chōchō and Inojin were at his sides in the blink of an eye. Shikadai gave them grin nods of thanks.

"Here's the plan—" Shikadai whispered.

Bolt raised his right arm and gestured with his hand. A chain of burning lavender chakra lashed at them like a whip and Shikadai slipped into Chōchō's shadow. His two friends leapt away, much more agile than he was. He slipped out of the shadow, Himawari coming to defend him, as Chōchō began to grow in size once more and Inojin began to quickly scrawl inky warriors.

Shikadai quickly ran through the moves available to him. Bolt could make, at most, four chains— five, apparently, when under pressure. He was using the newest chain while the other four were... the other two were... defending. Shikadai's eyes widened. "The chains are underground!" he screamed.

He was too late. Shikadai was no more than ten feet behind his teammates when two chains burst from the street and wrapped around their necks. The dreaded spearheads changed shape, becoming spiked collars, and latched around Chōchō and Inojin's necks. Bolt reeled them in like caught fish and Shikadai lunged forward to help them.

Himawari caught him in an iron grip and refused to let go. "Let me go!" Shikadai snarled.

His girlfriend grit her teeth and shook her head. "Don't be stupid, Shikadai," Himawari pleaded.

Shikadai forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't think with his heart. He had just been accusing Bolt of doing the same thing. He had to think logically. He could figure a way out of this. There was always a way to place your opponent in checkmate.

Chōchō and Inojin struggled feebly against their bonds, fingers clawing at the collars. "I _did_ say there would be consequences if you tried to stop me, Shikadai," Bolt said, his lips turning upwards in a small grin. "Let's play a game."

"A... a game?" Shikadai repeated.

Bolt nodded, dipping his head in one quick, bird-like motion. "A game," he said. "You see, you and your father are quite dangerous men. That Nara intelligence is as dangerous as any Kage-class fighter. You leave me with no choice but to kill you if you won't see reason and join the winning side."

Shikadai scoffed under his breath. Bolt's grin, if anything, grew wider. Wolfish, almost. "So, let's play a game," he continued. "You have three options. One, I can kill both your teammates. Right here, right now. Two, you can choose which one dies, in which case, the other will live."

Shikadai gaped in open horror.

"Or, three... you can come with me and serve the Akatsuki," Bolt hissed. "Of course, you won't be loyal. Not _willingly_ , anyway. So we'll have to come up with some sort of insurance. Some incentive for you to play by the rules."

Bolt paused, tapping his chin and rolling his eyes as if deep in thought. Shikadai's stomach was churning so violently he thought he would vomit. The rest of the task force stood at his back, weapons at the ready, while the Hokage and Sarada continued to fight in the background. Only Himawari holding him back prevented him from running to his teammates' aid. Inojin reached up, withdrawing his shortsword from his shoulder.

He screamed. "Inojin!" Shikadai yelled in blind panic. He could see the way Inojin writhed in agony, eyes rolling and mouth frothing. The collar and chain glowed with spectral white-lavender fire. "Bolt, stop!" Shikadai begged.

Mercifully, blissfully, the pain ended. Inojin sagged, panting and crying.

"Stop struggling," Bolt tsk-tsked. "Ah, I've got it! There are control seals I can place on you! The Uzumaki clan's Cursed Seal of Obedience, hmm. No, that wouldn't work. Slaves aren't useful when you have to micromanage every detail of their lives."

Something cold settled in the pit of his stomach. Shikadai shivered. His mind was struggling to work through the current threat. Why was Bolt doing this? Chōchō and Inojin were his classmates. Friends, even, though he and Inojin had a rough start. Bolt was never this ruthless or cruel. Never this... _corrupting_. He had tried to recruit for the Akatsuki before, poaching from the Leaf, but not like this. Never like this. What had happened? Was he playing them all this time? A possible trigger during imprisonment?

Bolt snapped his fingers, eyes wide with pride and resolution. "I've got the perfect idea!" he declared. "You love my sister, right?" Shikadai felt a new sense of dawning horror. Bolt nodded to himself. "I can make a seal that prevents you from feeling positive emotions, like love, unless you act in a manner that benefits the Akatsuki. That way you keep your freedom and sanity, and I get your undivided loyalty! Perfect, right?"

Himawari growled like a wild animal next to him. Shikadai swallowed bile.

"So," Bolt drawled. "What'll it be, Shikadai?"

Shikadai felt the full weight of the world settle on his shoulders. It was soul-crushing. There were no right answers. No correct moves. There was no way he could place the enemy King in check or checkmate. _He_ was in checkmate, surrounded on all sides. Bolt was going to take away one of his important people either choice he made.

They weren't playing chess. This was real.

"Time is ticking," Bolt chimed. He ran his hands up his friends' backs, resting at the base of their necks where he pressed his index fingers. One jab of the Gentle Fist and...

Shikadai raised his head, eyes lost, and he locked eyes with his friends. He could tell they were scared. Terrified, even, and they were in pain. Shikadai couldn't breathe. He had to do something. He had to— there had to be a way to— if he could just move one piece— if he could bargain, maybe—

"Please," Shikadai begged. "Don't do this, Bolt."

"What's wrong, Shikadai?" Bolt cooed. "Not feeling smarter than me now, are you?"

"Bolt!" Himawari snapped, stomping forward. "Stop this, now!"

Himawari got only two paces towards her brother before Chōchō and Inojin began to scream in agony again. She paused mid-step, growling furiously, before backing away. Shikadai could tell she wanted nothing more than to lunge forward and free their friends. But Himawari didn't know how to free them, how to beat the Uzumaki clan's chains, and neither did Shikadai. Kohaku was tens of minutes away from being freed and that was even if he would consider helping them after they threw him in prison.

"Stop, Bolt!" Himawari pleaded.

Chōchō and Inojin's screams grew ragged before tapering off completely. They gasped for breath, arms hanging limply at their sides, tears running freely down their cheeks. He was going to have to do it. There was no other choice. Shikadai refused to let his friends die for him.

Shikadai opened his mouth and his eyes found Inojin's. They were cloudy with pain, tears welling, but their green eyes locked. "Don't do it, Shika," he rasped. Shikadai swallowed as all eyes fell on him. "We both know you're more important to the war effort than either of us." Chōchō nodded weakly. Inojin pulled himself together and looked at him with steel in his eyes. "Pick me," he ordered.

No.

Shikadai couldn't. He would never forgive himself. He could never live with himself.

"Well, well," Bolt said gleefully. "We have a volunteer. So, what will it be, Shikadai? Chōchō, Inojin, or... you?"

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto quickly realized he wasn't going to be able to get around Sarada. He pushed his speed to its limits, moving faster than he knew anyone could follow with the naked eye, ran in dizzying, unpredictable patterns, leapt and jump, even tried burrowing beneath her.

Sarada countered him every single time. Naruto couldn't understand it. Even if she knew every move he was going to make ahead of time, he should have been fast enough to get by her or at least land a solid attack. He couldn't. The arms of her Susano'o chased him, moving in such a way that Naruto couldn't comprehend the meaning or logic of, and somehow always found their way in front of him to bar his path.

And, all the while, Kurama's chakra was feeding him the darker emotions of the city. The fear, the terror, the sorrow, the pain. When it began to come from the task force, Naruto knew he couldn't afford to keep holding his punches back.

That was when his stoney likeness split from the mountain and slammed into him from above like a hammer striking a nail. Naruto's first thought: the Original was going to be pissed. They had _just_ repaired the monument not too long ago. Naruto shrugged off the crushing weight of the rubble and lunged forward. He dusted himself off only to run straight into the business end of Sarada's naginata.

The strike sent him bodily rocketing through the air and into the sky. Naruto grunted and exerted a small degree of control over the air around him. His ascent halted and he entered a slow, controlled fall. Naruto really wished he was the Original and could create a platform with Truth-Seeking Orbs.

Instead, he tapped on Kurama's well of chakra and manifested the Tailed Beast transformation. Golden chakra blossomed into existence all around him, taking the shape of a giant, nine-tailed fox. Naruto barreled forward on all fours, being careful to avoid trampling as much of his city as possible, and launched himself at Sarada clad in her Susano'o. His fists and prehensile tails wrapped around her arms and the wispy beginnings of her legs and the haft of the naginata.

Naruto grunted as he was struck by an omnidirectional force that he could feel even in the very core of his chakra construct. He cracked open an eye and yelped as he found himself falling backwards onto several city blocks. With a thought, Naruto dispelled the construct before it could crush his people's homes.

Sarada was not so noble. She gestured with her naginata, thrusting it forward, and all manner of rock, rubble, and buildings rose up and began to coalesce atop him. For one brief instant, Naruto panicked. The feeling of being trapped by ton upon ton of stone by Nagato flashed through him. How he felt sealing Kaguya away.

Then he realized that the attack lacked the tell-tale fūinjutsu elements of either technique.

Naruto breathed a sigh of relief, exerting Earth and Wind Release to shift oncoming projectiles out of his path and skillfully work his way back to the ground. He formed multiple Rasengans with his tails and arms, whirring and disturbing the air. He hurled them, smilingly grimly with success as they impacted Sarada's Susano'o in an explosion of light. Naruto grunted as he struck pavement and cracks spider-webbed outward.

Sarada's Susano'o was on its knees and he could see blood running freely from her eyes as an expression of pure agony crossed her features. Sasuke was going to murder him, Naruto knew. He frowned, then gaped, as numerous thin, bony appendages erupted from the back of the Susano'o. Sarada screamed, straightening her construct, and then Naruto knew what he was looking at.

Wings.

Long an elegant, almost angelic, the Susano'o began to grow tattered wings. They were half grown, and their feathers looked sickly and malformed. There were nine of them and they were all unnaturally long and appeared prehensile, wrapping around her Susano'o protectively like armor. Naruto could tangibly feel the drain on Sarada's chakra as she attempted to manifest the full might of her Susano'o.

She was going to kill herself. "Sarada! Stop!" Naruto yelled, pleaded.

The naginata began to move of its own volition, hanging in the air as if held by invisible strings. Naruto whipped his head to the side in time to raise both arms as a wall of force pushed a mountain of rubble towards him. He tore through it with a growl, torn between defending the city or defeating Sarada and recapturing his son.

"No!"

A shrill scream echoed over the roar of the battlefield. Naruto whipped his head around, Kurama's chakra causing an eruption of sorrow and loss to course through his mind.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Bolt quirked his head as if trying to listen to an unheard sound.

Himawari tugged on his sleeve. Shikadai wanted to snap at her but couldn't find the energy to do anything other than struggle against the rising tide of his own fear.

"A Yin Release connection just formed between my brother and someone else and— shit!" Himawari hissed. "The connection is going wild. I think it's the Akatsuki. They're using that technique to talk over long distances!"

Shikadai swore under his breath. If they knew Bolt was free... he would be getting reinforcements soon. Bolt lowered his head and grinned. "It's your lucky day, Shikadai," he shrugged. "Something more pressing has come up."

Bolt released Chōchō and Inojin and they immediately lunged forward, scrambling away from him as they coughed and rubbed at their throats. The relief Shikadai felt was so tangible he could feel it as keenly as a punch to the face. He surged forward, wrapping his friends in a fierce hug.

Shikadai glared at Bolt over their shoulders. "What's so important that the big bad leader of the Akatsuki doesn't have time to murder his friends?" he spat, perhaps unwisely.

Bolt smiled at him. "Why have the son when I can have the father?"

Shikadai's blood turned to ice.

Bolt took a few leisurely steps back and passed the threshold of the barrier. "Oh, and Shikadai?" he said.

Shikadai forced himself to focus and his eyes found Bolt's own. "You didn't _choose_ , Shikadai," he said with a shake of his head and then he was gone in a wisp of smoke.

Shikadai looked down as he felt something hot and wet splatter against his jacket.

Red. So much red.

Shikadai looked down, mirroring Chōchō and Inojin, and saw the tips of two swords protruding from their stomachs.

"No!" Shikadai screamed, cradling both of them as they gurgled and fell to their knees. Blood streamed from their wounds.

All of a sudden, people were crowding them. One of the hunters from the Mist kneeled beside him, her hand glowing a crystalline green, trying to stem the flow of blood. She pushed Shikadai away and he stood, stomach churning violently, and he could see where two sealing tags had been placed on his friends' spines.

"Oh, God," he rasped. The swords had been literally summoned into them. "When he trailed his hands up their backs," Shikadai choked in realization.

And then his vision swam with concerned, pained blue eyes. "Shikadai! Look at me, please," Himawari pleaded. Shikadai couldn't tear his eyes away from his friends as they died. They couldn't move. The blades had pierced their spines.

"Hey," Himawari said, her hands cupping his cheeks. "It's going to be okay. We'll— they're going to be fine. We can get them medical treatment and— and they're going to be fine!"

Shikadai shook his head weakly. His friends were going to die and it was his fault. If he had just chosen to go with Bolt, they would have been released. "It's my fault," Shikadai sobbed over the screams of people demanding medics.

"Out of the way! Move!" an authoritative woman barked.

Shikadai was pulled aside by Himawari and pure hope radiated in his heart when Lady Tsunade slid to a stop next to Chōchō and Inojin. Her hands were aflame with crystalline green chakra and the blood immediately began to slow. "Their spines were severed at the T10 and T11 vertebrae," she intoned.

Shikadai's breath caught in his chest. "P-Please, save them," he begged.

Lady Tsunade looked up at him with a haughty smile. "Who do you think you're talking to, brat?" she demanded.

Shikadai couldn't form an answer. The diamond seal on her forehead glowed red-orange as it spread across her face, down her neck, and across the swell of her breasts. It snaked down her arms to her hands and then across Chōchō and Inojin's bodies. "Ninja Art: Creation Rebirth!" Lady Tsunade intoned with all the authority and finality of Death itself.

An eruption of steam blinded Shikadai and he heard several wet coughs and moans of pain from voices that he would recognize anywhere. When the steam cleared, the bloodied swords had been discarded and only pristine, unmarred flesh remained. Chōchō and Inojin stared up at him with confused, relieved eyes and Shikadai cried in relief.

"Thank you, Lady Tsunade," Shikadai gasped, sagging as the weight of the last hour left him.

"Lady Tsunade?" a concerned Lee asked, stepping forward from the assembled crowd.

Shikadai's heart stilled as he gazed upon the Fifth Hokage, last of the Senju, and found her shoulders slumped, her head lolling, and her skin wrinkled, gray, and lifeless.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Bolt disappeared in a wisp of smoke in every timeline.

Sarada was numb. Everything hurt. Her body, her mind, her emotions, her spirit. She had thrown herself fully into her Omoikane, her body acting as little more than a physical shell for her chakra. And, now, it was over. She could surrender herself to the pain and face the consequences for her actions. This had been her sin to bear and she beared it proudly if it meant Bolt would live and he could help save the world from the dark future she had seen.

Sarada hated herself. "Why?" she asked aloud as her Susano'o burned to nothing. "Why me?"

She expected an answer from the Sage of Six Paths himself.

The Sage was, predictably, silent.

"Sarada," the Hokage called. She looked up into his eyes, hard and disappointed. She didn't fight as he cuffed her in Wood Release shackles.

Sarada hated Bolt. She loved him. She hated herself for loving him.

Bolt had changed. Bolt was sick and Sarada didn't know how to help him. He had waded into the deep end of the darkest pits of the ninja world and Sarada didn't know how to pull him out. She knew how he worked when he wanted something. Sarada knew how he thought. She had never seen him more obsessed over anything, even when he would have given his life just to hear his father say he was proud of him.

Sarada never thought Bolt would go so far.

Bolt left, one day, her childhood friend and perhaps something more, if fate had been kinder. When he returned, Sarada didn't recognize him. Bolt _didn't_ return. The look in his eyes had changed. Colder, harder, crueler. He was not the boy she knew and she didn't know what had happened to him.

But Sarada knew one thing. She was afraid of the monster he had became. She was afraid of the monster Bolt was making _her_ become. Sarada knew she had to save the world. So she would let him go until he could fulfill his destiny. But she also knew she had to stop him. Sarada knew she had to try.

Even if that meant casting aside the memory of the boy she had loved.

Even if that meant having to kill him.

To stop the man she never thought Bolt would become.

* * *

 **December 28th, 0024 AIT**

Bolt blinked, the acrid chakra smoke making his eyes water and his nose wrinkle after not smelling it for so long. He could feel the way the Eye of the Storm reacted to his very presence. The entire dimension pulsated with chakra. Bolt could feel the fūinjutsu whisper in his ear and feel the chakra chains against his skin as they looped through the sky.

He grunted as Hibiki dove through the smoke and wrapped him in a bone-breaking embrace. "You're okay," he breathed.

Bolt laughed. "You of little faith," he smirked.

Tetsu approached him, bowing respectfully with a small smile on his face. "My Lord," he greeted. Tetsu was wrapped in bandages from head-to-toe and what little skin Bolt could see was red and raw.

"Tetsu? What happened?" Bolt asked quickly as concern welled within him.

"The Mizukage, my Lord," Tetsu answered succinctly. "An unexpected interaction between my Fire Release chakra and the Thunderswords."

"You're alright?" Bolt pressed.

"I am well, my Lord, and ready to serve," Tetsu bowed.

Bolt laughed. "I think we'll be taking a small break before anymore battles," he said.

Hibiki finally released him and stared up with devotion and awe in his eyes. "I'm fine, Hibiki, really," Bolt assured him. Hibiki nodded, ducking his head and nervously tucking his long black hair behind his ears.

"It's..." Hibiki tried. Bolt frowned at the choked quality of his voice. "It's my fault. If I hadn't been released, if I hadn't asked to be summoned back... I knew there was a tracking seal. It was my fault. I'm the reason you had to surrender."

"It's not your fault, Hibiki," Bolt swore. "It wasn't. My— the Hokage, he has a technique that lets him sense emotions. That was how he tracked you. The tracking seal had little to do with it. And I would have given myself up for any of you. You're my friends."

Bolt hesitated, knowing Hibiki harbored more than just feelings of friendship for him, before deciding to hug Hibiki back. They were friends and Hibiki had _literally been fucking tortured_ for him. Bolt would hug him if that's what would make Hibiki feel better about the situation. It was the least he had earned.

A chattering drew his attention. Bolt smiled as a communication puppet lumbered into the room Hibiki had summoned him to. "Hello, Tsuchigumo," Bolt said. "I see you've been hard at work. I like what you've done with the place."

The puppet tilted its head. "Thank you," it chattered. "It is good to see you too— and Hibiki, as I have told you, the tracking seal did not lead to the Union forces locating our base."

Bolt felt Hibiki nod into his chest. "I had the utmost faith in my and Tsuchigumo's work on that barrier, anyway," Bolt added. "I knew it wasn't you even before escaping."

Hibiki nodded again and relaxed. Bolt released him and smiled. He was home. Four long, long months and he was finally back where he belonged. With his friends. The people who cared about the real him. His eyes scanned the room— not surprised when he didn't see Kagami or Kagari— and Bolt had to do a double take when he found Hikari standing back and watching them with a smile.

She wasn't wearing a mask.

Bolt smiled at her and waved weakly. She returned his smile and slipped away into the halls of the Eye. Bolt cleared his throat. "Where are Kagami and Kagari?" he asked no one in particular.

Hibiki was all too eager to answer. "They're fine," he said. "Still exhausted from their fight with the Four-Tails, but fine. They are... Kagami is resting in their room and Kagari is training in the third training ground."

Bolt nodded, a bit of pride swelling in his chest that everyone was still training even without his guidance. "I'm tired," he told them. It wasn't totally a lie— he was tired. Sleeping on that fucking cot made the muscles in his back ache. He was the son of the Hokage, for the Sage's sake. Were they really that terrified he was going to shank a guard with a mattress spring? "But we'll talk tomorrow, I promise," he continued, seeing Hibiki's crestfallen look. "No missions for awhile. At least until I figure a few things out. I'm excited to see what you've all accomplished while I've been gone."

Bolt trotted away from Hibiki, Tetsu, and Tsuchigumo, quickly navigating the halls that he knew by heart even if he had never set foot into them before. He found his quarters— their quarters, really— and wasn't surprised to find Hikari there. Bolt smiled, seeing that she had put the workshop to good use. There were shelved poisons and antidotes, each labelled in neat handwriting, and various potted plants were growing next to terrariums containing exotic, poisonous insects and venomous reptiles. There were even a few aquariums with aquatic snakes, jellyfish, and even an octopus with beautiful yellow skin dotted with rings of blue. Bolt smiled fondly, seeing that his half of the workshop had been filled with his scrolls, books, and fūinjutsu equipment. He had been worried his research had been seized when he was arrested.

"Hey," Hikari said.

"Hey," Bolt echoed. He smiled. "No more mask?"

"No more mask," Hikari confirmed with a smile of her own.

"I'm sure that's a very interesting story," Bolt said with a grin.

"I'm sure it is," Hikari said wryly. "Maybe I'll tell it to you sometime."

It was still a little odd to see her without her mask. Hikari had rarely removed her mask in all the years that he had known her and each time she did Bolt associated it with a pleasant memory. He was well aware of conditioned responses but Bolt couldn't find it in himself to fight the stupid sense of happiness he got when Hikari trusted him enough to remove her mask. Bolt realized he had been staring for quite some time. His eyes darted from her green eyes down to her lips.

Hikari lunged forward and kissed him, rough and awkward. Their teeth knocked together and Bolt hissed as she pushed him through the door that separated their bedroom from the workshop. In light of the circumstances, he forgave Hikari when she tore his shirt open to run her fingers across his chest. Bolt kissed her back, harder, and gasped when the back of his knees connected with something soft.

Then Hikari had him pinned to the bed.

She was going to kill him.

In the best way possible.

Bolt was okay with that.

* * *

 **December 29th, 0024 AIT**

Katasuke looked up from his work, surprised to see Bolt down in the labs so early after returning. "Young Master," he greeted the blond man.

"Katasuke," Bolt said, limping over to him. Katasuke frowned, noting the smattering of dark splotched bruises along his neck. He had been injured more than what Tsuchigumo had told him. "I see you've been hard at work. How is the Gauntlet faring?"

Katasuke smiled, eager to talk business. For as talented a genius as Tsuchigumo, the man simply didn't talk much. Bolt was the only one who could hold an enlightened conversation with him. "Excellent, Young Master," Katasuke preened. "I've just finished the final touches on the next edition, capable of firing an S-class technique. With your return, we can begin sealing Rasenshinsei into ammunition scrolls."

Of course, the Gauntlet would be hard-pressed to fire more than one and the blast radius would probably kill the user if they weren't far enough away but those were semantics.

Bolt nodded. "Excellent work as usual, Katasuke," he said. "However, I'm not here about the Gauntlets."

"Ah. A new project, then?" Katasuke smiled.

"Yes," Bolt said. "Do you still have those cells we harvested from the corpse of Danzō Shimura?"

Katasuke nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Of course, Young Master," he answered succinctly. "They're in cryo, awaiting use. As you ordered."

Bolt grinned and Katasuke shivered. It was almost wolfish. He handed him a scroll. Katasuke took it and quickly unfurled it.

His eyes widened.

 _This_ was why he lived to serve the Young Master. No one else in the world was prepared to offer him, let alone encourage, the chance to advance science as much as Bolt had. He gave Katasuke projects that made him stop and ask whether or not science _should,_ not _could,_ do something. He loved it.

This was definitely something that every moral scientist under the heavens would wash their hands of.

Katasuke was not a moral scientist. In science, he believed, there could be no place for morals.

"I call it the 'Sword of Muramasa'," Bolt said.

"A demonic blade that cuts one's self," Katasuke murmured. How fitting. "May I ask what this project is for?"

Bolt smiled, baring teeth.

"The Nine-Tails."

* * *

 **A/N:**

I was a little nervous writing a "serious" (and I use the term loosely as neither Sarada nor Naruto, especially Naruto, were at their full strength) next gen vs. Naruto fight but I feel like it came out okay. The problem you always run into with EOS Naruto and Sasuke is that their powers are so nebulous and undefined that you can't logically apply typical strengths and weaknesses to them. Anytime they need a new way to solve their problems, they conjure one up. That's kind of the Japanese way of writing things, though, so it's up to fanfiction authors to set the limits. In this case: 1) Naruto doesn't have the magic healing ability that saved Gai. That was illogical and one of the largest asspulls in the series. Naruto never studied or showed a proficiency for healing nor did he have a healing ability. The 8th Gate is meant to be a 100% suicide technique and the level of healing displayed was straight up literally God-tier reality warping. It also immensely discredited Gai's character and sacrifice. 2) Only the main body can create Truth-Seeking Orbs, which is canon adherent. 3) Only the main body houses the consciousness of Kurama, though his chakra may be split among the clones. All-in-all, I believe this was a believable, plausible fight between Sarada and a Naruto clone who was limited in options available due to his opponent's identity and the battleground.

I was considering making a tier list, but I don't like the concept of a tier list in the first place since power is relative. A character might be in a higher tier than another character but still lose to the lower tier character if they are weak to a certain technique, i.e. Hidan was undoubtedly stronger than Shikamaru but Shikamaru still managed to beat him through cunning and guile since Hidan was so zealous and simple-minded.

A lot of you were probably wondering what the hell this mini-arc with Bolt being captured was supposed to be doing. It was twofold: allowing the other Akatsuki members to shine, and developing Sarada's character fully. It actually had little to do with Bolt himself, hence why he was in prison. For as much as we've focused on Bolt— since it is his story— and for as powerful as he is, he does have his equals. Sarada, especially, is his primary foil power-wise, with Himawari and Mitsuki (yes, I haven't forgotten him!) also playing an important part.

Ame-no-nuhoko, the Heavenly Jeweled Spear, is the naginata used by Izanagi and Izanami to create the first piece of land in the primordial world. It is both a nod to Itachi, who was also capable of summoning spectral weaponry, and has implications towards the mythos of chakra and the descension of power. Its unique ability is not the Deva Path, but they are similar in nature and will be explained at a later date. Sarada's character archetype is actually not based on a character from Naruto and for those familiar with the source material, Sarada's Susano'o should give you a good hint as to who.

You know, it's funny that no one talks about Kushina in the whole "who would win" debates. And if they do, it's always talking about the Nine-Tails. Kushina was powerful as fuck even without being a jinchūriki, if you think about it. She could create numerous Adamantine Sealing Chains and was capable of both single-handedly restraining the Nine-Tails and creating a barrier of such strength that literally nothing and no one could break through. With the Nine-Tails, I'd go as far as to say that she was stronger than even Minato. If Kabuto had reincarnated Kushina, I think the war would have gone very, very differently.


	90. Chapter 90

**A/N:** Double chapter release! Read the previous chapter first.

* * *

 **December 15th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto smiled as he looked out over the Land of Waves. The newly reconstructed Great Naruto Bridge— he preened a bit; it wasn't every day a bridge was named after you— shone brightly in the afternoon sun. Naruto's smile faltered as he remembered that the bridge had been burnt down by his son's terrorist organization.

If nothing else, it had provided a number of short-term jobs to the now bustling Waves economy. Long gone was the starving, impoverished island state that Naruto had stumbled upon in his youth. Even from the mainland, he could see sprawling shipyards and ports. Docks stretched out from the island like the fingers of a hand for hundreds of feet, dotted with fishing vessels.

Naruto smiled and broke into a sprint as he breezed through the woods, across the bridge, and into the city. He smiled, seeing his people— and they were, kind of, because Waves and Fire were close allies financially, politically, and culturally— as they went about their day-to-day lives. Construction workers, engineers, fishermen, carpenters, and smiths.

It didn't take long for Naruto to find Inari's house. He was, after all, the governor of the Land of Waves— the highest authority in the land since they had neither a Lord nor a Kage. Inari lived in the same house that Naruto remembered crashing at after their fight with Zabuza and Haku. Though, some additions had been added. Lots and lots of additions. It was half stately palace, half bustling workshop. Naruto smiled and knocked on the door.

Naruto blinked as the door swung open. Tsunami blinked back at him before a beautiful smile spread across her lips. "Naruto!" she exclaimed.

"Hi," Naruto offered sheepishly. Inari's mother bore a striking resemblance to Sasuke's mother, now that he had seen the pictures. He wondered if that had bothered Sasuke at all during their mission, way back when. He would have to ask when Sasuke returned from his scouting mission— and Naruto was determined not to think about how bad _that_ report would be.

"Come in, come in," Tsunami ushered him in with a smile. "What brings you all the way to the Land of Waves?"

Naruto smiled as he stepped over the threshold and was struck with the sight of half a dozen models, drawings, and machined parts haphazardly strewn across the room. Tsunami blushed. "Inari," she huffed. "Mad genius that he is, can't ever put things back where they belong."

Naruto laughed. "I'm actually here on business, not pleasure," he admitted.

"Oh?" Tsunami asked, brightening. "Is this about your order?"

Naruto nodded. "Something has come up. I was hoping he had an airship or two I could take early," he said.

Naruto was going to the Land of Wind. Of that, there was no doubt. The only question was whether he had an airship to bring his ninja camped out in the woods with him— and more importantly, their supplies— or if he was going to blitz the borders and hope his one man army of clones got the job done.

But Naruto was pretty sure he wouldn't have to worry about that. The Land of Waves wasn't the largest of islands and it was nigh impossible to hide the looming seven hundred foot long airship at the far end of the island.

Tsunami smiled and beckoned him forward. "Inari is in his office," she said. "I'll show you the way."

Naruto followed after her, eager to see how much the little brat in overalls and a sun hat had changed since he first met him.

* * *

 **December 15th, 0024 AIT**

Cathedral kept her eyes low as she heaved a basket of fish through the marketplace. Casually, she let her eyes wander when no one would suspect anything suspicious. The Hokage— and it must be the Hokage, for few were born as colorful as he— quickly navigated through the bustling city and up to the Governor's workshop.

Cathedral increased her pace once the man was inside. She had to get to the safehouse. The others would want to know that important players were on the move. The Land of Waves was a peaceful country. But, beneath the surface, Cathedral knew a shadow war raged. Saboteurs and spies from the Hidden Stone, guards from the Hidden Leaf, and freedom fighters from the Revolution. All locked in an elegant and deadly dance where discovery meant a fate worse than death.

Cathedral knocked on the door, basket of fish in hand, rapping a quick tune so that her allies would know not to kill her. Lighthouse opened the door, eyes keen and darting, taking in the city behind her. He was a young man, mousy, but he was one of their best operatives. He had basic chakra training as a mercenary from the Land of Wind. He was also, to the Revolution's great gain, a possessor of an uncommon bloodline. He could control the dilation of his pupils, giving him preternatural eyesight. Cathedral quickly ducked inside.

"Any trouble?" Archive asked. She was a thin woman, wickedly intelligent, and was the brains of their cell's operations.

"None," Cathedral reported. "But there is something you all should know. The Hokage is visiting the Governor."

Archive frowned, Lighthouse sitting down opposite her.

"Well, well, well," a man's low, drawling voice echoed. Despite her training, Cathedral shivered. Slaughterhouse. He was tall, thin but muscular, with long, slick inky black hair and a salt-and-pepper goatee. The arsenal of sharp knives hanging at his waist, from a small pocket knife to a butcher's cleaver, didn't make a sound as he entered the room. The only thing sharper than their leader's tools was the look in his eyes. "Looks like we get to have some fun after all."

"What do we do, sir?" Cathedral asked. He was a creepy bastard, but he was still her superior.

"Lighthouse, find out what the Hokage is here for," Slaughterhouse ordered. "I'm certain it has something to do with those new airships the Governor is building."

"And if he is?" Cathedral asked.

Slaughterhouse smiled, something too wide and too hungry. "Then we steal the plans from the Governor," he said. "Something tells me they'll be useful in the not-too-distant future."

* * *

 **December 21st, 0024 AIT**

The Fire Temple always creeped Shikamaru out a bit. There was something profoundly otherworldly about it. He couldn't put his discomfort into words but it was always there in the back of his mind. If Shikamaru had to give an answer, it was that he felt... watched. Yes, that was the closest description of the feeling he got. The hallowed aspect of the temple only exacerbated the feeling of discomfort.

Still, the Fire Temple was the last known location of the Akatsuki before they entered the Land of Steam. If he was going to find Hidan, Shikamaru knew his best starting point would be the temple. Good thing, too, because Sentoki was one of the Leaf's staunchest supporters after he had "killed" Hidan following the sack of the Fire Temple.

Shikamaru slipped inside the gates, Chōji and Ino following him. Sakura and her cell of medical ninja were camped outside. The ornate rock gardens with flowing patterns etched into the sands were strangely beautiful. The wind shifted and Shikamaru wrinkled his nose at the pungent, earthy scent of burning ritual herbs. A few moments later, the deep, base humming of the singing monks filled the air. Their hym made a shiver crawl up his spine.

"Creepy," Ino whispered.

Shikamaru knew how she felt. "Come on," he beckoned his team forward.

There were so many damn steps to climb to get from the courtyard to the main entrance of the temple. Shikamaru wondered how the monks made the climb every single day. By the time he reached the top he was a little breathless. He cursed his decision to get a desk job. At least he wasn't as bad as Chōji, hands resting on his knees as he wheezed. Shikamaru snickered as his friend straightened, wiped his brow of sweat, and began to hungrily devour a fistful of potato chips.

The doors of the Fire Temple towered above Shikamaru. They were open, but just by a crack. Warily, he slipped inside.

"Hello."

Shikamaru recoiled, his heart pounding, as a smiling Sentoki appeared just inside. "Can you not?" he drawled.

"I knew you were coming," Sentoki shrugged. He pushed open the doors and beckoned them inside.

"Well, that's not creepy," Shikamaru remarked. "We're here about—"

"—Hidan, yes," Sentoki finished, nodding his head. "I know."

"The Leaf would—" Shikamaru began.

"—like my assistance, yes," Sentoki nodded, again. "You shall have it."

Shikamaru sighed. "What a drag," he mumbled.

"Come," Sentoki said cheerfully. "We can discuss the Jashin threat in my office."

Shikamaru dutifully followed, Chōji and Ino behind him. The head abbot's office _was_ nice. An old, gnarled wooden desk that Shikamaru could tangibly feel its age. Row upon row of thick, musty religious tomes. Incense burned and filled the air with a sweet and pungent scent. But it was humble, too, lacking in ornate finery and modern conveniences. Sentoki had just enough more than his fellows to perform his extra duties and not a bit more.

"You fought Hidan," Shikamaru said once the doors were closed.

"Yes. Him and one other," Sentoki said.

"Yeah. We don't have a name, but one of our ninja managed to get his face and features. He has the ability to possess people by turning into smoke. Intelligence suggests he could be one of the last members of the Iburi clan, but they died out sometime around the Third War," Shikamaru explained.

Sentoki nodded.

"You mentioned the Jashin threat?" Shikamaru asked, an eyebrow raised in questioning.

"Yes. There has been a resurgence of Jashin followers in the Land of Steam. Their sects are usually fragmented and scattered along the Lands of Lightning, Frost, Steam, and Fire. They each interpret the 'teachings'—" Sentoki spat the word. "—of Jashin differently. But, recently, they have been banding together and traveling to the Land of Steam."

Shikamaru sighed. "I imagine this has something to do with the coup," he drawled.

"I wouldn't know, but yes, it seems likely," Sentoki said.

"Maybe the new Yukage recruited them?" Ino suggested. "State-approved religion? The new Hidden Steam wouldn't have a lot of ninja. They would need all the men they could get."

"Possible," Shikamaru sighed. "Also, dangerous. If the Akatsuki is behind the coup, that means the Hidden Steam is—"

"—Just like the Hidden Rain," Sentoki finished. "A ninja village controlled by the Akatsuki."

Fuck, that was annoying, Shikamaru thought. Sentoki smirked at him. Shikamaru frowned sourly.

"But why?" Ino pondered aloud, two fingers pressed to her chin in thought. "I could see the use in having a ninja village to call your own, especially now that we know Bolt is running both the Revolution and the Akatsuki. It's a great tool politically and martially. But the Hidden Steam has been a non-factor since the Third War. It has no ninja, no clout, and none of the Akatsuki's members have any ties to the country. It doesn't make sense."

Shikamaru hummed in thought. "It could be that the Akatsuki didn't have the strength—"

"—Politically, at least," Sentoki amended.

"... Politically, at least," Shikamaru grumbled. He didn't need to be reminded the Akatsuki could attack a ninja village and get away with it. He was more annoyed Sentoki kept knowing what he was going to say. "To take over a village. The Hidden Steam was a non-factor, true, but there was no one opposing them from taking over and recreating the village with mercenaries and, apparently, Jashin worshipers."

"It would be a strong position, geographically speaking, for a base of operations," Ino said. "The Revolution has been operating out of the Land of Frost unopposed since the dissolution of the Union. No one has the manpower or money to help them now that they aren't mandated to. The destruction of Cloud didn't help matters. If the newly founded Hidden Steam were ever in trouble, it wouldn't take long to call for reinforcements."

Shikamaru nodded and breathed a ragged sigh. "The problem is we don't know what we're walking into," he said. "Steam closed its borders to the Leaf. Us being there could be seen as an act of war. We can't get caught or we'll risk an international incident. That's why the team is as small as it is. At the same time, we don't know how large the new Steam is. We could be woefully outnumbered and outmatched and not even know it."

"Which is why—" Ino began.

"—You came to me," Sentoki finished with a smile.

Yeah, Shikamaru was going to need a cigarette after the meeting. That was getting to be really, really annoying.

"I will come with you and provide assistance, of course," Sentoki nodded. "Hidan is as much an enemy of the Fire Temple as he is the Hidden Leaf."

Shikamaru breathed a sigh of relief. He had every faith in his team but none of them were Kage-class ninja. Sentoki, however, was rumored to be the strongest ninja monk in a thousand generations. With Team 10 supporting him, Shikamaru was sure Sentoki would be able to defeat Hidan, his Akatsuki partner, and any Steam "ninja" they encountered. There was a reason they called him "Sentoki of the Thousand Fists," after all.

"Good," Shikamaru said. "We're ready to leave when you are. We've got a squad of medics we're escorting to the border of the Land of Fire and Steam. They'll head to the Hidden Mist once we're there."

Sentoki nodded. "Let us move quickly," he said.

* * *

 **December 30th, 0024 AIT**

It was a day's march into the rugged white-stone mountains of the Land of Steam when Shikamaru got the message. A hawk swooped down, a metal band wrapped around its leg, with a simple missive: _"Bolt escaped; Sarada traitor; Lady Tsunade deceased; threat on your life."_

Shikamaru held the tattered parchment in his hands, staring lifelessly at it. He needed more information. It was like playing blind. He couldn't see his own pieces, let alone his opponents'. Bolt and Sarada, working together... it made Shikamaru shiver. His strength and her precognition. There was not a single person in existence, save for Naruto and Sasuke, who could even hope to match that combination. The strongest team, indeed, and that was without Mitsuki supporting them.

Worse, Shikamaru didn't know who was injured. Who was _dead_. Lady Tsunade had died in the fighting? More likely, she had tried to heal the wounded and died from exhaustion. Really, she shouldn't have even been fighting after Pain's attack when she healed the entire village population. Realistically, her body had long since passed the point where her cells would stop dividing. She was supposed to be retired. Now she was dead.

And what did it mean there was a "threat on his life?" He was Shikamaru Nara, chief advisor to the Hokage, jōnin commander, and head of the Hidden Leaf council. His life was _always_ in danger. His death would be strategic in any war.

Shikamaru needed more information.

"Shika," Ino said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. Shikamaru looked up from the parchment. "There's nothing you can do. Trust that our friends will defend the village and know that they are trusting us to find out what happened in Steam and who captured the Three-Tails."

Shikamaru nodded numbly. There was nothing he could do. Not when he was weeks away from the village and deep in enemy territory. He needed to focus. Just because they hadn't seen anyone yet doesn't mean they weren't in danger.

"Your friend is right," Sentoki said, resting atop a large boulder in a meditative position. "There is nothing you can do. When it is time to rejoin the Circle, it is nothing we can do to fight it. Such is the way of life. You need not fight it nor mourn those that have taken the next step in their journey. If it is meant to be, your spirits will find each other in the next life."

Shikamaru wished he could take solace in the ninja monks' beliefs, but he couldn't. He had seen too much in the Fourth War. Too much death, too much pain. Shikamaru didn't want to lose his family and friends to the damned "Circle." He wanted them to stay right where they were. Where he could make sure they were safe and happy.

"Come on," Shikamaru grumbled. "Let's go. We're only an hour or two away from the Hidden Steam."

The hike there was silent. The news weighed heavily on their minds. Shikamaru kept a watchful eye on the skies, hoping and praying another hawk would deliver him an update. At the same time, he knew he needed to concentrate. They had a mission. A mission that could very well end in their deaths if they weren't careful. Shikamaru vividly remembered Asuma's death. He still had nightmares.

Eventually, their team crested the beautiful white stone crags that the Land of Steam was famed for and the city that was the Hidden Steam sprawled before them for miles. It was as beautiful as it was famed, but... it was not a ninja village. Shikamaru could see no walls, no guards, and...

"Ino," Shikamaru whispered. "Sense any barriers?"

Ino shook her head. "Just some really old ones. They don't even work anymore. Remnants from Steam before it disbanded," she whispered back.

That was... odd. It was almost like it wasn't a ninja village at all. There hadn't been any border patrols, either. Shikamaru didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. He felt like he was moving his pieces into a well laid trap where the enemy was all around him, encircling and ensnaring him.

"I sense none of the followers of Jashin in the village, save for two," Sentoki whispered.

"Just two?" Shikamaru muttered to himself.

"It is unlikely this is the newly founded Hidden Steam," Ino whispered.

"Where the hell would they go?" Shikamaru demanded. You didn't just build an entire city in a few months. That required land, materials and supplies, money, labor, citizens, ninja to defend it, barriers and walls and defensive measures, electricity and technology, and trade and treaties. There was too much for a fledgling village to acquire for it to sprout up on its own.

"Well," Chōji mumbled, chewing on a strip of dried meat. "There are two people we could ask."

Shikamaru sighed. He looked to his teammates, then to Sentoki, and knew that there was no other way unless they wanted to spend months scouring the countryside looking for hidden bases. And, along the way, they would undoubtedly stumble into a real trap or their enemies. Shikamaru greatly prefered to be the one dictating the where, when, and how of his battles. "Alright," he ordered. "Let's go. We get in, we capture the two Jashinists, and then we get out. Nice and quiet. No one should know we're here. That means no headbands."

Ino and Chōji nodded. Both stowed their headbands in their packs and hid them in some nearby bushes. Chōji parted with his clan's armor sadly, the easily recognizable seal of the Akimichi clan proudly on display. Then he cleaned his face of his warpaint. Sentoki actually was the most well disguised member of their group. His plain white robes were dirty from travelling and while white wasn't the most common color of dress in these parts, he wouldn't be suspected of being a ninja.

"Our story is that we're tourists from the Land of Lightning looking to forget the destruction of the Hidden Cloud," Shikamaru instructed them as they hiked down the mountain and towards the old Hidden Steam.

"Got it," Ino said. Chōji nodded and Sentoki hummed.

There were no guards at the front gate. Shikamaru and his team just... strolled in. It made his palms dampen with sweat and his heart hammer in his chest. Sentoki stepped forward to take the lead and Shikamaru fell back to follow him with Ino and Chōji flanking him defensively. Thinking about it, Shikamaru berated himself for not asking how Sentoki was able to sense the Jashinists. He wasn't aware that Sentoki was a sensor. And a sensor of Jashinists, specifically? Was that even a thing?

Sentoki led them to, of course, a bar. It was a nice bar, of course, but still. Beautiful red wood with ornate patterns carved into it with tiled blue shingles forming the roof. Shikamaru stepped inside and blinked as he found the interior dark and sparsely lit by warm red-orange paper lanterns. The place had the distinctive odor of alcohol. It was also empty, except for two gentlemen seated on stools near the bar and a nervous woman serving them drinks.

Shikamaru would've pegged the two for Jashinists even without knowing Sentoki was leading them to them. Their hair was white— snow white. No color at all. They wore black robes that were darker in some places than other with red-black stains that could barely be seen by the naked eye. The robes were worn loose, casually, and Shikamaru could see their pale skin was marred by countless pink-white scars. At their hips they carried viciously crude swords with edges like a saw. Attached to their thighs on the left was a leather pouch of ninja tools and on the right were several collapsable metal spikes or spears.

And, Shikamaru could see, they clearly had something wrapped around their heads. If he was a betting man, Shikamaru would bet his soul that the emblem would be that of the Hidden Steam; three diagonal lines.

The bartender looked at them and Shikamaru could see clear fear in her eyes. She shook her head, subtly motioning for them to leave. Of course, she was a civilian. Her definition of subtle did not mirror that of a ninja's. The two Jashinists immediately stood, rounding on them and drawing their swords.

"What a drag," Shikamaru swore.

The two Jashinists' eyes were wild and wide, pink-red veins spider-webbing through the whites. Shikamaru could practically see the bloodlust reflected in them. They weren't stupid, either, because the two men immediately lunged at their group with zealous, high-pitched battle cries.

"Ino! Chōji!" Shikamaru barked, hands quickly finding their way to the Rat seal.

Chōji lunged forward and Ino fell back. Standard formation. Shikamaru's shadow lashed out and caught one of the men. Sentoki put himself between the one Shikamaru had caught and his ally. Chōji darted around the captured, struggling Jashinist and captured him in a bone-breaking bear hug.

"Mind Transfer Technique!" Ino intoned.

The moment Shikamaru felt the Jashinist stop struggling he released the technique and whirled around to catch Ino before her body hit the floor. Chōji released Ino, now possessing the man, and the three of them turned to deal with the other Jashinist.

Sentoki was standing above the man, clearly unconscious, resting a foot on his back and watching them with a small smile.

"Oh, thank you," the bartender cried, visibly sagging. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you—"

"It's fine," Shikamaru cut her off.

"A-Are you from the Leaf?" she asked hesitantly.

Shikamaru grunted. Kind of hard to lie when you had a Nara and a Yamanaka using their clans' techniques. "Yeah," he admitted.

Unshed tears welled in the woman's eyes. "You have to be careful," she whispered, eyes darting warily to the Jashinist that Ino was possessing. "The Hidden Steam has eyes everywhere, even where their ninja aren't. If someone sees you..."

"We'll be careful," Shikamaru assured the woman. "Can you tell us where everyone is? Are these two the only ones in the city?"

The woman nodded. "They have a base in the Valley of Hell, southeast of here," she said.

Well, that made his job easy. Everyone knew where the Valley of Hell was. The problem was that no one lived there because the gases from the hot springs were lethally toxic. "Thank you," Shikamaru nodded. "Can you tell us what's been happening in the country lately? Intel has been scarce."

The bartender nodded, her hands nervously cleaning a dirtied mug. "Ever since the new Hidden Steam took over, things were great," she said. "We had more money in the economy, more jobs, and everyone felt safe because of the presence of ninja. That changed when the Jashinists started being recruited. They're... they're unspeakably cruel. They'll kill and torture people for fun, for the smallest offense. The other ninja, they try to control them, but..."

"But they're afraid, too," Sentoki said gravely.

The woman nodded. "The only one who can control them is the Yukage or his bodyguard, Hidan—" Shikamaru choked. "—but they're so busy lately that they rarely have time to keep the Jashinists controlled..."

Shikamaru nodded. "Listen," he whispered. "You can't tell anyone we were here. We're trying to help, but we can't if word gets out. If Steam gets proof that Leaf was here, there will be war. And for as cruel as the Jashinists are, as bad as they make life for you, I can guarantee that war with the Leaf will be infinitely worse."

Of course, that was assuming Shikamaru could convince Naruto to fight. He didn't think they would have a choice if Steam invaded. But they couldn't afford a war on two fronts and they couldn't afford to look weak. Not now. Not with the war with Stone, the war with the Akatsuki, and the looming threat of the Ōtsutsuki in the not-too-distant future. They needed to get their shit together.

The bartender nodded. "Thank you," she whispered back forcefully.

Shikamaru turned and faced his team. "Ino, carry the unconscious one. Pretend he's passed out, drunk," he ordered. "No one will question you. Chōji, Sentoki, and I will leave after you. We'll meet where we stashed our gear."

Ino nodded, scooping up and unconscious Jashinist after Sentoki removed his foot. Shikamaru winced at the dark purple-black bruised indentation left by the monk's sandals. Sentoki was much stronger than he looked.

The monk flashed him a small smile as the three of them left a few minutes after Ino did.

* * *

 **December 18th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto smiled, breathing deep as he stood at the bow of the airship. The world was far, far below him as they sailed among the clouds. Occasionally, the crew would use Wind and Fire Release techniques to generate more superheated air to keep the ship skybound. Propellers spun so quickly that it was hard to follow the individual blades with the naked eye, powered by batteries brimming with Lightning Release chakra.

It was a technological marvel and Naruto was proud to call its designer his friend. Inari had outdone himself. And this time, if the airship crashed— and it wouldn't, Naruto swore, because he was onboard— it wouldn't matter if it created an international incident with the Hidden Stone. Because Naruto was damn sure he was going to beat some sense into Kurotsuchi. He wouldn't let her disgrace Ōnoki's, that old goat's, legacy.

The airship sailed over the Land of Valleys, dotted with snaking rivers and thick forests and rugged mountains, and into the Land of Wind, all rolling sand dunes for as far as the eye could see. Mountains, faint in the distance, marked the border between the Land of Wind and Earth. Far, far to the south, Naruto could almost make out where the dunes ended and the plains began. The people of the Land of Plains rarely ventured north and the ninja world had little contact with them, save for the sparse population at the southern tip of the Land of Wind.

And, if he really focused, Naruto was pretty sure he could make out the countless dark splotches of men and women forming the Stone army and the Sand defenders to the south. If there was one thing Naruto was thankful for, it was that neither side had committed to an all-out offensive yet. Stone were more numerous, better supplied, and arguably bred a stronger ninja. Sand had the advantage of the battlefield, having lived and fought in the dunes all their lives, and could more easily survive by having their villages supply them with food and water.

Naruto dashed back to the bridge. "Put us down over there," he pointed, showing the captain where to go.

"Yes, sir," the captain echoed, barking out orders to bring the airship down.

It was a little, sparse plain shielded by a towering dune of sand. A few hardy bushes and cacti grew and little else. Naruto smiled as he saw a lizard skip across the dunes as he and his ninja exited the airship. The other inhabitants of the clearing were, of course, his allies from Sand. There were wispy canvas tents erected with ninja and puppets standing guard in equal measure.

"Set up our tents over there," Naruto commanded, pointing to an empty plot of land opposite the Sand's. The head of ANBU, Commander Hyūga, nodded and quickly jogged away to bark orders at the disembarking ninja.

Naruto made his way to the largest of the tents, Sand ninja saluting him respectfully as he passed. Inside, he could hear raised voices. The guards near the tent's entrance parted the flaps for him and Naruto ducked inside. Kankurō was garbed in the ceremonial robes of the Kazekage and it made Naruto's heart ache at the reminder that Gaara, one of his first true friends, was dead.

The Hidden Sand's council was assembled, eight in all, of which, Naruto recognized only Baki. There was a tall, thin man with shaggy rose-red hair standing next to Kankurō, two fearsome looking puppets standing at either side. The commander of the Puppet Brigade, Naruto thought. The color of his hair made Naruto wonder if there was any Uzumaki blood in the man. Against his will, Naruto looked among the assembled bureaucrats looking for Chiyo and Ebizō. Neither were there, of course. Chiyo died bringing Gaara back and Ebizō had retired to be with his family before being killed in one of Shukaku's rampages.

"Naruto!" Kankurō exclaimed. "I didn't think you would be here for..."

Naruto smiled broadly. "A little help from our friends in the Land of Waves," he shrugged. "I've got supplies and a hundred ninja with me, and more coming as airships are built."

"As much as we appreciate your aid, Lord Hokage," Baki said. He looked much older than Naruto remembered him as Gaara's teacher. He had done well for himself, though, occupying the same position as Shikamaru. "I fear that your arrival has only exasperated the situation. The Hidden Stone will have seen your ship and will be eager to attack before we can rest and resupply."

Naruto frowned. He hadn't thought about that. The assembled group argued over war strategies for the next five hours until the sun began to set and Naruto was blissfully freed from his duties. His ninja had managed to set up the beginnings of a camp for the Leaf contingent of the army.

When Naruto woke the next morning, it was to panicked scrambling as the Stone army had moved closer during the night.

It looked like he would get his chance to beat some sense into Kurotsuchi sooner rather than later.

* * *

 **December 30th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto sighed, wearily rubbing at his eyes as he delved deeper into the ground. The Original was going to be absolutely pissed. The Hokage Tower was gone— again— and the Hokage Rock had been damaged— again— and Bolt had, against all odds, escaped. On his watch. Naruto was thankful that once he was dispelled there would be no functional difference between him and the Original. The Original couldn't be mad at himself.

Or could he...

Naruto swore and pushed the idea from his mind. That was for future-him to deal with. Current-him had to deal with the fallout. The Leaf had been betrayed. That was bad enough. But they had been betrayed by someone very close to many of their heart's. And, to the general public, her surname alone still carried the connotations of fear and betrayal: Uchiha. Naruto strode quickly through the halls of the prison, ignoring the way the others shied away from him fearfully and quieted in his presence. He was there for one person and one person only.

"Sarada," he whispered sadly as he stood before her cell. It was similar to Bolt's. Small, mostly bare, and lined with fūinjutsu that disrupted and prevented chakra control and moulding.

Sasuke's daughter— and, oh man, the Original was really going to be pissed when he had to tell Sasuke the news— looked up at him from where she had been seated on the ground. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing and Naruto could tangibly feel the weight of her broken spirit. "Sarada," he said, more firmly, but kindly. "Why? Why did you do it?"

Silence.

Naruto didn't think she would answer him, but she did. "I—I had to," Sarada said, voice hoarse from disuse. "He... he was my friend. I couldn't let him die."

Naruto swallowed. "Bolt was never in any danger from me or the Leaf, Sarada," he said softly.

Sarada shook her head, her long black hair swaying around her shoulders. It reminded him of how Sakura wore her hair in their Academy days. "You don't _understand_ ," she countered forcefully. "I saw it! I knew what was going to happen! Bolt was like a caged animal. If he didn't escape, he would have killed himself. He _definitely_ would have killed himself if Himawari had taken away his chakra."

Naruto recoiled as if struck. The very thought of his son committing _suicide_ was enough to strike dread into his heart. Then he realized what Sarada had said. "Sarada, what do you mean... when you say that Himawari was going to take away his chakra?" he asked.

Sarada shook her head. "I don't know," she said brokenly. "I just... I saw it. She goes in, pins him, and then a few minutes later... no more chakra. Bolt kills himself immediately after that."

Naruto drew in a deep breath through his nose. He had been paying less and less attention to his family— something he swore never to do again— after Bolt had been arrested and the Sand-Stone war had broken out. Clearly that was a mistake. He was going to have to have a long talk with Himawari and Hiashi later.

"Sarada," Naruto prodded gently. "I need you to explain to me how... how your Mangekyō works."

If there was any chance, any at all, for acquitting Sarada, Naruto needed to know. He had avoided asking about the exact circumstances and powers of her Mangekyō. Naruto knew it was considered the height of disrespect and impoliteness among the Uchiha clan. Those that awakened their Mangekyō did so through experiencing great loss and sorrow. He was content to leave it at "she sees the future," but no more.

"I..." Sarada began. "I... don't know how to explain it. I just— I _see_ things. I see _everything_. I see what can happen, what will happen, and what might happen. I can choose which things I want to happen by steering events towards that thread."

Naruto listened patiently as she worked through it. Was her Mangekyō the ultimate manifestation of the Sharingan's ability to predict the future? Was she reading the flow of chakra? Was she actually interfacing with time itself to gaze into the future?

"But it's not perfect," Sarada admitted raggedly. "I can't see too far. Only about a day's time. Anything more than that and the threads get too unravelled. Nothing makes sense. Bolt said... he said that my foreknowledge made me weak because I depended on it too much. The things I set in motion can give my opponents hints on how to beat me in the future if I don't defeat them the first time. I can... I can get help from Omoikane to see farther, but I don't like to."

Naruto frowned. Omoikane was the name of her unique ocular ability, so what did she mean? "What do you mean you can "get help" from Omoikane? I thought that was the name of your foresight ability," Naruto asked.

Sarada wiped at her eyes and Naruto realized she was crying. Damn. Sasuke was going to kick his ass. "My right eye sees the future," Sarada said. "My left can... I guess it's kind of like... two heads are better than one, you know? My left eye can link minds and the more minds that are linked the better my foresight is."

Something unspeakably cold settled into the pit of Naruto's stomach. "And—" his voice cracked. Naruto berated himself. "And Omoikane? Is he someone that you can link minds with?"

Sarada nodded weakly.

"Sarada," Naruto breathed, kneeling before her cell. "This is important. I need you to describe him for me, was he—"

"He was white," Sarada answered. "His skin and hair. Like snow. He had the Sharingan like me, so I thought maybe he was a long-lost Uchiha... someone who escaped the massacre or maybe a distant cousin on one of the unexplored continents. But he had these weird... horns, and... he showed me things. Showed me what would happen if Bolt didn't escape. People died. Lots of people. He showed me how to beat you. How to make sure you didn't use your full strength for fear of killing me or destroying the Leaf..."

Naruto felt as if he had just been ran through by a sword. His chest tangibly ached as icy fear crawled up his spine and warred with the fiery, furious anger welling in his chest. He was _not_ going to let the Ōtsutsuki take Sarada from Sasuke or Bolt from him. They would have to do it over his cold dead corpse.

Without a care, Naruto reached up and slapped the control seal that controlled the cell. He darted in and wrapped Sarada in a hug. She froze, arms hanging limply at her side, and then squeezed him back as she began to cry.

"Sarada, you didn't do anything wrong," Naruto said. "I'm... I need you to promise me something. Please. It's very important. You can never use your left eye's ability again. Omoikane is a very, very dangerous person. He and his people want to kill us— humans, that is."

"What do you mean?" Sarada sobbed.

"I—" Naruto hesitated. "I can't tell you right now, Sarada. But I will. I promise I will. I swear it. That's my nindō. But you have to promise me something in return. Promise me you won't ever use your left eye's power again."

Sarada nodded feebly into his chest.

Naruto had never been more afraid for the future.

* * *

 **January 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Shikamaru held a cloth to his mouth and nose as he peered through the steam and gas of the Valley of Hell. Cloying clouds of snow-white vapor drifted skyward from pools of blood-red, boiling water and obscured the valley and hid any trace of civilization. Ino had eventually managed to extract some actionable intelligence from the two Jashinists. At the very least, their team wouldn't be walking blind into an ambush by the newly founded Hidden Steam. Thankfully, Ino had also managed to seal their memories of the attack so that they didn't have to drag the two men around with them until they could find a prison.

The thought of just killing them had crossed Shikamaru's mind, but he knew Naruto would be disappointed in him. The new era was one of peace, though it was slowly crumbling all around them. Shikamaru believed in peace, believed in Naruto's dream, so he had stayed his hand.

Now he just had to navigate through pools of boiling blood-red water and noxious gas, find the Hidden Steam, avoid being seen by either the ninja or the Jashinists, confirm that the Akatsuki was ruling the village, and check to see if the Three-Tails or its jinchūriki were kept inside.

Easy, right?

"What a drag," Shikamaru swore.

"At least we know the safe path forward," Ino reminded him.

"The _safest_ path forward," Shikamaru grumbled. "There is a difference."

What kind of fucking city built itself where there was no guaranteed safe passage? Oh, right, a secret, Akatsuki-controlled ninja village manned by sadistic psycopaths. Shikamaru didn't regret volunteering— Hidan needed to be put down, once and for all— but only just.

"Let's just get this over with," Shikamaru grumbled. His team traded nods, Chōji scarfing down a fistful of potato chips.

In hindsight, it made perfect sense to Shikamaru. The two Jashinists they had captured were low-level soldiers of the Hidden Mist. They knew about as much about Steam's defenses as a genin knew about the Leaf's: nothing.

So, when Shikamaru hesitantly began to navigate the "safe" path through the poisonous gas, he was hardly surprised when Ino stiffened beside him as they passed through an invisible, intangible barrier.

Shikamaru sighed. "I'm going to regret taking this mission, aren't I?" he asked no one.

"They know we're here!" Ino hissed.

"Let's get out of here before they send the guards," Shikamaru whispered. He silently cursed himself. He should have known Steam would be protected by some type of barrier. The Akatsuki had two of the most accomplished fūinjutsu masters in the world among their ranks. He _knew_ that.

"It seems we are too late," Sentoki said, speaking for the first time, just as they began the climb back to the safety of the mountainous forest.

Shikamaru sighed as he heard the patter of boots striking stone. "Formation E," he told his friends. Ino nodded, moving behind him and placing her hands on his back as she closed his eyes. Chōji grew in size as he curled into a ball and Shikamaru's shadow lashed out to take control of him.

The Steam ninja leapt from the gas, appearing as nothing more than wispy shadows. Shikamaru immediately recognized the tell-tale Jashinists; white and gray hair with pale, scarred skin that was dotted with tattoos depicting the symbol of their God. Shikamaru's shadow leapt forward, carrying Chōji with it, and Shikamaru used his friend like a makeshift mace as he clubbed the Jashinists screeching in sadistic glee as they attacked.

Sentoki darted forward, surprisingly quick and light on his feet, easily dispatching every opponent who dared to stand against him with lightning-quick palm strikes. Shikamaru knew the head monk could take care of himself. He focused on reading the intel Ino fed him, directing Chōji to crush their enemies. If there was one thing Shikamaru could say he liked about the Jashinists: they were simple and narrow-minded.

That all changed as the Steam's ninja attacked. The blood-red pools of water, tainted by iron, reared up into angry serpents. Great roaring waves of fire soared through the air and out of the steam. Shikamaru swore as he was forced to break the formation to allow himself and Ino to dodge the whip-like strike of water. Chōji continued to roll of his own volition, thankfully, and crushed more and more of their enemies.

"Fall back!" Shikamaru barked. "Get away from the water!"

Hopefully the Steam ninja would be unable or unwilling to move the poisonous water so far. They would be forced to generate their own water, far less numerous and far more taxing on their chakra. His team hastened to obey.

Shikamaru's eyes fell on Sentoki as he continued to battle Jashinists and ninja alike. He frowned. The Jashinists took his attacks with a smile on their face and a prayer on their lips. As expected, Shikamaru thought. But the ninja... Sentoki hit them and they didn't even blink. Shikamaru saw one or two men be struck in the chest so hard he could see their sternums collapse. They didn't even slow down. They got back up, kept moving forward, kept attacking.

"Shit," Shikamaru swore. He cleared his throat as he dodged a swing of a Jashinist's sword, took control of the man, and used him as a human shield as a Steam ninja tried to cook him with a raging inferno. "The ninja don't feel pain!" he warned his team.

Probably a seal, Shikamaru thought, his mind racing. A gift from the "benevolent" leader of the Akatsuki. They would have to kill them, attacks to the heart or brain. He was about to bark an order stating as much when a group spilled from the steam and gas. Shikamaru's eyes immediately ghosted past the guards and locked onto Hidan. The gray-haired man's eyes were wide, wild, and brimming with barely restrained sadistic glee. Shikamaru sucked in a ragged breath. Then his logical mind reasserted itself and he took in the rest of their assembled foes. Next to Hidan stood a man. He was older, his hair a gray-black mix of salt and pepper, with a large nose and heavyset brows. He was dressed in the ceremonial robes of the Kage, the three diagonal lines signifying to all that he was the Yukage. The two of them were surrounded by guards, ninja and Jashinists alike.

The Yukage's fingers twitched and Shikamaru recoiled as a firm hand grasped him by the shoulder and pulled him back. He blinked dumbly at the ground where a smoking needle was embedded in the forest floor. Shikamaru looked up at Sentoki, eyes wide, realizing that his life had just been saved.

"The Yukage is not as he appears," Sentoki said, perfectly calm. "The one that dwelled within Hidan last time now inhabits his body. He will dwell in the shadows, content to strike when our eyes are closed, our backs turned, and our minds occupied. He specializes in micropuppets and poisons. Be wary."

The situation had just gone from bad to worse. Hidan was strong on his own, strong enough to be recruited to the old Akatsuki and crazy enough to join the new. And Shikadai had said that the differences between Pain and Bolt were night and day; Bolt led from the front. All eyes were on him so that his allies could move freely. But his son's words echoed in Shikamaru's mind: Bolt would never allow himself to have weak teammates. The Yukage would be a problem. Of that, Shikamaru had no doubt. And with an army of unfeeling ninja and sadistic Jashinists at their beck and call?

The Hidden Steam just became a serious threat and it was right on the Leaf's doorstep. Shikamaru just had the misfortune to answer the door when they knocked.

Sentoki stepped forward and Shikamaru blinked as the monk's skin began to radiate a golden light from within. He quickly backed away as a many-armed golden woman stepped into existence behind Sentoki.

* * *

 **January 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Bolt blinked as he awoke, eyes fluttering shut as a harsh light assaulted his sight. He stretched, pleasantly sore and satisfied, arms wrapping around the other occupant of the bed. Bolt opened his eyes, lips turning upwards in the ghost of a smile, and then froze.

Hikari did not have tanned skin, or ruddy orange hair, or golden eyes. Bolt quickly released Chōchō, heart pounding in his chest as he realized she was staring at him, through him, with lifeless, cold eyes. He threw an arm out, his hand connecting with something cold and soft, and recoiled as he turned and saw Inojin, his pallor even more deathly than normal, also staring up at him with dead eyes.

Bolt sighed as his mind caught up to his instincts. A brief instant of clarity assailed him, consciously knowing he was dreaming, his body barely sensing the outside world, as his mind transitioned from sleeping to waking. Honestly, his subconscious wasn't even creative anymore. It needed to find new ways to torture him or he was going to get bored. Bolt wondered if it was a bad thing that his nightmares haunted him less and less. Was he becoming accustomed to the killing? The death? He vaguely remembered some whispered words of wisdom, from either Hikari or Eiji, but he couldn't remember what. Something about when murder no longer bothered you, that was when you truly became the monster.

Bolt blinked, thankful for the darkness of reality, as he awoke. He stilled, moving carefully and soundless as he heard Hikari breathing softly and deeply next to him. She didn't wake or stir and Bolt let out a silent breath. Looking at a clock— fūinjutsu, accurate down to the nanosecond, and multifaceted to account for the timezones— and saw that it was far, far too early to be awake. Yet, Bolt could tell that he wouldn't be finding any rest. He frowned, wondering if perhaps his subconscious was more clever in its torture than he gave it credit for. Instead, Bolt reached for the little black book he had set on the nightstand. He didn't want to get up, Hikari deserved her rest, but he didn't want to sit idly with nothing but his own thoughts for company.

Bolt flipped through the pages of the Bingo Book, eager to see the changes to the geopolitical battleground. Some, like Temple, one of his operatives that served the Revolution, he knew. It had eventually come out that he had assassinated Ōnoki and the Hidden Stone had been furious. Furious enough, in fact, to place a hundred million ryō bounty on him. Others, like Miyako Mizukawa, leader of the newly founded Blackwater mercenary company, were new. Fifteen million ryō wasn't a small number for a first time bounty. Of course, Mist might have trouble paying that sum after what Tetsu and Hikari did to them. He would have to contact her and see about purchasing her services, bringing her into the fold of the Revolution.

Bolt paused as he found the section of the little black book reserved just for him and his friends. At some point, the numbers just got silly. Bolt didn't know who, if any, country had the one point three billion ryō to pay for his head. He was pretty sure the GDP of entire nations was less than that number. Plus, who hated him enough that they were willing to pay that much for him to die? Bolt couldn't remember pissing someone that wealthy off. He would have at least stolen from them first. He did smile, seeing the words "do not approach, flee on sight," listed under his, Hikari's, and Tetsu's profiles.

Tetsu and Hikari were doing well for themselves, Bolt thought. Hell, if someone wanted you dead so bad they were willing to pay six hundred and fifty million ryō and five hundred and twenty-five million ryō, respectively, you had to be doing something right. Or wrong, depending on who you asked.

"You know," Hikari drawled sleepily as she ran a hand up his forearm. He shivered. "Most people would consider looking at bounties to be bad pillow talk."

Bolt laughed lightly. "Hikari of the Blood Release," he parroted her newly dubbed title. "Wants pillow talk."

"Aren't you supposed to serenade me, my knight in shining armor?" Hikari teased.

Bolt choked as he burst into laughter. Hikari _did not_ crack jokes. Ever. "So," he breathed, staving off lingering giggles. "How _did_ you figure out your "Blood Release." Last time we tried it you couldn't get the feel for it because the liquid wasn't homogeneous."

Hikari smiled at him, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Come on, tell me," Bolt begged.

Hikari laughed, low and breathy. "It's not that hard," she said with a smile.

"It is too," Bolt said sourly. If manipulating organic liquid was easy, he would be able to do it, too. "The control needed is too fine. You have to separate the non-liquid matter from the liquid matter."

The Hyūga all had excellent chakra control. However, that was _internal_ chakra control. External? That was a different matter entirely, and an area where medical ninja had him soundly beat. Bolt still couldn't quite get the hang of the Mystical Palm technique, despite having an excellent teacher. His amounted to "pump them full of your Uzumaki Yang chakra and hope for the best."

"Well," Hikari said, holding back a throaty chuckle when her eyes found his. "It's all about scope. The human body is fifty to sixty percent water by weight, but most of it is intercellular fluid used to cushion cells. Separating iron from blood is inconsequential at that point."

"But, still," Bolt pouted. Why couldn't she just tell him? The teasing was killing him. "You puppeted, like, over a hundred people! Tsuchigumo is jealous."

Hikari actually laughed, a rare treat. Bolt smiled. "It's not so simple, Bolt," she chided him. "The control needed is so fine that the actual area of the technique is rather small. I was lucky all those Mist ninja were standing together and were too scared to move. "Blood Release" can be dodged, if you avoid the initial conical area of effect before I assume control. And, even then... the control can be resisted and fought against, especially strong Water and Yang Release users."

Bolt grumbled, not-really-but-kind-of annoyed that Hikari wouldn't spill her secrets. "Well, I—"

He was interrupted as a spark of thought leapt across their shared astral communication network. _"This is Yasuo,"_ the bounty hunter's boyish voice floated through Bolt's mind. _"The Hidden Steam is under attack. We might need some help here unless you want to sacrifice all the ninja we've assembled."_

Bolt swore. _"What's the situation?"_ he demanded, leaping out of bed and quickly slipping on a pair of pants and his boots.

" _Sentoki is here,"_ Yasuo said. _"He's... strong, to put it lightly. Neither Hidan or I have anything that can put him down. He's managed to avoid every sneak attack I've tried. There's three more. The only one I recognize is the Hokage's chief advisor, Shikamaru Nara."_

Bolt paused, shocked, and then grinned. Looks like his threat to Shikadai wasn't idle after all.

" _My Lord?"_ Tetsu rumbled through the connection. _"This one would be honored to dispatch these interlopers."_

" _No, Tetsu,"_ Bolt declined immediately. _"I'll handle this. I need to stretch my legs a bit, as the saying goes."_

Bolt flashed Hikari a cocky smile as he heard her chuckle. "I'll go with you," she said.

Those four words heralded the precise instant when Bolt made the most terrifying realization of his life: his heart was walking around outside his chest. He froze. Their mutual attraction and relationship had been awkward and slow to grow to fruition, but now that it had, Bolt realized that Hikari had become a weakness of his. His enemies could hurt him by hurting her. It was twice as bad as his love for Himawari because at least his sister had no enemies that Bolt himself did not command. The Great Five would hurt Hikari, kill her, and for the first time, Bolt realized how vulnerable that made him.

Bolt smirked, hoping it came off more confident than he felt. "I can handle a bumbling monk and an overconfident friend of the family," he lied smoothly.

The playful, fond light in Hikari's green eyes faded and her smile fell. Bolt schooled his features. He also realized, in that moment, that if Hikari knew he was lying to protect her and keep her from a fight that she would, quite literally, physically beat some sense into him.

"It's personal," Bolt added quietly. And it was. That wasn't a lie.

"Fine," Hikari said. And Bolt had learned enough over his twenty-one years that the word "fine" meant very different things to men and women. Hikari was very much not fine with letting him fight alone. "But if there's any trouble, I'm coming to back you up."

Bolt smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he said, and it was true. Bolt shrugged on a charcoal-gray shirt and gave Hikari a chaste kiss in parting. He didn't fight the pulling sensation at his navel when Yasuo summoned him to the battlefield.

* * *

 **January 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Sentoki batted away another wave of the heathen worshippers of the false God and kept his gaze locked on the Yukage as he wove five hand signs, bit his thumb, and slammed the palm of his hand to the ground. He and the three children had been doing well in their battle and Sentoki knew that without outside interferences they would eventually emerge victorious.

But Sentoki also knew that this battle would not be so easy. Life never was. That was why so many tried to escape the Circle. A wisp of snow-white smoke erupted and a blond man whose face every man, woman, and child on the continent knew stepped forward: Bolt Uzumaki, leader of the Akatsuki.

Sentoki drew in a deep breath as he closed his eyes and turned to face the newest and most dangerous threat. Behind him, one of the children swore colorfully. Sentoki smiled fondly. The black-haired one had a young soul. One that was far too attached to the Circle. He would learn in time, Sentoki knew, but it would be painful.

When Sentoki opened his eyes, it was not with his body, but his spirit. His mind's eye saw all, within the Circle and without. A vision of a golden paradise loomed before him, unspeakable and unknowable in its beauty and serenity. Sentoki drank deep from its chakra, letting the golden, resplendent energy dwell within his mortal vessel. His spirit reached out and Sentoki guided it towards the young son of the Hokage.

The Hokage was an old, old soul. Ancient and more powerful than any Sentoki had seen before or since. It was fitting, then, that his son's was old, too, though not nearly as powerful as his father's. A thousand, thousand lifetimes swam before him and Sentoki lived and breathed each one as if he himself had lived as they did. When he gazed upon Bolt, he saw a mass of shadowy bodies and faces, innumerable. They stood behind him, as Sentoki knew his own past lives stood behind him, each carrying their experiences in the Circle with them. And, even if his young opponent could not fathom or know it, they shaped him even still. Echoes of lives lived, loves lost, and pains endured that reached across eternity from one life to the next.

Bolt was a powerful warrior of the Circle. Lightning rolled off him in waves, chakra so blindingly bright to his mind's eye that it made Sentoki want to shy away. Sentoki poured the golden chakra of Nirvana into his Bodhisattva.

He would need to bring his full might to bear if he wanted to defeat the leader of the Akatsuki.

* * *

 **January 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Bolt gaped as the golden chakra construct behind the head monk of the Fire Temple grew to unimaginable heights. It towered over him and the others like a God descending to the mortal plane. It dwarfed even a Tailed Beast in its size. Its many arms too numerous to count, like constellations in the night's sky. He had fought against the same technique when infiltrated the Wind Temple, but... the difference between Benkei's technique and Sentoki's was like night and day.

If Bolt was willing to guess, he would have bet there was a thousand arms. He knew why they called him Sentoki "of the Thousand Fists." It was a _literal_ title.

"Yasuo. Hidan. Take care of the others," Bolt commanded. "I want the black-haired one taken _alive_. Do you understand, Hidan?"

"Yes, Lord Jashin!" Hidan howled, like an obedient dog, slavering and gripping the hilt of his newly constructed scythe tightly.

Bolt stepped forward, wreathed in the blue-white chakra of his Lightning Armor, as Yasuo and Hidan cornered his friend's parents. Lightning sang through his body, an old familiar song that he hadn't heard in months. His hair stood at attention and heat pooled in his cheeks as his chakra scars became irritated and inflamed.

The battle erupted like a cataclysm.

Bolt surged forward, faster than even the Sharingan could follow, and lunged at Sentoki.

He didn't even get close. A thousand fists, golden and inviolable, rained down upon him. For as large as it was, Sentoki's construct was monstrously quick. Bolt raised his arms in a guard and dug the heels of his boots into the ground as the first fist connected. The stone beneath him cracked and shattered, the difference in strength as apparent as a man and an ant. Bolt was bodily drilled through layers of dirt, roots, and rock as the golden fist mercilessly crushed him.

Bolt willed his Lightning Armor to change. It was slower but it made him stronger and more durable. As quick as it had struck, the golden fist of chakra retreated. Bolt shifted the armor again, fully augmenting his speed, and darted out of the burrow he had been trapped in before more fists could rain down on him. He crested the top of the hole only barely before the palm of another fist slammed into the side of him with all the might of a God.

Bolt feebly tried to put up a weak guard to block the attack for all the good it would do him. He strained against the strength of the construct, pushing back against its palm and digging his heels into the ground.

It overcame him.

Bolt grunted as his strength failed him and he collapsed to the ground. The golden palm, however, did not stop. It kept going, rolling and dragging him beneath it. It grinded him against the ground as if he was a rough board in need of sanding. Bolt grit his teeth as he felt jagged stones tear through his armor and lick at his exposed skin.

Eventually, the swipe reached the end of its swing. Bolt tumbled through the air as his momentum carried him forward. He slammed into a crag in the distance and then kept going as the bore through the mountain. Bolt grunted in pain— an unusual sensation for him to experience in his Lightning Armor— and forced his body to keep going. If he stood still... Sentoki would overwhelm him.

Bolt thundered forward, away from his prison of stone, and back to the battlefield between the space of one heartbeat and the next. He lunged at Sentoki, arm extended and fist curled into a singular pointed strike of the Gentle Fist.

A golden palm swept him up, catapulting him away and driving the breath from his lungs. Bolt landed roughly, the impact making his bones groan in protest, and charged at Sentoki again. He got a little closer, this time, before the heel of a golden palm struck him in the back and pinned him against the ground. Bolt bit his tongue as he strangled a cry of pain when a second golden fist crashed down upon him when the first retreated.

Bolt growled, pained and furious, as the fist retreated. He leapt up, senses augmented by anger, bloodlust, and screaming electricity, and dodged the oncoming palm swipe that sought to bat him away. Bolt leapt around the golden arm and lunged at Sentoki, no more than five feet away. Bolt could see the fire in the monk's coal-black eyes; calm and determined. Sentoki brought both hands up, clasping them together as if in prayer, and braced himself as two golden palms mirrored their master and crushed him between them.

The two palms crushed and rolled him between them, one moving up and the other down. If it had been anyone else, they would have been reduced to a bloody pulp. But he was Bolt Uzumaki and he would not allow himself to be defeated by some _monk._ As the tips of the fingers of the right golden hand met the heel of the left, it swatted Bolt like he was a fly and sent him careening into the ground with a concussive force that left him gasping for breath.

Bolt saw black invade his vision. He blinked it away and looked up to see white robes billowing around Sentoki as the man leapt skyward. The monk drew an arm backwards and thrust his palm forward. Bolt's eyes widened as he crossed his arms in as solid a guard as he could form before a golden palm struck him with its full strength.

It was like having a mountain dropped on him. Bolt grunted in pain and could feel the bones in his arms straining against the golden construct's strength. He couldn't keep blocking attacks or he was going to break his bones.

So he wouldn't.

Flesh and blood became chakra and lightning. The Thunder God had no need to block. He thundered forward, the pain of his body forgotten, and struck at Sentoki like a bolt descending from the heavens. Bolt growled, more of a rumble of thunder than anything, as the tips of his metaphorical fingers stopped mere inches from Sentoki's throat when a golden palm swiped at him and burst his electrical body.

Bolt almost couldn't believe it.

Thunder God Mode was faster than any dōjutsu and was capable of overwhelming even Sage Mode's preternatural perception and sensory abilities. How was Sentoki, a mere _monk_ with his cheap parlor tricks, keeping up with him?

Bolt reformed his body some distance away and thundered forward again.

* * *

 **January 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Sentoki _understood._

He was driven and determined. He could be compassionate and cruel, proud and spiteful. He _loved_ , and perhaps that was both his greatest weakness and strength. A cunning intelligence, lightning-quick, unyielding in its pursuit of its goal. There was selflessness, too, a willingness to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Courage, to stand against the world and not even blink. Loyalty, hard-won but ironclad. Perseverance, to continue to fight against all odds even when a lesser soul would have given up. Righteousness guided his hand, born of a genuine desire to see the world of man made peaceful.

All this and more that Bolt possessed, Sentoki understood.

Theirs was a battle of old souls locked in the eternal struggle of the Circle. Sentoki's spirit joined with his opponent's and he lived and he understood. There could be no deception, only overwhelming power. No feints, only nigh unavoidable aggressive attacks.

The might of the Thousand-Armed Bodhisattva would not be denied.

Sentoki cast forth his thousand golden arms as Bolt thundered at him like Lord Raijin himself. Each one struck true, guided by his understanding of the Circle, each one met in turn by an unyielding Bolt. Sentoki understood. Bolt would not give up and he would not surrender.

Golden fist met living lightning, time and time again, faster than the mortal body could comprehend. Then, even faster still, until the air was stained gold and blue-white with their chakra. Slowly, one-by-one, the shadowy past lives behind his opponent became clearer and clearer. Men, women, and children, some as old as chakra itself and some that might have drawn breath but a century ago. Tanned men from the Land of Lightning and blue-haired women from the Land of Rain. Bolt drew closer. A young boy with strangely snow-white hair and brows trimmed into neat dots in the ancient style. And closer still. A pale woman with flowing black-purple hair and shining eyes of white. A mere foot away. A man with black hair and eyes as red as blood.

Sentoki balked as a blood weeped from a thin slash upon his mortal vessel's cheek.

Golden, resplendent chakra blossomed to life all around him as Sentoki thrust all thousand of his Bodhisattva's arms forward. An arc of lightning slithered forward, like a snake, weaving between his golden arms— all of them— and lunging forward with a thundering hiss.

Sentoki numbly brought up a hand to the stump of his mortal vessel's left arm. He fell to a knee, the pain echoing through his body, across his mind, and into his spirit. Sentoki turned to face Bolt, his opponent coalescing into a rumbling man-shaped avatar of lightning. Eyes, blue-white and piercing, stared into his very soul. Behind him, a thousand, thousand others did as well; ambers, blues, browns, grays, greens, hazels, blacks, and reds. Shadowed and wispy, they stared through him with something Sentoki knew very keenly: _understanding_.

An unspeakable horror dawned in Sentoki's mind. The Brotherhood had existed since time immemorial, guarding the Sage's teachings and passing them on in one form or another. All, save for one. The one that only the most devout achieved. The one lesson that the Brotherhood had sworn to safeguard, an oath made to the Sage himself by the First of their Order. And since the dawn of chakra, it was an oath the Brotherhood had kept at the cost of many of their lives.

A non-believer had stumbled upon the Path to Enlightenment.

A non-believer reached out, as Sentoki did, and _understood_.

A non-believer bordered upon ninshū, and he used it in the pursuit of domination.

That, Sentoki could not let come to pass. The Brotherhood, and every man, woman, and child that had come before him and believed as he had, fought to prevent the Sage's _understanding_ from falling into the hands of those who would use it to do evil. They had given their lives to do so, in many cases.

And if necessary, Sentoki would give his.

* * *

 **January 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Bolt glanced at the smoking left arm that he had cleaved from Sentoki. The battle was as good as won, so long as no one retrieved the arm. If Hidan could drink even a single drop of the monk's blood... Bolt looked to Yasuo and Hidan, who were locked in mortal combat with Shikadai's father and his team. Hidan was screeching gleefully, trying to draw blood with a varied arsenal of weapons. After Sentoki had warned them, it seemed Inojin's mother had been relegated to defending their team from Yasuo's micropuppets and the traces of his chakra held within. A good plan, Bolt thought, but they couldn't keep it up for long.

But, then again, neither could he. Sentoki had proven to be a worthy opponent and Bolt was wounded and beginning to feel his chakra dip below comfortable levels.

"I do not know where you learned what you have," Sentoki chanted, his voice a deep base with a holy quality. "But you shall join with the Circle here, today."

Bolt had learned to ignore the monk's drivel at the Wind Temple. It was a lesson that stuck with him. He prepared to make the final decisive strike now that he had gotten accustomed to Sentoki's golden chakra construct.

Sentoki held his single, good arm before him, hand held skywards as if in prayer, and closed his eyes. He became wreathed in golden chakra ringed by a pure white energy. His thousand-armed construct reared up, the dainty lips of the woman parting to reveal a void of darkness that seemed to devour all light.

Bolt's eyes widened.

Light welled within the darkness, iridescent and prismatic.

The golden woman screamed, high and shrill, and the world was washed away in a sea of blinding white light.

Bolt cast aside his Thunder God Mode in an instant, aches and pains from the battle assailing him, and drew upon his Yang chakra to forge his clan's chakra chains. Five of them encircled him, a barrier of shimmering white-lavender chakra forming between the links of the chains. Something immeasurably powerful slammed into his barrier, like an ant being crushed by a mountain. Immediately, his chakra began to wither under the assault. The barrier became warped and distorted as if being crushed from every direction and Bolt heard a thunderous crack echo in his skull as the world around him was upturned and destroyed.

Other than casting his arms up to shield his eyes from the blinding light, there was little Bolt could do but endure and pray his barrier held. His breaths came quick and shallow as more and more of his chakra left him in great waves and Sentoki's assault continued. It seemed like it lasted for minutes but Bolt knew there was nothing and no one alive who could exude so much chakra in a single continuous attack— not even the Tailed Beasts.

Bolt sank to his knees. He was being overwhelmed. He should have risked dodging instead of blocking but he had been hesitant and cautious. He should have brought Hikari with him. With her assistance, this battle would have been far easier. But Bolt had been _afraid_ and his fear had cost him— may cost him his life.

Mercifully, as his Yang chakra came dangerously close to depleting, the attack ended and the light receded. Bolt hardly had the energy to stand. He gasped for breath and forced his Byakugan to activate.

His eyes widened.

The landscape behind him, save for a thin strip that had lain in the shadow of his barrier, had been scoured away. The forest, the infamous pools of the Valley of Hell, and even the roots of a mountain. All gone, erased, as if they had never even existed.

Bolt gritted his teeth and stood, reaching deep into his well of chakra. Sentoki was pale and breathing raggedly, his one good arm clutching at the stump of his left arm where Bolt had dismembered him. He growled, remembering that the arm had been near him when Sentoki obliterated the landscape. It was probably gone. Looks like he wouldn't be able to rely on Hidan if the monk escaped. Bolt strode forward, lightning arcing up and down his right arm and pooling in the palm of his hand.

"Bolt! Look out!" Yasuo called in the deep, grating voice of the Yukage.

Bolt growled, annoyed, having seen the attack coming with his Byakugan. He leapt away from a boot the size of a house wreathed in chakra with a dark blue pattern cascading across it. Chōchō's father was a giant, but he was slim, and two... two _wings_ , like a butterfly's, had sprouted from his back.

Chōji scooped an exhausted Sentoki into his hands, Shikamaru and Ino riding atop his shoulders, and then broke into a loping sprint away from the battlefield. Bolt gave chase feebly, withdrawing a fistful of shuriken and chakra wire from the storage seal on his arm. He hurled them as the back of the retreating giant, intent on drawing blood.

Shadow, inky and black, lashed through the air and struck them all down before they could connect. Bolt could see the small, pleased grin on Shikamaru's face. It was the same one that he had seen Shikadai wear. The trademarked Nara "I-am-smarter-than-you" smile.

Bolt howled in frustration.

"Lord Jashin!" Hidan appeared before him, eyes wide and confused. "I— my apologies, Lord Jashin! I have failed to—"

Bolt didn't want to hear it. He electrocuted Hidan, cooking him from the inside out, his skin charring and blackening.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Another double release, and (almost) in my normal update schedule? What is this witchcraft? Enjoy it, you thirsty animals. I was going to include Naruto vs. Kurotsuchi in this chapter, but hey, the length got away from me. So you've got that to look forward to next chapter before we move into the politics and the Beast Wars (next arc hype!).

Sentoki (actually not an OC) and the ninja monks are actually some of my favorite worldbuilding in the storyverse. I've been hinting at it for a **long** time (since the tournament arc, way back when), but Sentoki is actually very powerful. In terms of strength, he's spoken of in the same vein as Darui and Kurotsuchi. Top-tier Kage level, essentially, which is doubly impressive since he is a monk. Their training and beliefs are different so it is rare that a monk rises to become as powerful as a Kage, let alone a top-tier Kage. Their goal in life is not power, but enlightenment.

Don't look too hard into Bolt's past lives. They're simply that: his past lives. No Indra and Asura shenanigans. On that note, I will **not** be explaining how the afterlife(ves) or reincarnation works. As in the real world, it will be left a mystery. Ninshū and the Circle (Samsara, for those who didn't catch that connotation) will be explained as the characters in-universe understand it. Sentoki, for example, views it through the lense of the Sage's teachings. That's what _he_ thinks. As always, there will never be any author views included in the body of the story or inserted into characters.


	91. Chapter 91

**A/N:** Here, have another extra long chapter. A few days before deadline, too. I'm beat, guys. Last 5 releases by word count: 11k, 12.5k, 14k, 13k, 13k. Enjoy it.

* * *

 **December 29th, 0024 AIT**

Naruto was sweaty, hot, and irritated. Ten days of posturing with Stone's army, moves and countermoves without ever really fighting, and Kurotsuchi wouldn't meet with him or Kankurō to discuss a treaty. The sheer bureaucracy and red tape was getting to him as he listened to high-ranking Sand politicians bicker about what to do when they hadn't even held a sword in their entire lives. Naruto wasn't in command— this was the Land of Wind. The Kazekage reigned supreme. So it wasn't up to him. Luckily, Kankurō was his good friend and the two of them managed to reign in the army.

Naruto was hesitant to commit to an all-out offensive. He didn't want the people under his or Kankurō's command to die in a pointless, stupid battle when he alone could end the war in a single hour if he just _knew where Kurotsuchi was._ There were too many negative emotions on both sides of the war for his empath sensing to work accurately and his Sage Mode couldn't possibly cover the entire Land of Wind and Earth. And some small, logical part of him in the back of his mind that sounded strangely like Sasuke was keen to remind him: he was still human. He _could_ still die. The First Hokage and the Third Raikage had both been thought to be unbeatable on the field of battle and yet both had still died there.

And when Naruto thought his day couldn't possibly get worse, it did.

That night, as he sat with his ninja and ate around a campfire under the stars, he was surprised to sense a familiar chakra loping through the desert sands towards him. Naruto blinked, seeing a clone of himself wreathed in gold-orange chakra darting across the landscape— a clone he did not create.

A sickening sense of dread pooled in his stomach.

Naruto could tell be the look on his double's face that something terrible had happened. "What happened?" he asked, meeting his clone at the outskirts of the camp.

His clone's eyes darted back and forth before he provided a scroll. Naruto snatched it up and quickly scanned it. Each word, each sentence, made his worst fears reality. Granny Tsunade was dead. She gave her life to save Chōji's daughter and Ino's son. Bolt had escaped, nearly killing two of his childhood friends. Sarada had betrayed the Leaf, helping him escape, and doing extensive damage to the city as a result. And... and the Ōtsutsuki played a hand in manipulating Sarada and saving Bolt.

Naruto clenched a fist so hard his knuckles cracked and the scroll burst into shredded fiber.

"I'm sorry," his clone said. "We tried. Omoikane was too powerful. We could've beaten her, but..."

"But you would have killed her," Naruto finished. To say nothing of the damage an attack of that nature would inflict upon the city. His clone nodded.

"... When is the funeral?" Naruto asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon," his clone answered sullenly.

He wouldn't be able to make it. Naruto knew he wouldn't. Not in person, at least. He would get the memories of saying goodbye to Granny Tsunade when he dismissed the clone, but... it wasn't the same.

Naruto closed his eyes and let his empath sensing carry his mind eastward. He scoured the land for that bundle of familiar dark emotions that lay within his son. Bolt was nowhere to be found. Just like Hibiki, he had disappeared from the face of the Earth. Naruto drew in a deep, ragged breath and let his shoulders slump.

* * *

 **January 3rd, 0025 AIT**

Hikari watched silently, her hands idly crushing herbs in a pestle and mortar, as Bolt hung his head and rubbed at his temples as he pored over scrolls and books, maps and atlases. He had more or less been doing the same thing every day since he had escaped the Leaf and hadn't said one word the entire time about what he was doing. Hikari had learned over the years that Bolt frequently got lost in his own mind when he was studying. He would forget to eat unless she told him to. But now? She wasn't sure what he was planning. It bothered her a little more than Hikari cared to admit.

"What are you up to?" she asked, carefully placing the bones of a dissected frog from the Land of Water into the pestle and mortar. Its marrow was highly toxic.

Bolt looked up, blinking tiredly, and sighed. "The Akatsuki is in a bad spot," he explained without preamble. "Sarada's Mangekyō ability is simply too strong. Anything we try to do will just get countered perfectly by her. There's little parlor tricks you can use to confuse or trick _her_ , the person, but not the ability."

Hikari felt her earlier annoyance fade as Bolt opened up to her. "Our spies said she was imprisoned," she reminded him gently.

Bolt shook his head and rubbed at his eyes again. "Not for long," he assured her. "If they're smart— and they are— they'll realize that I had a hand in forcing her to act and that her ability is simply too valuable to waste away in prison. They'll conscript her. Not that they could actually control Sarada. Her foresight is too powerful for that. But she can and will willingly work against me. She said as much herself."

"So you're looking for a way to get around her foresight," Hikari deduced.

"Trying to, anyway," Bolt grumbled. "Among other things. My father's empath sensing is going to make my life harder than it should be. Neither Hibiki nor I can walk on Earth without him knowing at least vaguely where we are. I'll be restricted to combat operations only until I can figure out a way to disguise or suppress my emotions."

Hikari frowned. She didn't like the sound of that. She could tell Bolt didn't either. His eyes glazed over as his thoughts turned inwards. Rather than let him get caught in a loop, Hikari distracted him. "Well, at least the hunt for the Five-Tails has gone well. Tsuchigumo's spies have tracked it to the Land of Plains, south of the Land of Wind. Once we have its location, you and I can capture it easily," she said.

"Small mercies," Bolt grumbled.

Hikari sighed. "Don't think of this as another prison, Bolt," she said, leaving her poison and going to stand behind him. She kneaded his shoulders, the muscles tense and wiry. "This was supposed to be a home for the Akatsuki. A safe haven from the world. You'll figure out a way around Sarada's foresight and your father's empath sensing. I know it. And until you do, I can be your eyes and ears on the ground. That was the point of your leave of absence, wasn't it?"

Bolt sighed, less stressful and more pleasurable, leaning into her touch. "I know," he admitted. "And you did do a good job of leading the Akatsuki while I was gone. Two Tailed Beasts, one of the Great Five, and a seated Kage? Quite the impressive feat."

Hikari smiled fondly, her fingers finding the pressure points that she normally used to cause her opponents great pain. She managed to coax a groan out of him. "I can go to the meeting with the Tsuchikage in your place," she suggested, knowing the war in the west was also on his mind.

"She'll probably want to meet with me," Bolt breathed. "But I think we can work something out with Astral Projection."

Hikari nodded. "I'll set it up, then," she said.

It made her a little irrationally happy that he trusted her to act as him, giving orders to his movement. Hikari peeked over Bolt's shoulder, eying the books he had been reading. The unintelligible babble of Uzumaki fūinjutsu stared back up at her. "What are you reading?" she asked.

Bolt lolled his head and read to her. _"Siddhanta... abhizapta... mudra... vikarin,"_ he groaned with a hiss.

Hikari shivered at the cold words and the gravelly, pleasurable tone. "Why does that sound sinister?" she asked.

"Probably—" Bolt grunted as she pressed her fingers harder into his shoulders. "—because it is. _The theory of the Cursed Seal of Emotional Control_."

Hikari frowned, hands stilling. "I hope that's for your friend, not you," she chided.

"I'll make an exception for you," Bolt promised.

Hikari rolled her eyes. "How sweet," she said dryly.

* * *

 **January 3rd, 0025 AIT**

Shikadai allowed himself to be led by Himawari through the streets of the city. He hung his head, eyes unseeing, his mind turned inwards as it twisted upon itself viciously. Inojin and Chōchō had nearly died. Lady Tsunade— the Fifth Hokage, last of the Senju— _had_ died.

It was all his fault.

If he had just gone with Bolt, no one would have died. Inojin and Chōchō would be alive and whole and not resting under observation in the hospital because they couldn't walk without assistance. Lady Tsunade would be alive to continue healing patients and passing on her medical knowledge. But, instead, Shikadai had been too prideful, too arrogant, and had pushed Bolt too far. He hadn't been smart enough. Hadn't thought far enough ahead. And now the some of the most important people in his life had paid the consequences.

Shikadai wished he had gone with Bolt. Wished his friend had done all those terrible, awful things he had threatened him with. Shikadai wished Bolt sealed his emotions away because feeling nothing at all had to be better than feeling so wracked with guilt he wished he was dead.

"Hey," Himawari said softly. She pulled him aside and cupped his cheeks with both her hands. Shikadai withered under her understanding, forgiving, _loving_ gaze. "No one blames you," she said.

"They should," Shikadai croaked.

Himawari pursed her lips. "You don't mean that," she said. "No one blames you, I promise. Chōchō doesn't blame you. Inojin doesn't blame you. I don't blame you. Lady Tsunade... she wouldn't blame you. Trust me, I know. We saw her every year for the Rinne Festival. She was... Lady Tsunade knew she didn't have long. She would have wanted to die knowing she had saved someone's life."

"I... I killed a Hokage, Himawari," Shikadai whispered. "Lady Tsunade was so much more important than me, or Chōchō, or Inojin. She had saved tens of thousands of lives— maybe even more. And she would have continued to do so until her dying breath, and I... and I killed her."

"No, you didn't," Himawari pressed. Shikadai could tell she was angry that he was blaming himself— and perhaps angry at herself that she couldn't convince him otherwise. "My _brother_ —" she spat the word. "—is the one who killed Lady Tsunade and put Chōchō and Inojin in the hospital. Not you. Never you. Do you understand me, Shikadai?"

Shikadai nodded weakly.

"You're still the leader of the task force," Himawari continued. "You're still the one who knows how Bolt thinks best. So what if our friends are in the hospital? We are ninja. That's part of the job. So what if a Kage gave her life to defend the village and its people? That's what a Kage is. Now you—" Himawari pressed a finger to his chest firmly. "—need to do your job. I know you can do it."

Shikadai closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. He nodded slowly.

"Good," Himawari said and he could hear the smile in her tone. Shikadai felt soft lips press against his. He opened his eyes once they retreated. "Are you ready for this meeting?"

Shikadai raised his head and squared his shoulders. "Yeah," he said.

Bolt had made a mistake. He left the board after declaring checkmate and didn't wait to see if he _actually_ had checkmate. The Leaf may have lost two of its queens, but they were by no means out of the game just yet. While the Hokage and his father were away, it fell to him to make the moves. This time...

Shikadai saw a vision of his friends, bloodied and dying.

This time he wouldn't hesitate and he wouldn't make a mistake.

There was a sense of foreboding as they approached the new— again— Hokage Tower. It wasn't fully constructed, save for the basement, and that was what made Shikadai shiver. He used to shiver because Bolt was imprisoned down there. Now it was Sarada. They had traded one friend for another.

The guards nodded to Shikadai and Himawari as they ascended the stairs to the second level and made their way to one of the few secured meeting rooms. The other members of the task force— in addition to the acting Hokage, Konohamaru, and the clone of Naruto— were already there waiting for them.

Shikadai nodded a brief greeting as heat flooded his cheeks. He was late because he needed his girlfriend to give him a pep talk. He would never hear the end of it.

Thankfully, no one made a comment. Unfortunately, it was because everyone wore grim expressions.

"What's wrong?" Shikadai asked, mind quickly going into overdrive.

"Shikamaru and his team made it to the Hidden Steam," Konohamaru told him. Shikadai breathed a sigh of relief. That was good, right?

"They encountered the Yukage, Hidan, and Bolt," Konohamaru clarified.

Shikadai felt his breath catch in his chest. Himawari slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers.

"Thankfully," Naruto pressed, sending a chiding look at the acting Hokage. "They managed to get away. They teamed up with Sentoki of the Fire Temple and he was strong enough to hold Bolt off while Shikamaru, Chōji, and Ino fought the Yukage and Hidan. There were no casualties on either side but Sentoki lost his left arm."

Relief flooded through him and Shikadai recoiled at the feeling. Because the last time he had been relieved, his friends had nearly been killed. "That's... that's it?" Shikadai asked for clarification.

Konohamaru nodded sheepishly. "Yes," he confirmed. "Your father and his team retreated to the Hidden Mist to get Sakura to heal Sentoki's arm."

Shikadai exhaled slowly. "So, what do we know about the Hidden Steam?" he asked, taking his place at the table with the others.

"The Hidden Steam is likely controlled by the Akatsuki. Three known members defended it. Shikamaru learned that the Hidden Steam was largely favored by the native population until they began to recruit Jashinists," Konohamaru rattled off. "The Jashinists are difficult to control and frequently take out their religious fervor on the people of the Land of Steam."

"So... what are we waiting for?" Shikadai asked, looking to the acting Hokage and Bolt's father.

"Shikamaru and Sentoki should be checking in with us soon," Konohamaru said. "We're waiting on their report. Then we'll decide what to do from there."

Shikadai nodded, stuck his hands in his pockets, and rocked on the balls of his feet. There was a tense and awkward silence for a few moments before Yurui cleared his throat and broke it. "Actually, I have something to say," the blond said.

Shikadai noted that both of the people who were his ranking superiors looked to him to handle it. He was, apparently, still trusted to lead the task force. Shikadai wasn't sure whether to feel flattered that they still trusted him or worried for their lack of judgement. "Yes?" he gestured for Yurui to continue.

Yurui looked around the room, hesitating, then shrugged. "We're leaving," he said simply.

Shikadai choked. "What?" he demanded.

"Cloud is withdrawing from the task force," Yurui said evenly. "We... all of us have discussed this in private. We've all agreed that the task force has failed. There's no point in staying here when our homes need us."

Shikadai whipped his head around, noting the acting and true Hokages doing the same thing. He looked to Shinki. "Is that true?" he asked.

Shinki looked awkward as he shifted his weight between his feet. "Yes," he said. "The Hidden Cloud was destroyed and two Raikage were assassinated. Yurui and his team wish to return and help New Cloud rebuild. The Hidden Sand is fighting a war they can't hope to win and need all the help they could get. As next in line to become Kazekage, it is my duty to help my countrymen defend our home."

Shikadai licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. Everything was falling apart around him. He looked to the Hokages, both of them, for help. They were as equally flat-footed as he was by the declaration. "Guys, wait," Shikadai said. "Let's think about this. I know _everyone's_ homes—" and it was everyone's homes. Bolt had plunged the Great Five into chaos. "—are having some... problems right now, and—"

"Problems!" Yurui exploded, slamming his fists into the large, U-shaped desk they sat at. The wood shattered into splinters. "Problems? Yeah, we're having problems, Shikadai! Cities are under siege and our leaders are being assassinated one-by-one! In case you forgot how to count, Nara, let me fill you in: one Mizukage, two Raikages, one Tsuchikage, and two Hokages. All dead— one of which died because of—"

One of his teammates, Tarui, grasped him by the shoulder and pulled Yurui to the side. Shikadai still felt the blow like a hammer to his skull. Because he knew what Yurui was going to say. _"One of which died because of_ **you.** _"_ He was the reason why Lady Tsunade was dead.

Shikadai felt a soft hand find his own and gave Himawari a thankful squeeze as he raised his head to focus on the meeting. He blinked, shocked, as he locked eyes with Yurui and found his ally's eyes red and slitted. "You... you're a jinchūriki?" Shikadai asked numbly. Even he could tangibly feel the waves of foul chakra radiating from Yurui.

"No," Yurui said, taking a deep, hissing breath.

"He's a pseudo-jinchūriki," Naruto spoke up. "He ate some of the meat from Gyūki's tails."

Shikadai blinked. As far as he knew... "Isn't that illegal?" he asked. Anything related to Tailed Beasts, their study or capture, had been made illegal following the formation of the Shinobi Union.

"Yes, it is," Konohamaru intoned, brows narrowed.

"Good thing the Union is dead then, isn't it?" Yurui said evenly.

"Regardless," Shinki said, a cloud of iron sand drifting lazily behind him. "I am sorry. But the Hidden Sand must withdraw from the task force. We cannot afford to wage a shadow war against the Akatsuki while an actual war brews on our borders."

Shikadai watched as Shinki and his team left. Then, after Yurui had withdrawn his fists from the mangled table, he and his team left. The others shared silent but agreeable nods. The hunters from the Mist slipped away with nary a sound. The two officers from the Explosion Corps grunted a farewell as they departed. The only one left was...

"Master Nishimura?" Shikadai questioned respectfully as the samurai stood before him.

"This one apologizes for the actions of the others," the old samurai said, bowing. He produced an ornate, furled scroll from the folds of his robes. "I shall return to the Land of Iron and prepare my students for the coming war. Should you encounter Tetsu, give him that scroll. I shall deal with him myself."

Shikadai felt his shoulders sag as the last of their allies left. He gazed forlornly at the scroll. He could just make out the word "challenge" near the wax seal that held it together.

The room was as silent as the grave in the wake of the dissolution of the anti-Akatsuki task force. It felt like a death blow, to Shikadai. Another victory for the Akatsuki and Bolt hadn't even had to lift a finger.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of static. Shikadai turned to the large monitor at the bend of the table, the warped visage of his father and a bald man with a scar stared back at him. In the background, he could make out the pink hair of Sarada's mother and her assistant, Shizune. His stomach churned. Sakura would know her daughter was a traitor and Shizune would know Shikadai had let Lady Tsunade die. Bile rose in his throat.

"Hel—lo?" his father's voice cut through the static. The signal stabilized. "Hello?"

"We can hear you, Shikamaru," Naruto said, loud and clear. Then he elbowed Konohamaru.

Bolt's former teacher cleared his throat. "We can hear you," he added lamely. "What's the situation?"

"An absolute fucking drag," his father sighed. Shikadai smiled wryly. "Mei has assumed the position of acting Mizukage until or if another candidate can be found. Thankfully, the city wasn't nearly as trashed as it was when Bolt attacked Cloud. Small mercies. Nearly a fourth of the political district is simply gone. Vanished. Like it had never even existed. We can't find the Mizukage's body, either."

Shikadai swallowed at the grim picture his father was painting.

"Casualties are still coming in," he said, looking green— _literally_ green in the face. "They're still fishing bodies out of the bay. The water is still running red with blood. Estimates peg the dead to be between five and six hundred. Double that injured. Luckily, Sakura and Shizune are putting a dent in that number with the medic squad."

Shikadai felt physically ill. He was going to throw up. The only thing that kept him from fleeing the room was Himawari anchoring him down.

"That's... not the worst news, either," Shikamaru continued. "We confirmed the Hidden Steam was controlled by the Akatsuki. My team was repelled by the Yukage, Hidan, and Bolt near the city's outskirts. We can also confirm that Steam has been officially recruiting Jashinists and adding them to their ranks. We don't know why or how they're getting the different sects to cooperate."

"Shit," Konohamaru swore. Naruto looked equally grim.

"No news about the Three-Tails, though," his father said. "I don't think Mist was the one to capture it. Since we know the Land of Frost is under the control of the Revolution, and the Hidden Steam is controlled by the Akatsuki, I think it's safe to say that the Three-Tails was captured by them. Too many powers too close together to be a coincidence."

"We need proof though, Shikamaru," Naruto pressed.

Shikadai sighed as his father closed his eyes and shrugged as he ran a hand through his hair. "What a drag, man," he huffed. "We'll keep trying to infiltrate the Hidden Steam. Don't know how much success we'll have though."

Konohamaru nodded. "Keep us up to date," he bid.

Shikadai gave a little wave to the camera, catching his dad's smile, before the picture faded to static.

The full weight of the comparatively empty room settled onto his shoulders.

* * *

 **January 3rd, 0025 AIT**

Shikamaru sighed, steepling his hands and pressing them against the bridge of his nose. He was still exhausted from the fight against Hidan and the Yukage. Physically, mentally, emotionally... even if his chakra had mostly recovered. Now, bumming housing off the Mist? It just added more to an ever growing list of things he had to keep track of and think about.

"Shikamaru?" Sentoki said, grabbing his attention.

Shikamaru blinked, vision cloudy. "Yeah?" he replied.

"I would like to speak with you," the monk said. "Privately, if I may. It is a topic of some importance."

Shikamaru took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah," he nodded.

"We'll be outside," Ino said, pulling Chōji by the arm and giving Shikamaru a reassuring look.

As they left the small house they had been given as their quarters during their stay, Sentoki began to glow with a golden chakra. It pulsed and expanded, touching the walls of the house, and gifting it a small golden inner light. "We may speak freely without fear of being overheard," Sentoki informed him.

Shikamaru nodded. He hadn't known the monks possessed such a technique. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Bolt Uzumaki," Sentoki said succinctly.

Shikamaru sighed. "What about him?" he asked.

"I would like to ask you a few questions about his past," Sentoki said. "You are a close friend of the Hokage and the chief advisor of the Leaf. You are the most easily accessible and knowledgeable person on the subject."

"Right..." Shikamaru said hesitantly.

"Was Bolt ever religious during his childhood?" Sentoki asked without preamble.

Shikamaru frowned. "Well... no, not really," he narrowed his brows in thought. "As far as I know, Naruto and Hinata were never into the Fire Temple sermons. They believe in the Will of Fire, like most ninja of the Leaf. That's the closest to "religious" as I've seen any of the Uzumaki family."

"What about during his time as a rogue ninja? What has Torture and Intelligence learned about his past?" Sentoki continued.

"Well... I mean, you probably already know, but Bolt and his friends infiltrated the Wind Temple before they became the Akatsuki. I guess he would have practiced the Sage's teachings then. Or at least pretend to," Shikamaru answered.

"For how long?" Sentoki asked. "And did any of the monks there take a special interest in him?"

Shikamaru wracked his brain to remember the damn near five-year-old reports. "I think Bolt was there for... at least two months? Could be a little more or a little less. As far as I know, the other monks thought that he wasn't a good initiate. The abbot at the time looked after Bolt, trying to help him adjust to the lifestyle," he recited.

"Abbot Benkei," Sentoki nodded. "I do not believe he would have betrayed the Brotherhood."

Shikamaru frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Sentoki shook his head and waved his hand. "I will explain later," he dismissed. "What about near-death experiences? Has Bolt ever been in such a situation?"

Shikamaru laughed. Because that was pretty much all Naruto's son got himself into. Life-or-death battles with Kage and Tailed Beasts. "Yeah, all the time," he answered. He missed the way Sentoki blanched. "There was... the Rain Civil War. Bolt and his friends were partly responsible for putting the current regime in power. The fight with the One-Tail shortly after that. Orochimaru, that fucking snake, damn near killed him with a Cursed Seal. He fought the Fifth Raikage twice— the last of which it took Sakura and Lady Tsunade over a week to make him not look like a piece of charcoal. So, yeah... he fights a lot."

Shikamaru looked over and saw Sentoki had become unnaturally pale and had a look of extreme consternation marring his features. Something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach. "What's wrong?" Shikamaru asked. "Why are you asking these questions?"

"I am the representative of the Fire Temple," Sentoki said. Shikamaru nodded slowly. "As an ally of the Leaf, I am requesting your utmost secrecy. Share this knowledge with your Kage, and not another soul. Do you understand?"

Shikamaru nodded grimly. He could tangibly feel the underlying threat and importance in Sentoki's words. "The Brotherhood has existed since chakra itself. We carry on the Sage's teachings. However, there is one lesson that the Sage passed on to us that we have sworn to guard with our lives. We call it the Path to Enlightenment, for it is the path all monks walk. Ninshū, as it might be known to you ninja," Sentoki explained.

Shikamaru vaguely remembered Naruto and Sasuke explaining something similar after the war when they, apparently, met the Sage of Six Paths himself. Shikamaru personally thought it wasn't real, but, well... he didn't think Madara Uchiha and Kaguya were real, either. He had learned to keep an open mind.

Sentoki nodded and continued on. "When the Sage gifted humanity with chakra, he gave us more than just the strength to defend ourselves and make our lives easier. He connected us. We are all brothers and sisters of the Circle. It is like a web, connecting us and binding us all together. We are all connected on a deep, spiritual level," he said.

Shikamaru nodded, mind taking in and filing away the new information, and gestured for the monk to continue.

"Ninshū, practically speaking, is the ability to perceive and read this spiritual web that connects us all," Sentoki explained. "It allows us to understand one another on a level that cannot be described in this or any language. There is no separation of self on a spiritual level. When you reach out through this web, connect with another soul, you understand each other. Their thoughts become your thoughts, their emotions become your emotions."

Shikamaru exhaled forcefully. Because ninshū was sounding a lot less like the moral lessons from scripture he had read once or twice and more like something that could be used as a weapon. A dangerous weapon, doubly so if it was in the hands of someone like Naruto's son. "And you think Bolt can use ninshū?" he asked.

Sentoki nodded slowly. "In a manner, yes," he answered.

"In a manner? What does that mean?" Shikamaru frowned.

"Enlightenment is not such an easy thing to achieve, Shikamaru," Sentoki chided. "It is not something that one stumbles upon and takes up casually. It takes years of rigorous training, dedication, and meditation to become spiritually aware. To grasp even the vaguest understanding of the Circle, let alone gazing upon one's past lives or understanding another's."

Shikamaru blinked, choosing to ignore— for now— the mention of past lives. "So how did Bolt learn ninshū if he didn't study under one of the temples?" he asked.

This was where Sentoki looked... embarrassed, almost. Ashamed, Shikamaru recognized. "It is not something the Brotherhood encourages us to speak of," he said reluctantly. "There is a place that many speak of but few return from. It is a land between this world and the next. A limbo where you are neither alive nor dead. Most describe it as an eternal darkness dotted with small fires. Souls who are unable to move on to the Pure Lands, or have earthly regrets, or are waiting for their loved ones, reside there."

"Alright..." Shikamaru agreed hesitantly.

"We call it Purgatory," Sentoki said simply. "However... sometimes, when a person is close to death, or has died and is brought back... they do not return the same. These people are hunted down by the Brotherhood and killed."

Sentoki blinked, taken aback. "Woah, woah. Slow down. Let's go back. What is different about these people that return from Purgatory?" he asked.

Sentoki bristled. "It does not happen always," he said. "Many people return from the land between life and death without complication. However, sometimes... they do not. The body is simply the mortal vessel for the immortal soul. When the soul parts from the body to journey to Purgatory, it does not always find its way back. Not entirely, at least."

Shikamaru shuddered.

"The spirit returns to the body, but disturbed. It is... loosened, you may say. Once it has been exposed to the greater spiritual realm, it has troubles fully reconnecting the the mortal vessel. This leaves the person greatly in tune with the Circle. It reaches out, looking for something to anchor itself to, and often times connects with other people, thus..."

"... They "learn" ninshū," Shikamaru finished.

Sentoki nodded. "It is often unconscious on their part. Some live their entire lives without knowing. Some, as the Brotherhood discover, eventually grow aware that they are different. They hone their abilities and use them to serve their worldly desires," he said.

"And the Brotherhood kills those people, right?" Shikamaru asked. "Why?"

Sentoki sighed. "In the hands of those who understand its power and its potential for abuse, ninshū is a powerful tool that can lead one to enlightenment and escaping the Circle to reach Nirvana," he explained warily. "In the hands of someone who is not such a noble soul, they often use it for sin. There are threats in the distant past far greater than any would suspect that were dealt with quietly and thanklessly by the Brotherhood. Evils who would have the world crushed beneath their boots."

Shikamaru was silent as he processed the new information and reviewed what he knew of Bolt. He sighed, withdrawing a cigarette and Asuma's old lighter. The familiar burn in his lungs soothed the throbbing headache he was developing. "Alright," Shikamaru huffed. "What makes ninshū so powerful? I get that you guys have probably stopped some evil people over the years from taking power with its ability, but I don't get why that was necessary..."

Sentoki sighed. He wore a look of pure frustration. "It is _understanding_ in its purest, most basic form," he said. "An understanding of one's self, but also others. Thinking what they think, feeling what they feel."

Shikamaru's eyes bulged. "Are you... are you saying Bolt can _read minds?_ " he demanded. "Are you saying _you_ can read minds?"

Sentoki shook his head quickly. "No. No, nothing of the sort," he said, struggling for the words. "It is not something that is easily explained, Shikamaru. It is something that is just... known. Think of it like... thinking about _thinking_. Feeling about _feeling._ Understanding about _understanding_."

That made zero sense. Shikamaru sighed. "Kind of like... self-referential? Metaknowledge?" he offered.

Sentoki bobbed his head. "Yes, in a way," he said. "It is the application of this... metaknowledge, as you call it, that makes ninshū dangerous in the wrong hands. The Brotherhood uses it to convene with our past lives and walk the Path of Enlightenment. But in the wrong hands... they could use it for personal gain. In battle, one can fight as their opponent does, think as their opponent thinks. You do not read their mind, or predict their actions, you simply _know_ because you _are._ "

Shikamaru swallowed. "That's how you fought toe-to-toe with him using Thunder God Mode?" he asked.

Sentoki nodded gravely. "Yes, it is," he said.

Lots of little things started making sense. The strange ability Bolt used to dodge Hiashi during the attack on the Leaf. Kakashi and him both had their suspicions, but Kakashi had died before they could talk about it more.

"What else can it do?" Shikamaru asked.

"It depends upon the skill of the wielder and their level of attunement with the spiritual realm," Sentoki shrugged. "But, many things. Some of which I am not at liberty to reveal to those outside the Brotherhood. I have already said more than I should."

Shikamaru frowned. "You can't just tell me our greatest opponent has a powerful, untapped weapon at his disposable and not give me its full capabilities," he snapped. "I can't make the correct decisions without all the information. I could send my people to their deaths."

Sentoki took a long, deep breath. "And I fear that is my fault," the monk admitted. "Most who return from Purgatory use their ninshū unconsciously and passively. I fear that by using my ninshū on Bolt that I may have drawn his attention to the peculiarities of his spiritual awareness. In the Hidden Leaf's endeavor to put a stop to the Akatsuki, you shall have the full support of the Brotherhood. We shall not let ninja die at the hands of one who wields ninshū against them."

That was... a little helpful. But, still, not enough. Shikamaru couldn't move his pieces thinking that he was sending them up against a pawn when in reality his enemy pieces were queens. "I need more to work with, Sentoki," he pressed. "Anything, please."

Sentoki sighed. "It is... small things, that you should fear," he began. "Knowing what to say and when to say it in order to tip the scales in your favor—"

"—Is that how you do that annoying sentence finishing thing?" Shikamaru demanded.

Sentoki smiled impishly and continued on, ignoring him. "—A supernatural intuition on the user's part. Suspicion. Hyperawareness. Noticing normal things that normally wouldn't stick out, but do. To me, it sometimes comes as a feeling of stillness in the air, or the area being too quiet, or a crawling sensation on the back of my neck. Sometimes, it is simple curiosity or luck. Finding a fascinating flower that draws my attention, moving away from the site of an attack before the enemy can hit me."

Shikamaru's mind raced as he processed the possibilities. "Anything else?" he pressed.

Sentoki looked uniquely uncomfortable. "I am afraid I can reveal nothing more, Shikamaru," he said.

Shikamaru sighed, his shoulders falling. "Well... shit," he said.

"Indeed," Sentoki agreed.

That complicated things.

"You said his use of ninshū was unconscious?" Shikamaru asked.

Sentoki nodded resolutely. "Almost certainly," he said.

Well... bright side: Bolt didn't have another tool in his arsenal to use against them.

Bad news? He _could_.

"What a drag," Shikamaru sighed.

* * *

 **January 4th, 0025 AIT**

 _Bolt smiled fondly, clapping in tune to the lyrics and singing along softly under his breath. Himawari sang loudly and proudly, sitting on the floor near the pine tree sparkling with light. Grandfather Hiashi and Aunt Hanabi sat back and watched her fondly while his father and mother sat on a couch, arms entwined and fingers laced. Sarada and her mother sat on the couch opposite them, Sarada looking like she wanted nothing more than to join Himawari on the ground so they could get to their presents first. Granny Tsunade and her assistant were joining them for the Rinne Festival this year, being both the honorable grandmother of his father and the teacher of Sarada's mother._

 _The Rinne Festival was Bolt's favorite holiday. It was the one day a year his father came home and actually spent time with them that didn't involve occasionally signing papers or barking orders at subordinates. The one day every year that his family felt whole._

 _Himawari gave their parents a sad, pleading look. Her eyes were wide and wet with unshed tears and her lips pursed. They couldn't resist. "Fine, fine," his father said, laughing. His sister gleefully began to pull presents from beneath the tree. Bolt smiled as her brow narrowed as she worked through reading the names on the tags._

" _This one's for you, brother!" Himawari declared happily, sliding it over to him._

 _Bolt accepted it gracefully, starting a neat pile next to his feet. It was tradition to sort the presents and then open them one-by-one, each person taking a turn. Bolt got four: a circular tub wrapped in bright paper that made a metallic noise when touched, two small boxes of white-gold paper, and a large rectangular box with wrappings that looked like wallpaper with tiny designs._

 _He waited his turn, smiling as Himawari opened her first present. She pulled out a beautiful yet functional white robe with golden embroidery from their grandfather. Sarada got a set of beautiful but old knives, each with the Uchiha clan's crest etched onto the blade. Bolt smiled as she teared up. Because Sarada, above all else, desperately wanted to know more about her father. About the Uchiha. Bolt could empathize with her._

 _Finally, his turn came. Bolt smiled shyly as all eyes turned to him and he fetched the large rectangular box. He tugged at the ribbon, the simple knot coming undone easily. The paper he carefully removed, peeling the tape away. His mother saved them to reuse. The box was strangely heavy, made of a coarse, fibrous material. Excitedly, he tore off the top._

 _His excitement turned to ash as Bolt stared down at two decapitated heads._

 _Chōchō and Inojin stared up at him. Their skin was a pale, milky white and their eyes were clouded in death. Blood, dried and dark, stained their lips and chins._

 _Bolt gaped at his friend's heads, lips trembling and eyes watering._

" _Hey, brat, what's wrong?" Granny Tsunade asked. "Don't like my gift?"_

 _Bolt looked up as Granny Tsunade came to kneel beside him. He dropped the decapitated heads and stared in horror at his grandmother in all but blood. She was wrinkled beyond recognition, skin tight and gaunt. She was the color of decay, gray-black and lifeless with tears and gashes marring her once beautiful features._

 _Bolt screamed._

Bolt awoke violently, a strangled scream dying in his throat as white-blue lightning sparked across the walls of the room. Hikari leapt from the bed and landed in a defensive position on the ground, a fistful of needles in her hand.

"I'm fine," Bolt gasped, warding off the dreaded question he knew was coming.

He was fine. He was. _He was._ He didn't regret killing Chōchō and Inojin. He didn't. _He didn't._ They weren't even dead. He got the report last night. They were alive and— well, not _well_ , but they were alive. Their would-be deaths served a purpose. A purpose that served the creation of a single, peaceful unified state. Either they would die and Shikadai would come after him, making it easier for Bolt to deal with the Nara threat, or they would live and Granny Tsunade would hopefully die from exertion— and she did.

Bolt didn't regret it. He didn't. "I don't regret it," Bolt whispered. "I don't regret it. I don't regret it. I don't."

Then why did he feel so guilty?

That was the question.

Soft hands cupped his cheeks and turned his head. Wide blue eyes met concerned green. "What's wrong, Bolt?" Hikari asked.

For an instant, he considered lying. He dismissed the idea almost immediately. Lying to Hikari was not conducive to a long and healthy life. He also loved her and didn't want to hurt her by lying. Bolt sighed. "I've just... had a lot on my mind," he settled for.

Hikari's soft but demanding gaze forced him to continue. "There's just so much I have to do," Bolt whispered. "According to Sarada, if I use Wrath of the Thunder God again I won't coalesce back into my human form. It'll be like I never existed in the first place. I need to work out a new technique using the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva. Something less powerful but more controllable. I need to think of a way to fool an omniscient. I need to think of a way to hide from a nigh omnipresent sensor. I feel... I feel stupidly guilty over what I did to my Chōchō and Inojin, and I..."

Bolt took a breath and pushed bravely onward. "And I lied to you. I should have taken you with me when I fought Sentoki. I was being... stupid, emotional," he admitted. "I was afraid you'd get hurt."

There. All his worldly problems— well, not _all_ , but close enough— bared.

Hikari smiled. "Feel better?" she asked.

Bolt paused. "Strangely enough... yeah, I do," he admitted.

Hikari punched him in the sternum, her knuckles bruising the bone. "Ow!" Bolt hissed and recoiled.

"That was for being stupid," Hikari chided him. She leaned forward and kissed him. "That was for being sweet."

Bolt rubbed at his bruised chest and pouted. "Don't lie to me, Bolt," Hikari said seriously. "And don't try to protect me, either. I can take care of myself. We're a team, remember?"

Bolt nodded shyly. "I won't," he promised.

"Good," Hikari said with a nod of her head. Bolt smiled at the way her unbound hair followed the motion. "What was your dream about?"

His smile fell and Bolt sighed as he fell back against the mattress. "It was only bad because it was based on a memory," he began. "It was the last Rinne Festival before I left the village. My family was opening gifts. I opened mine and it was the heads of Chōchō and Inojin. They were given to me by Granny Tsunade. She was... like a walking corpse."

The night was quiet as Bolt waited for Hikari to say something. "Were you two close?" she asked eventually.

"Who? Granny Tsunade or Chōchō and Inojin?" Bolt asked.

"All of the above," Hikari whispered back.

"Chōchō... kind of. We were in the same Academy class. She was in Sarada's group of friends so we never really talked much. After we got put in our teams, we hung out more because she was always with Shikadai. Inojin... we got off to a rough start. He's kind of a prick," Bolt smiled. "But we became friends after that. He, Shikadai, and Mitsuki and I were basically inseparable as kids."

"And Lady Tsunade?" Hikari pressed.

Bolt swallowed. "Granny Tsunade was always kind of around as I was growing up," he said. "Either at Sarada's house because she taught Sarada's mother medical ninjutsu or at my house because she and my father were close. She was the closest thing I had to a grandmother, I guess. My father's mother died when the Nine-Tails attacked the village a long time ago and my mother's mother died before I was born. Some kind of disease. Her chakra just... left her. The clan rumored she died of a broken heart because of how much my grandfather changed after the Hyūga Affair. So, yeah... we were kind of close, in a way."

The silence was painfully loud. Bolt felt tears prick at his eyes. "And you feel guilty about it?" Hikari asked softly.

"Yes," Bolt breathed with some sense of finality. Like saying the word made it real.

"But you don't regret it?" Hikari pressed.

Bolt frowned, eyes staring into the darkness of their room. That was the question, wasn't it? He never did anything for no reason. Every action had a purpose, a goal. Not every choice he made achieved that goal, but he strived to accomplish something with each action he took nonetheless. It was simple. Cold, hard logic. If Chōchō or Inojin died at his hands, Shikadai would chase him. Bolt was sure of it. The Nara were, funny enough, quite vengeful. Bolt could deal with Shikadai, weakening the Great Five's chances of surviving the coming war. With Shikadai, he could deal with the bigger threat: Shikamaru.

And if Chōchō and Inojin didn't die? Bolt saw Granny Tsunade with his Byakugan. He knew she was on her last legs. She was old by a ninja's standard already. Her body was battered and ragged from decades of abusing her healing techniques. Her cells had long since reached their limit of division. Bolt _knew_ she had one last act of great healing in her before she died. And he had dealt his friends their mortal blows knowing that his grandmother in all but blood could die if she chose to heal them— which, of course, she would.

So, did he regret it?

The Leaf would continue to stand against his dream of a single unified state so long as it had people to champion their ideals. His father, of course, but also Shikamaru and others. Kakashi Hatake was one such champion. That was why Bolt had been so determined to kill him. Granny Tsunade was another. Either way... he removed one more obstacle in his path towards global peace and stability.

Bolt wouldn't lie. Not to himself, but more than that, not to Hikari. "I... don't regret it," he whispered.

"Then go back to sleep," Hikari yawned. "We have a long day tomorrow. I imagine the Tsuchikage will be most irritating."

Bolt smiled fondly, imagining the meeting of the two most powerful women on the planet.

* * *

 **January 4th, 0025 AIT**

Kurotsuchi stomped through the mountains, Akatsuchi and her father at her back, and _dared_ one of the Akatsuki bugs to ambush her. She would _delete_ them. There would be less than dust left over after she was done obliterating them. The logical, more tempered side of her brain argued that the Akatsuki wanted a peaceful meeting to discuss the terms of a possible alliance and that it would be foolish to both ignore the possibility of gaining a new ally during wartime and the folly of spurning such a powerful organization and making a new enemy.

She hated her logical side. It sounded a lot like her grandfather when the old goat got preachy. Fuck, she missed him. She wasn't crying. She wasn't. She wasn't going to cry.

"Kurotsuchi, look," her father said, pointing over her shoulder.

She saw what he had seen almost immediately. A small, barely noticeable tent of black fabric nestled between two large boulders. A shimmering barrier of white-blue chakra that arced with electricity surrounded it.

Akatsuchi whistled. "These Akatsuki guys sure know their way around a barrier," he remarked. "Pretty sure Limestone Battalion is just ten miles on the other side of that mountain. They've got more than a few sensors, I'm pretty sure."

Kurotsuchi growled. "Remind me to have a word with them when we get back," she hissed.

As they drew closer and closer to the tent, Kurotsuchi could make out the lumbering form of the giant, crimson-haired swordsman in the Akatsuki's employ. He had a long, needle-thin sword held lazily in one hand as he stood at attention guarding the entrance of the tent. Kurotsuchi stilled as she was close enough to see that the sword was, in fact, the Needlesword— one of the Seven. "Well, I'll be damned," she murmured.

"Looks like the rumors were true after all," her father remarked.

"Mist is officially no longer a problem, then," Akatsuchi mused aloud.

Kurotsuchi smiled wolfishly. If the Akatsuki really did attack the Mist to steal the Seven, that meant the Hidden Mist was on its last legs. An aging Mei did not make for a sufficient deterrent facing the loss of a strong Kage and several of the Seven.

The three of them stopped before the barrier. Kurotsuchi wasn't about to walk through a wall of lightning. Tetsu raised a hand and gestured for them to step forward.

"I'll go first," Akatsuchi said.

Kurotsuchi grit her teeth but nodded. He was her bodyguard first, friend second. He stepped forward, hesitantly, and pushed through the barrier. Electricity danced across his body but did little else. Once inside, Akatsuchi turned, shrugged, and gestured that it was safe. Kurotsuchi, never one to back down from a challenge, strode forward without so much as blinking.

Tetsu parted the tent's flap and gestured for them to step inside respectfully. Akatsuchi entered first, then her, with her father and Tetsu bringing up the rear. Kurotsuchi blinked. The tent was sparsely decorated, a few tags placed on the tent wall that radiated light and a simple wooden table with two chairs that sat in the center. And, at the end of the table, sat...

Not Bolt Uzumaki.

Kurotsuchi didn't like the woman. She was pretty, for one. Pale skin and wispy, inky black hair that framed sea-green eyes. She had a pink-white scar that ran dangerously close to her right eye. It gave her a barely noticeable squint that somehow made the woman look both grizzled and dignified at the same time.

For two? She had a mean resting bitch face. Girl looked at you like you were an ant beneath her boot.

Kurotsuchi could respect that.

"Hikari Yagami," the woman introduced herself. "Take a seat."

Kurotsuchi smiled wryly. Hikari's face was, apparently, frozen in that same bitchy expression even when she spoke. She sat down gingerly, hoping there wasn't a bomb rigged to her chair, and Akatsuchi and her father moved to stand behind her even as Tetsu moved to stand behind Hikari.

"So, where's blondie?" Kurotsuchi asked.

"Bolt is... indisposed of, for the moment," Hikari answered her. "As second-in-command, I am here to negotiate on his behalf."

Kurotsuchi filed that bit of information away. Hikari Yagami— oldest of Bolt's companions and, apparently, second-in-command of the most infamous ninja organization of the times. Another part of her was insulted that the leader of the Akatsuki hadn't seen fit to meet with her. They were going to be allies— or they wanted to be. Kurotsuchi demanded respect.

"Why do you want to be allied with the Hidden Stone?" Kurotsuchi demanded.

Hikari crossed her legs demurely. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," she quoted. "You're fighting both the Hidden Leaf and the Hidden Sand. Both of them are our enemies. It only makes sense that we would support the Hidden Stone in their war— in fact, we already have."

"You're the reason why the Land of Rain closed their borders?" Kurotsuchi asked with a raised brow. That _was_ helpful in blockading the Land of Wind.

"Indeed," Hikari confirmed. "The Land of Rain owes us a debt. One we have begun collecting."

"Still doesn't explain why you want to be allies," Kurotsuchi remarked. She made it sound like the Akatsuki was using the Hidden Stone. _No one_ used the Hidden Stone. No one used her. She was the Tsuchikage, master of the strongest ninja village on the continent. "Especially if your enemy if the Great Five. You've destroyed Cloud and knocked Mist down a peg. Now you've set your sights on the Leaf and the Sand. Who is to say that Stone won't be next? What is it the Akatsuki is actually after?"

"A fair point," Hikari said. "One that does not have any merit, however. The Akatsuki has only ever been neutral with the Hidden Stone. Our fight has always been with those that disrespected or slighted us. Stone has done neither."

Kurotsuchi scoffed. She felt like she was talking to a politician. Answers that didn't actually say anything. "You call stealing a Tailed Beast and setting off a volcanic eruption neutral?" she asked acridly.

"No one country owns the Tailed Beasts," Hikari answered smoothly. "And we have been providing aid— free of charge— to your people in penance for the eruption of Mount Akiyama."

Kurotsuchi grumbled under her breath. Because she _was_ thankful that the Revolution had been helping out, though she would never admit it aloud. They had saved her countless millions of ryō in aid that allowed the war effort to continue unhindered. "Regardless," Kurotsuchi countered. "The Four-Tails was in the Land of Earth. It was property of the Hidden Stone and has been since the founding of the Great Five. It was ours by right. The Akatsuki invaded my land and stole my property. That is cause for war if I've ever heard of one."

Tetsu inched forward, barely perceptible. Kurotsuchi tensed. Hikari raised her hand ever so slightly and gestured for him to stay back. "No need for that, Tetsu," she whispered quietly. Hikari returned her attention to Kurotsuchi. "The Akatsuki is, of course, willing to make reparations. Intel and support in your war against the allied forces."

Kurotsuchi scoffed. "That is nowhere near as valuable as a Tailed Beast," she said. "The Akatsuki clearly benefits more from this alliance than the Hidden Stone does, if that's how we share the spoils of war."

"I can assure you that the Akatsuki shall not be using the Tailed Beasts for war," Hikari swore.

"What other purpose do they have?" Kurotsuchi asked scathingly.

"A battery," Hikari shrugged.

Kurotsuchi snorted. Hikari sounded so _casual_. Because, of course, the most dangerous creatures that had ever walked the Earth were just _batteries_ to the Akatsuki. "A battery for what?" Kurotsuchi asked, the question almost begging to be answered.

Hikari hesitated. "... An unassailable interdimensional fortress," she eventually answered.

Kurotsuchi barked in laughter. "So, that's where you hide? No wonder no one has found you," she remarked.

Hikari nodded demurely.

"Still," Kurotsuchi pressed. "Doesn't explain why you would want an alliance with me. As far as I see it, the Akatsuki just wants to use the Hidden Stone towards their own ends."

Hikari parted her lips to speak when a low rumble, like stone grating against stone, echoed through the tent. Kurotsuchi went rigid. Behind her, she could tell her guards had went still. Kurotsuchi leapt out of her chair as the tent flap was parted with a rustle of cloth.

Bolt stood in the doorway. He was dwarfed by Akatsuchi and her father by at least half a foot but the leader of the Akatsuki radiated a sheer _presence_ that filled the room and made him feel as if he was ten feet tall. Bolt demanded respect. Kurotsuchi could understand that. He had his father's hair and eyes and his mother's fine, delicate features, but they were tempered by a coldness that Kurotsuchi knew came from being forged in the fires of battle.

Kurotsuchi couldn't help but give in to the demand to respect him. Bolt had come a long way from the snot-nosed brat who cheated at the Chūnin Exams. She gestured for Akatsuchi and her father to step aside before things became violent. Bolt strode inside.

"My Lord," Tetsu bowed.

Kurotsuchi could hear the fervent loyalty in the samurai's voice. Hikari stood, folding her hands behind the small of her back as she took up a stance opposite Tetsu as Bolt took his seat at the head of the table. Kurotsuchi smiled as she caught Hikari standing just a little bit closer to her leader than what was normally deemed appropriate. She had seen that before. Internally, she filed that away. Second-in-command _and_ beloved of the leader of the Akatsuki. Interesting.

Neither spoke. Kurotsuchi met hard blue eyes that stared into her very soul and refused to look away or back down. Eventually, Bolt spoke. "Let's not play games, Tsuchikage," he began. "Neither of us are politicians at heart. We are warriors."

Kurotsuchi inclined her head to hide a small smile. "We both have much to offer the other. I will be frank. The Akatsuki wishes to support the Hidden Stone so that we may reap the benefits of you defeating our enemies for us. We can offer you aid, both in intelligence, supplies, and martial might," Bolt offered.

"That still doesn't explain what the Akatsuki wants," Kurotsuchi pointed out.

"Conquest," Bolt intoned. Kurotsuchi stilled. "No one, in the history of our people, has fought a war for conquest. For respect, for wealth, for power, but never conquest. We haven't had the people, or the technology, or the sheer power to be able to do so before now. The Leaf could have conquered the Land of Wind following the failed attack on the Leaf by Orochimaru. But they did not, because they could not control the country. They didn't have the power. But _I_ do."

Kurotsuchi swallowed, lips parted in a hungry grin.

"But I'm not a fool, Tsuchikage," Bolt said. "The world is a big place. Too big for one man to control it all. Too big for one person to conquer it all. That is where the Hidden Stone comes in. An ally that I can respect. An ally that I can bring with me into a new era. The Hidden Stone and Cloud have always bred a more hardened breed of ninja. I respect that— I respect you. However, unlike Cloud, you have not insulted nor slighted me before. That puts the Hidden Stone in a unique position to become an ally of the Akatsuki."

"More than that..." Bolt added. "You _understand_. The Way of the Ninja is not one of peace. The Union and my father seemed to forget that. Our people's way has always been war and it always will be war. It was foolish to think that this peace would last forever."

Kurotsuchi smiled, baring teeth. Because that was what she had been trying to get the other Kage to understand for _decades_. And this bratty kid was the only one who understood. But, still... that didn't mean the Stone would deign to ally itself with the Akatsuki. "And what about my grandfather?" she asked bitingly.

Bolt stilled for a fraction of a second. "Ōnoki of Both Scales was too powerful of a threat to be left alive," he said cautiously. Kurotsuchi grit her teeth. "He was old and wise. If he was allowed to live, I have no doubt that the Hidden Stone would have reigned supreme as the most powerful ninja village."

Something acidic warred in her stomach. Because Kurotsuchi knew her grandfather had lived far, far beyond his time. He should have died a long time ago. And yet, the Akatsuki had respected him, in a way. They _feared_ him. Her eyes lingered on Hikari and Tetsu. The way they stood at attention, nervously ready to leap into action at the first sign of trouble. She smirked. Just the same way they feared and respected _her_.

"But the Akatsuki can offer you more than just that," Bolt pressed on. Kurotsuchi realized her window for airing her grievances over her grandfather's assassination had passed. " _I_ can offer you more than that. I know, on some level, you fear facing my father on the battlefield."

Kurotsuchi bristled. Akatsuchi and her father stepped forward, chakra flaring. Hikari and Tetsu did the same.

"— _Enough_ ," Bolt commanded with a rumble of thunder.

Everyone stilled. Kurotsuchi cursed herself for following the command. She was the Tsuchikage. She answered to no one.

"The Hokage is an opponent without equal. Even I won't dare face him on the field of battle. Do not insult me, Tsuchikage. I know why your armies have been skirting a true battle in the Land of Wind. You and I are the same. We fight smarter, not harder. You know, on some level, that if you try to win this war in a contest of force, you will lose. And that is admirable. Respectable. It means you are as wise as you are powerful," Bolt continued.

Kurotsuchi preened inwardly at the praise.

"You must learn how to fight the Hokage as I have. As allies, I can teach you this and even help you. More than that... I can give you a technique that will allow you to fight the Hokage without risking your life or your freedom," Bolt offered. "In addition, the Akatsuki will not attack you— now or in the future. We will concede the entirety of the Land of Wind to you. All that we ask is that you continue your war against the Leaf and Sand and do not oppose the Akatsuki or the Revolution."

Kurotsuchi considered it for a moment. It... was a good deal. More than that, it was smart. For as much faith Kurotsuchi had in her ninja, they were still outnumbered. Leaf and Stone had more men than them and the last remnants of the Union had allies in more places than Stone did. Perhaps it was time to even the score?

"And the Tailed Beasts?" Kurotsuchi pressed.

"The Akatsuki will continue to hunt them down, for purposes that my second-in-command as already revealed," Bolt said. "You are, of course, free to hunt them as well. If you capture one before us, you are welcome to it. Think of it as a friendly competition."

Kurotsuchi grinned, fingers curling into fists. "Very well," she said. Everyone in the room seemed to relax. "So, what's this technique you offered me?"

* * *

 **January 4th, 0025 AIT**

Hikari let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. A knot in her stomach unclenched. "Well, we weren't turned into subatomic dust," she mused aloud. "That's got to count for something."

Bolt's lips didn't so much as twitch at the admittedly grim joke. Hikari stilled. "Are you feeling—" That was the problem. Bolt _wasn't_ feeling. "—are you alright?" she settled for asking.

"It is... strange," Bolt admitted, clenching and unclenching a fist. "We humans forget how closely thought and emotion are linked. Having one without the other makes me feel strangely hollow, like my thoughts are echoing in my head. At the same time, I feel like I can think with more clarity than I ever have before."

"Is it working, at least?" Hikari pressed. She really didn't want him abusing the Cursed Seal. She remembered what it was like to not feel any emotion. It wasn't good for someone's sanity.

"Well... my father hasn't came down on us like the wrath of an angry god, so I think so?" Bolt smiled wryly at her.

Hikari frowned. She could tell that the entire response had been forced and artificial. It was the way his tone was level and unchanging, the way his eyes were dark and cold. "Right," Bolt sighed. "Let's get out of here. Best not to press our luck."

Hikari nodded. She was eager to return to the Eye and get Bolt to deactivate the seal.

* * *

 **January 5th, 0025 AIT**

Naruto surveyed the battlefield from atop the crest of a towering dune of sand. Two great crescent wings of the Stone's army arced in opposite directions as they marched forward. They kicked up a cloud of sand miles in height. There was no way they could hide their movement.

It was time. The first war between men in decades was about to begin.

In a way, Naruto was glad. Now that the fighting began, it could end. Kurotsuchi had finally come out of hiding. She lazily drifted through the sky, leading one wing of the army forward. The other, tens of miles away, was the main body of the army. It was as good of a strategy as any, Naruto supposed. He would be obligated to fight Kurotsuchi, leaving the bulk of men on either side to clash elsewhere while the two giants fought. Naruto waved to Kankurō as he led the other half of their army to meet Stone's.

The Fifth Great Ninja War had begun.

Naruto watched as the armies drew closer and closer. He was confident in his commanders and officers. They would handle the battle while he fought Kurotsuchi. She flew above the battlefield, leading her army of ninja forward like an angel of death. Orange-gold chakra licked at his flesh. With a thought, Naruto summoned his Truth-seeking Orbs. He was careful to remove their natural destructive properties. Naruto remembered all too well how devastatingly well Madara used them in the war. Satisfied that his spheres of black chakra would not disintegrate Kurotsuchi upon touch, Naruto drifted skyward.

Naruto saw Kurotsuchi dart skyward as she saw him. He transformed one of his Truth-seeking Orbs into a staff and gave chase. The wind licked at him as Kurotsuchi flew into the sun. Naruto blinked, closing his eyes as his cornea were burned by the sun, and heard the tell-tale whirr of a Dust Release technique. His eyes widened as another Truth-seeking Orb swallowed him whole and shielded him from all sides.

Naruto vaguely felt something touch his shield, a ghost of a sensation, before a great whoosh of air boomed all around him. He heard screams from below as the technique ended. With a thought, the shield dissipated and he darted forward, keeping his eyes shielded and attempting to gain altitude on Kurotsuchi.

Naruto refused to turn his eyes towards the armies below. He could tangibly feel their terror with his empath sensing. It settled in his gut, acrid and cold. Another beam of Dust Release lanced at him and Naruto deflected it with a quickly made shield of black chakra. Another Truth-seeking Orb formed a platform beneath his feet and gave him a boost of speed that his Six Paths Sage Mode's flight couldn't match. He appeared behind Kurotsuchi, who held both hands cupped before her as a beam of pure white chakra scoured the sky and the land. She yelped in surprise as he swung his staff at the back of her neck.

A white light glowed all around him. Naruto leapt backwards as an omnidirectional shield of Dust Release encapsulated Kurotsuchi. His staff was immune to Dust Release but he wasn't about to find out if the rest of him was— which, Naruto wisely assumed, he probably wasn't. The little voice in the back of his head that sounded like a strangely wise mix of Sasuke and Kurama snickered.

" **Do not associate me with that... Uchiha, brat,"** Kurama rumbled.

"Sorry, sorry," Naruto smiled.

Kurotsuchi redirected her shield into a frontal beam that Naruto blocked with another shield of black chakra. With a wave of his hand he sent a Truth-seeking Orb thundering forward. It changed shape, becoming a spear, before blossoming into a voracious wave of black chakra that threatened to swallow Kurotsuchi whole. Which, he smiled, they did.

"Well, that was easy," Naruto remarked as his shield reformed into a sphere. He gazed upon the spherical prison of darkness that contained Kurotsuchi.

" **Don't get cocky, brat,"** Kurama growled.

"Relax," Naruto waved the fox's concerns away. He felt Kurotsuchi struggle against her prison, using every technique in her arsenal to escape it. Her attempts were futile. Truth-seeking Orbs were immune to every form of ninjutsu. Unless the Tsuchikage had learned senjutsu or space-time ninjutsu, there was very little risk of her escaping.

Then, suddenly, her struggles ceased. In fact... Kurotsuchi wasn't even moving. Naruto drifted closer. "Hey, Kurotsuchi? You all right in there?" he asked, yelling over the roar of the wind.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Naruto instantly collapsed Kurotsuchi's prison around himself, shielding him just in time as a beam of Dust Release enveloped him. Naruto made sure to put himself between the attack and Kurotsuchi. He a thought, he formed a platform of black chakra beneath them to catch her.

Naruto blinked as the attack ended and ducked outside of his omnidirectional shield. He looked down. Unless Kurotsuchi was in her late fifties to sixties, balding, and male, something fishy was going on. Because some random old dude was chilling on the platform he had created. Something was wrong...

" **Of course something is wrong, you idiot!"** Kurama yowled.

Naruto winced as the words echoed through his skull. He looked down and saw Kurotsuchi flying up to meet him with a vicious grin on her face. She sent beams of Dust Release at him like a barrage of arrows. Naruto deftly dodged them, flying down to meet her with his fist gripping the haft of his staff tightly. He made sure that the random dude wasn't hit either, sending him down to the ground. Naruto lunged at Kurotsuchi, swinging the staff of black chakra, aiming at her head. She tried to create another omnidirectional shield of Dust Release but was too slow. Naruto quickly lunged forward and grabbed Kurotsuchi before she could fall to her death after knocking her unconscious.

Naruto blinked, watching as Kurotsuchi's features bled away into wisps of blue-white chakra that left only an elderly woman with snow white hair in his arms. Naruto balked at the blood rapidly pooling in his hands that poured from the old woman's skull. He froze as he realized the woman was dead.

"This is..." Naruto gaped as realization flooded him. "The Shapeshifting Technique Nagato and— and... Bolt... used..."

He couldn't think about that. Not right now. He had a battle to—

" **Move, brat!"** Kurama snarled.

Bile rose in his throat as Naruto darted forward, just narrowly avoiding a colossal beam of Dust Release chakra. He darted towards the ground, the dead woman still clutched in his arms, and his eyes widened in horror as Kurotsuchi began unleashing sweeping particle beams into the ranks of his and Sand's armies. The dead were countless, their horror drowning him like an ocean, and yet the battlefield held nary a corpse.

Naruto growled. He was done playing nice. He flooded the battlefield with countless hundreds of clones, each glowing gold-orange with chakra. They roared a battle cry that echoed like thunder across the battlefield as they charged. Even with a paltry portion of his chakra, they were still stronger than even the most grizzled Stone veteran. Still, here and there, a few "died" as they were struck down. When a crescent wave of Dust Release killed several tens of his clones, Naruto darted forward.

Golden limbs of chakra sprouted from his arms, their hands cupping. Naruto formed two Sage Art: Magnet Release Rasengans in either hand. Blue-white and whirring, the Cursed Seal of Shukaku flowed through the technique like water. On the ground, Naruto was a blur. He blitzed Kurotsuchi before she could even think to dodge and slammed one of the Rasengans into her stomach. The attack detonated in an explosion of light and pressure, consuming Kurotsuchi. She screamed as the inky black markings of the Cursed Seal spread over her body.

Then... Naruto was staring at another dead body. An elderly, feeble man who looked like he wouldn't have been able to walk even if he tried. Naruto was breathing hard, angry, red clouding his vision.

" **Easy, Naruto,"** Kurama chided him.

Naruto exhaled an angry, hissed breath through his nose. He blinked, finding the battlefield rapidly emptying of combatants as both sides retreated. Naruto briefly considered giving chase. He dismissed the idea almost immediately. What was he going to do to the tens of thousands of Stone ninja? His Truth-seeking Orbs could only extend to a maximum of two hundred and twenty-five feet in any direction. Not nearly enough to capture and imprison even a small fraction of Stone's army. And Naruto wasn't even going to consider killing them. The people were innocent. It was Kurotsuchi who started the war and it was Kurotsuchi the war would end with.

Naruto stared at the retreating backs of the Stone army and growled in anger. He cast his senses outward, honing in on the specific frequency of Kurotsuchi's chakra and negative emotions. Now that he had felt her chakra in battle, he had a more accurate sense of what to look for.

The only thing he could sense was fear and pain. It was like trying to find a needle in the pitch dark of the bottom of the ocean as the water crushed him alive and drove the breath from his lungs. The horrors of war clouded any finesse of his senses.

Naruto stood there for a long time. When the sun began to set, he slammed his staff into the ground with a howl.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I have officially decided upon an ending! I've had several in mind since the beginning but hadn't chosen until recently. I was considering making a multi-ending, allowing the reader to choose between several endings (good, bad, neutral/"true," tragedy, happily ever after) but decided that would be a disservice to the story.

Ninshū was one of my favorite aspects of the series and I'm pretty sad that Kishimoto never had any of the characters learn or delve into it. Naruto and Sasuke were the sons the Sage, practically the forerunners of "communicating with your fists," and neither of them bothered to figure out why that worked better than talking?! What?! (And, yes, that means "communicating with your fists" is indeed a form of ninshū. WoG.)

There was some confusion last chapter about the scale of Sentoki's final attack: it is similar in strength to a Tailed Beast bomb. Think Four-Tailed Naruto vs. Orochimaru using Triple Rashomon. I was being perhaps overly flowery with my prose since Sentoki's thoughts and point of view are a little archaic and religious in nature. My apologies.

Again: nothing special about who Bolt was before he was born as the son of Naruto. I enjoyed the conspiracy theories, and some of you were quite creative, but what you see is what you get. The named/listed previous lives: an extinct clan of ninja from the Land of Lightning, a recently extinct clan from the Land of Rain, an unnamed Kaguya clansman, an unnamed Hyūga woman, and an unnamed Uchiha man. Don't look too hard into it, like I said. I just needed to populate those scenes with people. Bolt— and every other human, for that matter— has lived at least one life in every major nation and clan at some point in history.


	92. Chapter 92

**January 7th, 0025 AIT**

"Are you sure about this, Shikamaru?" Ino asked worriedly as she gazed out across the forest from their hiding spot. A small bay, barely an inlet, marked the passage from the Land of Water to the Land of Steam.

"It's our best chance, Ino," Shikamaru drawled.

Ino sighed. "If this gets me killed, I'm going to haunt you," she swore.

Ino could see three large ships anchored just offshore. Numerous small wooden vessels ferried the ships' crew to the Land of Steam. And there, just below where she and her team were hiding, were a handful of Hidden Steam ninja waiting to greet them.

"I think this is how the Hidden Steam get their ninja," Shikamaru explained. "They buy out mercenary companies as they pop up and bring them into the fold. If so, it is the _only_ time we're going to be able to infiltrate the village. Because I am _not_ going to try waltzing through the Valley of Hell again."

Ino sighed and grumbled under her breath. She watched as the first of the Blackwater mercenaries began to spill from their boats and secure the landing zone. One, in particular, stood out to her. She was young, perhaps in her mid-to-late twenties, with flowing black hair that fell to her hips and framed a marred headband marking her as an expat of the Mist. Her eyes, black as coal and as hard as steel, swept across the landscape. Ino recognized her face. She was Miyako Mizukawa, leader of the Blackwater mercenaries, and, apparently a highly skilled user of Boil Release.

"Just make it good, Shikamaru," Ino hissed as the two groups of ninja drew closer.

Shikamaru nodded, not daring to speak, and Ino saw his shadow lash out as the two groups mingled below. He latched onto one man, one of the Blackwater mercenaries, and Ino took her chance. They had to be quick. She cast her mind forward, drilling into the man's consciousness and dominating it. Ino took control, not even letting the body stumble, and resumed following her "comrades" to the meeting.

Her heart was beating out of her chest as she walked. Casting wary, disguised glances, Ino found that no one had been the wiser of the switch. Breathing a sigh of relief, she quickly began to dig through the man's memories. She needed a name, his, and the names of his closest friends. She knew the names of the officers in the company, thankfully. Next she looked for mannerisms and speech patterns. If she wanted to escape with her life, Ino's disguise had to be perfect.

She was Keisuke Kawaguchi, disillusioned member of society whose mother and father were former ninja of the Hidden Frost. He spent nearly a year working with the Revolution before going rogue and joining up with the Blackwater mercenaries. Thankfully, Ino noted, he was quiet and reserved, most of the time. Hopefully that meant she wouldn't have to talk much— at all, preferably.

Ino walked forward, slowly and calmly working her way further ahead of the group of mercenaries. She wanted to be able to hear what was being said. Her mind was alight with nerves. She had only a single shot. If she fucked up, if her cover was blown... they would never get a second chance.

Ino sucked in a breath as their group ducked through a copse of trees. There was a group of ninja waiting to greet them, lead by the Yukage himself with Hidan in tow. Sweat pooled in the palms of her hands. The memories of their battle with the duo were fresh in her mind. Dodging wild, crazed swings from Hidan while she kept her senses focused on finding and avoiding the Yukage's puppets.

"Welcome, friends," the Yukage greeted them, his tone warm and deep.

Next to him, Hidan trembled. Like a dog told he was going for a walk— excited. Ino swallowed nervously. She wasn't the only one, either, she noted. That was both good for her cover and extremely worrying for the likelihood her possessed body would be slain before she could complete her mission.

Miyako must have had steel testicles because she didn't even bat an eye. "I was expecting someone else," she said simply.

The Yukage dipped his head. "Of course," he said sagely. "The One Shadow is waiting for you inside the village. Please, follow me."

An odd title, one Ino noted. She trailed a few men behind Miyako as the mercenaries marched forward warily. They passed through thick copses of willowy trees, bubbling pools of water, and banks of steam. Some, Ino noted, produced a visible gas that the Yukage made sure to lead them around safely. The path was long and winding and Ino struggled to memorize what little of it she could. Another Yamanaka would be able to analyze her memories for a perfect path when she was debriefed later.

When she saw the Hidden Steam, Ino gaped. She had expected a crude facility, little more than a few buildings and tents. What she bore witness to instead was a veritable fortress built into the sheer face of a mountain. It towered above them for hundreds of feet, battlements and all, a mote of boiling, bubbling water that spewed thick clouds of steam at the base. Ino could sense wall upon wall of chakra, barriers, barring their passage.

Ino had no idea how they had built such an expansive fortress in such little time. She was unsure if there was any force on Earth short of a full-powered attack by the Hokage that could breach its defenses.

The barriers parted like curtains as the Yukage strode forward. Ino made sure she kept well within his wake. It wouldn't do to be barred from the fortress before she could complete her mission. The Hidden Steam didn't have gates— it had pillars. Two great pillars of white stone with intricate fūinjutsu carvings dotted its surface held the mountain aloft and allowed its guests to pass into the fortress. The space between the pillars was a maw of chakra so thick that Ino felt like she was swimming through water as the stepped through. Still, no alarms rang and her technique remained firmly in place. She continued forward.

The inside of the Hidden Steam was spartan. Bare stone walls with barred doors and posted guards. What few rooms were open were plainly decorated and uniformly designed. Ino saw barracks, neat rooms of bunk beds and lockers, and armories stocked full of swords, knives, and explosive tags. There were strange rooms, darkly lit with pews of scarred wood and crimson cloth. Ino shuddered. She knew in the very pits of her being that they were altars of worship for the Jashinists.

All the while, Miyako and her officers marched forward proudly, chins held high, backs straights, and shoulders squared. Ino didn't know how they could be so brave in the face of such monstrosity. Then again, she wasn't a frontline fighter. Maybe they thought they could win if it came down to a battle? Ino didn't know.

The Yukage led them to the bowels of the fortress, far below the mountain that sheltered the Hidden Steam. Ino could practically feel the weight of the stone above her. There was a set of dark wooden doors, easily ten feet tall, the wood pocked with burned fūinjutsu markings and the chakra steel wrought into bolted strips that glowed with a soft, barely perceptible blue-white light. The doors swung open on silent hinges, admitting them to a hall of moderate size. It was structured like the throne rooms of old, before the time of the ninja, all white-wash stone leading up to a raised dais.

And there, seated upon a veritable throne, was Bolt Uzumaki, son of the Seventh Hokage and leader of the Akatsuki— most wanted man alive. Gone was his Akatsuki robes but he wore the signature charcoal-gray shirt and slacks that Ino knew they wore underneath.

The mercenary company took a mere step and a half into the throne room before a wave of chakra, tangible as any fist, slammed into them. Ino's eyes bulged. She waited for the deathblow to come, but it never did. Instead, Bolt stared down on them from up high with cold, calculating eyes.

"One Shadow, sir," the guards that had escorted them bowed. There was that name again. Now Ino had a face for it. The Yukage dipped his head and Hidan got down on his hands and knees, prostrate. Miyako and the rest of the Blackwater mercenaries bowed respectfully but not humblingly. Ino jerked as an elbow scraped her ribs and she quickly dipped into a respectful bow before straightening with the others.

"Miyako Mizukawa," Bolt's smooth voice sounded from a few feet in front of her _and Ino's heart was crawling up her throat because he was right there._ "Welcome to the Hidden Steam."

Ino hadn't even seen him move. She had taken her eyes off him for the barest fraction of a second as she bowed and he had crossed the distance between the throne and the group of mercenaries without making a sound. Judging from the other mercenaries' reactions, they were just as spooked as she was. The message was clear: _"If I wanted you dead, you would be."_

"It's an honor to be here," Miyako replied, her voice not quivering or cracking. Ino respected the woman immensely. She was either very brave or very foolish— perhaps both. Ino had seen what the new Akatsuki did to her home. She didn't want to invite that wrath upon them again.

"I'm glad you arrived unharassed," Bolt continued. "We've had vermin scurrying amongst the mountains."

Ino swallowed thickly.

Miyako raised a brow. "Neither I nor my men have seen any ninja aside from yours, I'm afraid," she said.

Bolt hummed and Ino hung on his every word. "I take it you've enjoyed your little tour of my Hidden Steam?" he asked politely.

The leader of the Blackwater mercenaries nodded. "It is utilitarian but certainly more accommodating than a fleet of rickety wooden ships," Miyako said.

Bolt actually smiled wryly at that. "Believe me, I know," he said softly. "Of course, this fortress is merely the base of operations for my forces in the Land of Steam. There are other bases, more comfortable ones, in other nations, chiefly in the Land of Frost. You and your men will, of course, have a choice in where you are stationed, provided you agree to join me."

Miyako dipped her head. "My men and I would appreciate that, sir," she said respectfully.

"So," Bolt clapped his hands. "I am assuming that, since you are here, you are at least interested in joining my movement. Shall we get down to business?"

Miyako nodded. "I believe it is in the best interest of the Blackwater mercenary company to side with you, yes," she said.

"And I assume you have stipulations for your employment," Bolt noted.

"Naturally," Miyako replied. "My men hail mostly from the Land of Water and Lightning. We'd like, if able, to be stationed somewhere where we can be close to home and help our people and families."

"Of course," Bolt nodded easily. "That is understandable. I am in the process of establishing a more permanent base of operations in the Land of Water. You and your men would be an excellent help in securing and fortifying its location as well as helping the surrounding civilians in the wake of the attack on the Hidden Mist."

Ino's eyes widened as she filed that bit of information away. They would have to warn Lady Mei.

Miyako shared a knowing look with her closest subordinates. They traded nods. "That would be acceptable, thank you," she said. "There is, however, the issue of payment."

Bolt dipped his head, a quick bird-like movement, and gestured at one of the guards. The Steam ninja scurried away. "Naturally," Bolt said. "I pay all of my subordinates using a hybrid system of the old way and the new. All who serve me, whether on active duty or not, recieve C-class mission pay. In addition to their guaranteed pay, those who serve on the front lines receive mission appropriate pay depending on the difficulty of their tasks. Those of your men with bounties whose prices can be negotiated will be removed from the Bingo Book. Those who cannot will be given a substantially higher bounty, to be paid by me, strictly requiring that they be captured _alive_. Should any of your men be injured in combat, or killed in action, they or their families will receive compensation. In addition, those of your men whose families are in austere circumstances may choose to be relocated to either the Land of Steam or Frost, where they will be given housing, work, and education or training."

Ino was floored. From the expressions on some of the other mercenaries' faces, so were they. No wonder the Akatsuki had been so successful in drawing people in if they were offering a deal that sweet. The Great Five couldn't compete, let alone the other smaller nations. It would financially ruin them.

"I don't mean to be rude," Miyako said carefully. "But how can you possibly afford to make such promises?"

Bolt smiled winningly. Unlike his other smiles, this one was more... genuine, Ino thought. "It's simple, you see," he began. "Unlike a company, there is no bottom line. No fat executives to pay exceedingly bloated salaries. I, personally, am not a wealthy man. My first and only priority are my people. Their safety, their health, their happiness. I invest in my people and therefore they are loyal and empowered. In addition, my people are not ruled by petty things like borders or villages. I have people under my protection in this and every nation on the continent. Our economy is expansive and global. My ninja cut heavily in the profits of the major ninja villages and the protection they give my people is second-to-none and appropriately compensated in either money, goods, favors, or promises."

Ino memorized every sentence, word-for-word, for her report.

"So you see, Miyako," Bolt continued. The guard from earlier scurried back into the throne room, red in the face and out of breath but carrying two briefcases in both hands. He came to kneel between Bolt and Miyako, popping the cases open. Ino heard the mercenaries gasp. "When you ask how I can afford to pay my ninja, my answer is that I rule the strongest, most productive nation without borders and spare no expense in building the foundation of my Empire. Consider this a ten million ryō signing bonus, if you will, to be split among your men however you see fit."

Ino swallowed at the amount. It was a little more than she made in an entire decade working for Torture and Intelligence.

"So," Bolt spread his arms, hands splayed, benevolently. "Do we have a deal?"

Miyako paused and then kneeled. The other Blackwater mercenaries mirrored him. Ino jerked to life, taking a knee. "One Shadow, sir," they echoed.

* * *

 **January 8th, 0025 AIT**

Hikari marched through the halls of the Eye of the Storm, the heels of her boots eliciting a harsh staccato that echoed off the walls. She easily found her way to her shared quarters, having lived in the castle for the better part of five months. Hikari ducked inside, scanning the workshop that occupied half the spacious room, seeing that Bolt was neither on his side nor asleep in their bedroom. Her lips turned downwards, ever so slightly, and she resumed her search.

Hikari could have used their astral communication network to find him but didn't think casual use of it was appropriate. It was strictly for military and political matters. Her desire to see Bolt, at the moment, was more personal. He had been distracted and mercurial at the best of times recently and it worried her. His newest tattooed seal stripped him of his emotions and allowed him to escape the notice of his father's admittedly formidable sensory prowess. But, still... the memory of what Mist had done to her lingered in Hikari's mind. Emotion was the core of a person's sanity. A keystone in its construction. To remove it, even briefly, never bode well.

Hikari understood Bolt's _need_ to lead from the front, to shoulder the burdens that the others couldn't or shouldn't bear, so she would support him in this endeavor as she did all others. But Hikari was determined to monitor Bolt, to ensure he didn't push himself too far, to make sure he stayed the man she... loved.

Hikari found him in his "office." Bolt rarely had need of it. It was _stately._ Designed to display power and wealth, to host discussions and negotiations between the most powerful men and women on the planet as they met with the leader of the Akatsuki. All silver and gold accents with rich, dark woods. Hikari knew Bolt preferred the quaint workshop they shared. That was where he did all of his fūinjutsu tinkering. But this...

Hikari blinked. "What _are_ you doing?" she drawled.

Bolt was on his hands and knees, on the floor, a measuring tape crossing the distance between his desk and the wall. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of black shorts and a black, loose-fitting tank top that bared sinfully pronounced collarbones. Bolt looked up at her, mouth agape, jaw working up and down as he tried to answer her. Hikari raised a brow.

"I, uh," Bolt stammered, quickly standing. A touch of red dusted his cheeks. "I was, uh, measuring the distance between the desk and the wall."

"I got that," Hikari deadpanned. "Why?"

Bolt cleared his throat nervously. "Well, you see, back when we were at the old hideout, Kagami and Kagari played a prank on me. They moved my desk a fraction of an inch to the left every week for several months. I always thought something was different, off, every time I went into the room but I could never figure out what. So now I take measurements from time to time to make sure they're not up to something," he explained proudly, chin raised.

Hikari rolled her eyes and suppressed a groan. Because, of course, leave it to Bolt to be anally retentive enough to take weekly measurements of _how far his desk was from the wall_. She sighed. Sometimes she wondered how he wormed his way into her cold, dead heart. "Well?" Hikari asked.

Bolt coughed. "No, no. The... desk is where it should be," he confirmed.

"Good," Hikari nodded. Because if Kagami and Kagari _were_ playing pranks on Bolt, again, Hikari would make their next training session exceedingly painful. "So what's _really_ bothering you?" she pressed.

Bolt heaved a defeated sigh. "I don't know," he lamented. "The usual things, of course. I think I've got an idea for using the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva but I don't want to test it here in the Eye. It might destabilize the dimension and then we'd be trapped here outside of space and time until the end of the universe."

Hikari swallowed. "Yeah, let's not do that," she said. Although she might bring it up when she was training with Kagami and Kagari. The two sisters were still pissing themselves over the logistics of the Eye.

"And, you know, everything else," Bolt sighed. "Still worried about Sarada. I _know_ they're going to release her from prison and conscript her into fighting me. I just don't know when. I _need_ a countermeasure to her before they release her or she's going to shut us down. I still feel guilty about almost killing Chōchō and Inojin, and... killing Lady Tsunade, but the business with the Hidden Stone has kept my mind off of it."

Hikari nodded along as he spoke. "But we've talked about this already, haven't we?" she said. "Something else is bothering you."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem," Bolt mused melancholically. "I just don't know what's bothering me. I thought it might be burgeoning pressure in the east with the Hidden Steam, but I've practically tortured myself all day planning every eventuality. I'm certain we're fine there. I just... I feel like something is off, like something I'm missing something, and I don't know what. I feel... restless, like I should be doing something, or, I don't know..." Bolt sighed. "I don't feel comfortable in my own skin? Does that make sense?"

Hikari frowned. This was exactly what she was worried about. "Side effects of the seal?" she suggested.

Bolt hummed. "I don't think so," he said. "I checked. Then double checked because I knew you would be worried."

Hikari was hesitant to suggest Bolt was simply overworked and stressed. She was about to say as much when Bolt leaned in and kissed her. Hikari had read books of a questionable nature— not that she would ever admit it— and heard talk around the campfire during her time in the Crimson Tide. They described kissing someone you loved as _electric_. Well, apparently, Bolt had heard that same phrase somewhere because he took it upon himself to make it _literal._ An arc of electricity leapt between their lips and Hikari gasped.

Bolt pulled away, winked, and darted out into the hallway before she could blink. "Come on," he laughed. "We have a training session with Tetsu in fifteen minutes!"

Hikari bristled and followed after him. Outwardly, her face was as hard as steel and as cold as ice. Inwardly, she thanked the Sage of Six Paths that Bolt didn't know how flustered he made her sometimes.

* * *

 **January 8th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt was impressed— and that was putting it lightly. Hikari and Tetsu had improved by leaps and bounds while he was imprisoned. Hikari was faster, stronger, with a more refined fighting style that made effortless, brutally efficient use of her chakra-enhanced strength. When, that was, she could land a hit on him. It wasn't often, but when she did, it hurt like a bitch. Not to mention she had her trump card: Blood Release.

Tetsu, on the other hand, had become a monster. When Bolt had been taken from his friends, he had owned a measly _one_ of the Seven. When he had finally escaped, Tetsu was a measly _one_ sword away from owning _every_ one of the Seven Swords of the Mist. And he had been mercilessly training, pushing himself to master each and every blade and its unique style of swordsmanship. More than that, Tetsu was creating an entire new school of swordsmanship focussed on wielding multiple swords of varying styles at once, allowing him to use two or more of the Seven at the same time. He was a juggernaut of destruction— unstoppable.

Bolt liked to fancy himself one of the strongest ninja alive. There were people above him, of course, like his father, Master Sasuke, Orochimaru, the Eight-Tails, and, grudgingly, Sarada. Bolt was even willing to respectfully decree that Sentoki was perhaps as strong as he was. The Tsuchikage, too. A feat he believed was only matched by the deceased Darui. But there were far, far more ninja that were weaker than him.

The combination of Hikari and Tetsu teaming up had pushed Bolt to his limits. And that was _saying_ something. He had been on the defensive nearly the entire fight. Tetsu pushing with arcing swings of the Seversword, thrusts of the Needlesword, and crushes of the Bluntsword. All the while, Hikari harried him with needles and well-placed punches and kicks. She took control of his Water Release techniques and allowed Tetsu to unleash fiery Flashes unopposed. Once or twice, Tetsu had used the Thunderswords to engage in rapid, thunderous trading of strikes that forced Bolt to use the full might of his Lightning Armor.

Bolt was proud. Immensely proud. As both a friend, happy to see his friends advancing and developing their skills, and a leader, pleased to see that two of his strongest weapons were honed to an as of yet unseen edge.

"Good job—you two," Bolt gasped, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Good job my ass!" Kagami screamed, her shrill voice piercing the barrier. "You thrashed my favorite training ground, fuckers!"

Bolt looked around, finally having found the strength to sit up. Kagami was right. The once pristine and carefully cared for training ground was now scarred and ragged, pocked with deep slash marks, craters, and charred from both lightning and fire.

"You can use Earth Release," Hikari drawled. "Fix it yourself."

Kagami huffed, crossing her arms, and marched away with her sister in tow. Bolt smiled fondly. He left the training grounds, listening to Kagami and Kagari grumble as they used Earth Release to repair the arena. Hikari kept pace with him with her long stride. "You look like you're up to something," she commented.

"That easy to read, huh?" Bolt asked wryly.

"Only to me," Hikari replied easily.

Bolt smiled. "I'm going to do some training on Earth," he told her. "See if that can't take my mind off things. Wanna come?" he asked.

"Of course," Hikari answered with a quick nod of her head. "Where are we going?"

"Northern Land of Frost," Bolt said. "There's a secluded bay there that is perfect for testing a new technique without destroying the surrounding landscape."

"Not exactly the kind of beach you're supposed to take girls to, Bolt," Hikari joked snidely.

Bolt laughed. The frigid waters north of the Land of Frost were notoriously cold and icy, especially during the winter months. "I thought it would remind you of home," he quipped.

Bolt savored the "taste" of his emotions— the happiness, the humor, the love— because, thanks to his neurotic father, he couldn't set foot on land without becoming a beacon due to his father's empath sensory abilities. Frowning, he activated the Cursed Seal of Zamin, suppressing and controlling his emotions. It was a _process._ The weaker emotions were the first to fade. Things like sadness and guilt, fear and anxiety, happiness and hope. The stronger ones took longer. Things like anger and hate. It surprised Bolt that he had a lot of anger in him. Anger at his father, anger at the world, anger at _himself._

Love was the last to fade. Bolt knew the seal was fully functional when what he felt for Hikari withered and died in his chest. Of course, it was still _there_ , the emotion just... wasn't an emotion. Logically, he knew the word "love" was connected to the person "Hikari" and the person "Bolt." There was a relationship, a connotation. But there was no power behind it, no drive, not like what he remembered feeling. Like a fire that had burned itself to charcoal.

Clarity welled in his mind, cold and hard. The disorienting, distinctly _hollow_ feeling blossomed in his mind. Bolt could _think._ There was no distraction and no lies. He imagined what he felt like was how machines felt. His mind could run through multiple ideas and strategies in parallel trains of thought.

"Ready to go?" Hikari asked softly.

Bolt blinked at her. He wasn't distracted by her beauty or their relationship. "Yeah," he answered evenly.

He distantly heard Hikari asking Tsuchigumo to take them somewhere close to the northern reaches of the Land of Frost. Bolt felt a pull at his navel and allowed himself to be pulled through space and time. The cold bite of the Land of Frost licked at his exposed skin. Bolt began to run chakra through his system, warming him from the inside out. It was only a short sprint across uneven snowy plains until they reached the bay he wanted to train at. It was hidden, like a cove, a crescent moon that ate into the land and allowed the ocean to pool within its arc. Sea ice bobbed up and down in the waves as the sun glinted off the ocean's surface.

It was perfect. No one would know if some sea ice was obliterated once it had quickly reformed and been replaced.

Hikari took a seat behind him, lounging on a beached log. She crossed her legs, idly holding a scroll in her right hand to read while her left's fingers traced patterns in the air as a wisp of blood danced to her tune.

Bolt turned to face the ocean and took a deep breath. He reached for the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva, the seal burning across his skin, a living, breathing thunderstorm of ink and chakra. The Thunder God beckoned and the world bowed, penitent, and obeyed. Positively charged natural lightning clung to him like a second skin, wreathing him in an ever stronger glowing white-gold light. Bolt exuded chakra, asserting domination, taking control. He _owned_ the element. He was the strongest Lightning Release user to ever draw breath.

Bolt shifted his stance, legs astride and body angled to make himself a smaller target. His left hand shifted forward for balance and his right was held aloft, his hand cupped. It was almost akin to a Gentle Fist readying stance, Bolt thought.

 _Rotation._

It couldn't be like Rasenshinsei. It was a powerful technique, designed for taking out large swathes of enemies. Bolt designed it for use in the Rain Civil War. But for combat with a single, powerful opponent? He would need something more.

 _Power._

So it would be a single-target attack. Throwable, of course, because Bolt knew he couldn't count on being in close quarters all the time even with his preternatural speed. He knew there would be times when he wouldn't want to get in close with his enemies, anyway. People like his father who could trap him in an instant or Sentoki who could overwhelm him.

 _Containment._

It couldn't be as powerful as the Wrath of the Thunder God. It had to be controllable, but overwhelming in its power. The whirring sphere in the palm of his hand collapsed in on itself, elongating. Unlike Rasenshinsei, Bolt controlled the shape. He didn't want a disc. He wanted a _spear_. The weapon of the Thunder God itself.

A thorn of whirring, rumbling blue-white chakra coalesced in the palm of his hand. Bolt directed his enslaved positive lightning to be consumed and subsumed into the attack. Bolt beheld his creation, a spear of white-gold lightning with a core of fluctuating, pulsing blue-white chakra. It was unstable and wild, like a cornered animal snapping and growling at an approaching predator.

Bolt tore his eyes from the spear and directed them oceanward. In the distance, an iceberg loomed.

Bolt narrowed his eyes.

"Rasen—" he breathed, tensing. "—Rakurai!"

Bolt hurled the spear.

It left his hand as an explosion of sparks and arcing electricity.

The storm of energy thundered forward for three feet before dissipating.

Bolt stared blankly forward, mind analyzing what had gone wrong. A barely audible giggle sounded behind him. He glared at Hikari, who appeared the picture of innocence as she continued her own training. "No one succeeds at anything on the first try," he said dryly.

Bolt was certain, had his emotions not been suppressed by the seal, his cheeks would have been as red as his ancestral clan's hair with embarrassment and indignation.

* * *

 **January 10th, 0025 AIT**

Mitsuki walked aimlessly through the Leaf, growing ever closer to his destination at the center of the city, earning strange looks and worried whispers from its denizens.

Sarada had betrayed the Leaf.

Mitsuki wasn't sure how he felt about that.

On one hand, she had freed Bolt, his Sun, and, according to his father, one of the people supposedly key in defeating the Ōtsutsuki in the coming war. On the other, Mitsuki loved the Hidden Leaf. It was his home. More so than he had found with his father and brothers. But that was because of the people, because of his friends. Bolt, his Sun, chiefly, but also Sarada, and Shikadai, and Inojin, and Chōchō, and so many others. Mitsuki didn't want to see the Leaf destroyed, as Bolt seemed to desire. He just wanted... peace. The Moon and the Sun did not quarrel as they circled each other. They just _were_. That was what Mitsuki wanted.

And Sarada's actions had been both a blessing and a curse. Mitsuki still wasn't sure which. That was why, he hoped, his visit with her today would help him make up his mind. He desperately hoped he wasn't about to lose another friend.

Mitsuki made his way to the still under construction Hokage Tower, eying the scaffolding on the mountain above it as workers sculpted the visage of the Seventh Hokage— again. Mitsuki smiled wryly. People seemed to be fond of wrecking the pride of the Leaf. He entered the tower, moving slowly as numerous hidden guards eyed him warily. He approached the front desk, manned by a Torture and Intelligence operative rather than a menial clerk. "Mitsuki of the Leaf here to see Sarada Uchiha," he announced evenly.

The operative eyed him, then what Mitsuki was sure was an unseen list, and then him again. Mitsuki hoped, for the man's sake, he wasn't about to be denied. While Sarada might not be his Sun, she was still important to him. Mitsuki was not above forcing his way through and, thanks to his training with his father and brothers, he was now more than capable of doing so.

"Alright," the operative said evenly. "Follow Bear."

Mitsuki turned and a large, hulking Anbu had appeared behind him at some point during the conversation. He was led into the bowels of the tower, the hallways crawling with guards and sensors, and eventually led to the high security cells. Among which, Mitsuki smiled sadly, was Sarada.

She looked distraught. Her long, inky black hair fell to the small of her back in a wild, tangled mess. Sarada had always been pale, but it was more porcelain than milky. Now, she appeared almost sickly in her pallor. Her eyes were rimmed by ugly dark splotches and her cheeks were hollow.

"Sarada," Mitsuki said softly as he approached the barrier that suppressed her chakra. She sniffed and looked up and Mitsuki could see dried tears staining her cheeks. Mitsuki frowned and took a knee to be at eye level with her. "I suppose asking you how you are is rather pointless."

Sarada let out a choked laugh. "Hello, Mitsuki," she said, her voice ragged.

"It's good to see you, even if I wish it was under better circumstances," Mitsuki began.

Sarada nodded. "Me too," she said.

There was a pregnant pause. Mitsuki didn't know what to say. He had never been the best in social situations. That was Bolt and Shikadai's area of expertise.

"Have you talked with your mother yet?" Mitsuki settled for asking.

Sarada shook her head, wiping at her eyes.

"Do you want me to send her a message?" Mitsuki asked.

Sarada took a breath and held it. "I— no," she exhaled. "I... I should be the one to explain. Do you think she has heard?"

Mitsuki nodded. "Almost assuredly," he said. "My father said the team that went to probe the Hidden Steam was heavily injured and retreated to the Mist to receive healing from your mother. If they knew, she knows."

Sarada exhaled shakily and nodded.

Mitsuki sighed as he sat down, legs crossed, his back leaning up against the wall where the barrier met stone. "I have to ask, Sarada," he pressed. "Why?"

Sarada was quiet for a long time. Mitsuki was content to wait. He raised his head as he heard two sets of footsteps echoing behind him. He blinked as Himawari stepped forward. He hadn't expected to see her.

"Mitsuki!" Himawari exclaimed.

"Hello, Himawari," Mitsuki greeted her with a pleasant smile. While not as gravitational as his Sun, Mitsuki held a special place in his heart for Bolt's little sister— his sunflower. Mitsuki did not miss the way Sarada curled in on herself. "What brings you here?" he asked softly.

Himawari's eyes, blue like his Sun's, darted between him and Sarada. "Same as you, I imagine," she answered just as softly, taking a seat opposite him against the far wall.

Mitsuki nodded. "Sarada was just about to explain to me why she did what she did," he pressed.

Still, Sarada was silent. Mitsuki glanced over at her. For a moment, he believed that she wouldn't answer him— them. Then, slowly, she began to speak. "I had to," Sarada said, tone soft and distant as her eyes gazed forward unseeing.

"Why though?" Himawari pressed, a little harder than Mitsuki would have liked. He gestured for her to ease up, remain calm.

"... It had to be done. You wouldn't understand," Sarada choked.

Mitsuki quickly spoke before Himawari could angrily butt in. "You'd be surprised," he said softly. "We're your friends. We would understand if you told us."

Sarada was quiet for a long time again. Mitsuki could tell the silence was wearing Himawari's patience thin. The legendary Uzumaki temper was threatening to break free.

"He was going to die," Sarada said eventually, her voice hollow and lifeless. "Bolt was going to go free, no matter what. The only thing I did was change how and it was for the better."

Himawari growled angrily but Mitsuki, wisely, spoke for the both of them again. "Explain?" he pressed.

Sarada wiped at her eyes, again, and spoke. "Bolt was going to commit suicide," she said resolutely. Mitsuki sucked in a breath. That, above all else, could not be allowed to come to pass. A world without his Sun would be very dark and cold indeed.

"What do you mean?!" Himawari demanded angrily, panicked.

Sarada turned her head, slowly, to look at her. "Bolt doesn't fear death, Hima. He fears a cage. We put him here, the biggest cage of all. Of course he would seek escape by any means possible. There were three possible timelines: Bolt commits suicide to escape, or he commits suicide after you take his chakra from him, or I help him escape with his life. I think we can all agree I made the wiser choice," she said scathingly.

"You— you don't know that!" Himawari countered weakly.

Sarada's brows narrowed, fire growing in her black eyes. "I do know that, Himawari! That's who I am! I know things! I see all, I fathom all! That's who I am, that's what my power is! You understand nothing! You don't understand how the world works and you don't know your brother at all if you think he would be happy living as a powerless civilian!" she hissed acidically.

Mitsuki was powerless to stop the explosion that was coming. Himawari shot to her feet. "Are you saying _I'm_ the one responsible for you having to become a traitor?!" she demanded hotly.

Sarada rose, eyes wild and wide. "I'm saying you're a selfish brat because you would have taken the one thing your brother loves most just so you could keep him locked up like an animal!" she screamed.

"He's a criminal!" Himawari shot back angrily. "He's tried to destroy everything my family has built! He's going to get himself killed if he keeps chasing his stupid dream of "peace!" I was trying to protect him!"

"Some things are worth dying for, Himawari!" Sarada screamed back, pounding on the barrier. "I loved Bolt and he is more important to me and the world than you can possibly imagine! I'm not going to sit back and let you destroy him so you can keep him like some kind of... some kind of pet!"

Mitsuki had had enough. "Alright, alright," he said placatingly, hands raised. "Let's just calm down and talk about this. We're not children and we're not going to squabble like children."

Himawari was glaring at Sarada with such intensity and fire in her eyes that, if the barrier hadn't been between them, Mitsuki thought Sarada might have actually burst into flames.

"I couldn't let him die, Mitsuki," Sarada said, facing him. "I... I just couldn't. He's too important. He can't die. Not yet."

Mitsuki frowned darkly. "What do you mean?" he pressed firmly.

Sarada's eyes darted back and forth, searching for some unseen enemy in the shadows that weren't there. "I saw it," Sarada choked. "The future. What would happen if Bolt died before his time. Everything died, Mitsuki. _Everything._ "

Mitsuki narrowed his brows in thought. "I need specifics, Sarada," he pressed. "What, exactly, happens?"

Sarada shook her head, arms wrapping around herself. "The people in white, the Ōtsutsuki—" Mitsuki sucked in a breath. "—they come here. There's a great battle. We fight them as hard as we can, for as long as we can, but we lose. We always lose. The Hokage, he... they take the fox from him. He doesn't make it. My father tries to keep everyone safe, but he's just one man. They— they take his _eyes_."

Mitsuki swallowed thickly. Because this was precisely what his father had been preaching. They couldn't afford to be divided in the face of the Ōtsutsuki. He and his brothers would be at the fore of the fighting and, if Sarada was to be believed, they wouldn't be enough to hold the tides of war at bay. But something didn't make sense to him. "Sarada, if the Ōtsutsuki are strong enough to kill the Hokage and your father, what could Bolt— their lesser in every measure of the word— do to stop them?" Mitsuki asked.

Himawari turned to face their mutual friend, silently demanding an answer. Sarada's eyes were wide and searching as she gazed into her memories. Mitsuki could practically see the horrors of the darkness she had witnessed. "He..." she frowned, deep in thought. "I— he had to have done something! I just, I didn't see it, I was too focussed on what would happen if he died... Omoikane showed me what would happen! He didn't show me what Bolt was supposed to do to prevent it!"

"What do you mean "he," Sarada?" Mitsuki asked, noting the pronoun associated with the name of her ability.

Sarada's hands found her left eye. "Omoikane Ōtsutsuki," she breathed. "My left eye's ability is parallel thinking. It makes my right eye's foresight stronger, more accurate. Two heads are better than one, you know? The Hokage, he said because our abilities are similar, my chakra and Omoikane's resonated and we connected through my left eye. He helped me, showed me visions of the future, taught me a little about how to use my right eye's foresight..."

Mitsuki swallowed thickly. If Orochimaru was physically capable of having a heart attack, he was sure his father would upon learning that an Ōtsutsuki had been manipulating Sasuke's daughter into doing their bidding— no doubt to the detriment of the Earth.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe this Omoikane was manipulating you?" Himawari demanded hotly.

Mitsuki frowned at her. This was not the time for anger. But, still... Bolt's little sister was right. If Sarada had been acting under misinformation, provided by the enemy of humanity itself...

"I forgive you, Sarada," Mitsuki said softly. "And I don't blame you."

Sarada looked at him, lips pursed and unshed tears welling in her eyes. She placed a splayed hand on the barrier separating them and Mitsuki mirrored her. Casting a sidelong look, Mitsuki saw that Himawari was deep in thought, her brows narrowed and her nose scrunched.

They were interrupted by the march of boots striking stone. A handful of guards approached them from behind. "Visiting hours are over," the leader told them.

Mitsuki understood the unspoken command. "Come on, Hima," he said. "Let's go."

Himawari trailed after him, not saying a word to Sarada, as Mitsuki headed back to the city. As much as he wished otherwise, his business was concluded. Mitsuki had duties to attend to, his brothers to oversee and train. He noticed Himawari idly trailing after him like a lost sheep, still deep in thought. Suddenly, she perked up and increased her stride to match his. Mitsuki quirked an eyebrow.

"Maybe Omoikane was manipulating her. Maybe it isn't Sarada's fault," Himawari whispered under her breath. "But... maybe he wasn't. What if Omoikane was telling the truth? What if my brother really does play a pivotal role in this war she saw? But it's not him defending anyone or killing these Ōtsutsuki— like you said, our father and Uncle Sasuke are too strong. What if it's something Bolt _does_? What if... what if what Bolt does to stop the war in the future, is if he wins the war _right now_?"

His steps faltered. Mitsuki froze. His first thought was to dismiss the idea as quickly as Himawari had suggested it. But the more logical, rational side of him that sounded more and more like Orochimaru hissed in his ear. It told him to be wise, be mindful, to consider all possibilities.

And the most frightening possibility in all of Creation was the truth. The possibility that Bolt, his Sun, would crush the world beneath his boots, drive the shadows from every corner of the globe with his light, and unite their people to face the Ōtsutsuki threat.

As hopeful as the notion made Mitsuki, he wasn't such a fool that he could ignore the ramifications of a world united under Bolt. He would tolerate no disobedience, no resistance. The ninja villages would fall, the Kage would die, and the Hokage and Sasuke Uchiha would be pariahs across all the land— or, worse, dead.

But, logic prevailed. For Bolt to conquer the world, Naruto and Sasuke would have to be dead. That was an impossibility. That, and... why would Omoikane want to stop his people from conquering the Earth? It didn't make sense.

Something darker whispered to Mitsuki in the back of his mind. An old legend about a ninja who created a technique that would allow him to fly. And ever higher he flew, higher and higher, drawing ever closer and closer to his Sun, until the Sun burned him.

That, Mitsuki thought, was the saddest fate of all.

* * *

 **January 20th, 0025 AIT**

Fifteen days. Fifteen days of wallowing and drowning in the sheer terror of men that stared into the abyss of death. Naruto almost couldn't handle it. But he would, and he would continue to do so, because that was who he was. He was Naruto Uzumaki, the Seventh Hokage, and he would protect his people.

Kurotsuchi might have won the first battle but Naruto was determined to win the war. He had had fifteen days to plan and strategize. Fifteen days to think of a counter to Kurotuschi's use of the Akatsuki's possession technique. Fifteen days to think of a way to end the war. Fifteen days fueled by the fear of his people. Fifteen days and, now, the war continued. Stone was marching against them.

Naruto could not fail. He would not allow himself to fail.

His plan was simple: divide and conquer. He would face Kurotsuchi, again, and he would use his Truth-seeking Orbs, again, to counter her Dust Release. This time, however, it wouldn't be _just_ one of him. He had nine orbs and each of them could extend for nearly two hundred and thirty feet before Naruto lost control of them. He created eight clones, his generals among his army of one, and gave them each a single Truth-seeking Orb. They were dispersed amongst the joint Sand-Leaf army, ready to defend their soldiers. Naruto would not let Kurotsuchi slaughter his people with Dust Release just to spite him. Not again.

But Naruto was not content to simply defend. He had never been very good at defending, admittedly. He attacked, he protected. Each of his clones, armed with their Truth-seeking Orbs, was reinforced by a small company of clones. Each were armed with dozens of Wood Release suppression cuffs. When the battle erupted, Naruto would fight Kurotsuchi while his clones defended the army and captured the enemy combatants.

The war would be over today. Decisively and quickly. Naruto swore it.

Kurotsuchi lazily bobbed in the air above the wing of her army, her arms crossed and her expression disdainful. Naruto rose, again, to meet her. The roared battle cries of their armies, again, echoed below them. Naruto winced with every scream of pain and clash of steel. He tried to turn his senses forward, away from the battle, to shield himself from the fear and the pain, but he couldn't. It was simply too much. It ate at him, a constant companion.

Naruto formed a staff with the single Truth-seeking Orb he had reserved for himself. He darted forward, left hand cupped as chakra coalesced in the palm of his hand. Kurotsuchi brought both her hands to bear, drifting skyward, and unleashed a wide beam of Dust Release. Naruto transformed the head of his staff into a shield, protecting himself, but the beam was too wide to be blocked entirely. It shot earthbound and Naruto smiled grimly as his clones defended the army with their own Truth-seeking Orbs.

The beam vanished and Naruto lunged forward. He hurled a Rasenshuriken forward and detonated it before Kurotsuchi could fly away or turn it to nothingness. Countless millions of microscopic cuts slashed the Tsuchikage to ribbons and she fell from the sky, her wings clipped. The Shapeshifting Technique faded, leaving another elderly corpse in its wake, and Naruto turned his attention back to the army below. His army of clones were slowly but surely making a dent in the number of enemies. There were hundreds of prisoners of war, cuffed and bound, ferried away by Sand ninja as his clones secured them.

A beam of Dust Release shot forward, crossing the distance faster than the eye could process, and was blocked by a nebulous shield of darkness by one of his clones. Naruto shot forward, crashing down on the Stone army in the midst of where the beam had originated. He found Kurotsuchi amongst her men, grizzled veterans all, and lunged at them. Her guards leapt to her defense but they were nothing compared to the monsters Naruto had faced in the Fourth War. He dispatched them with ease, left them broken and unconscious. Kurotsuchi, eyes wild and wide, roared a piercing scream and the sandy dunes all around them glowed white-gold with the chakra of Dust Release.

Naruto scrambled skyward as a colossal geometric cube of Duse Release blossomed into existence and devoured everything in its path; ninja, both from Stone and Sand, and countless hundreds of feet of sand and dunes and rock. Naruto was left breathless at the sheer terror he felt as hundreds of lives were extinguished in an instant, like candles in the wind.

He scoured the battlefield, looking with his eyes and his senses for any trace of Kurotsuchi. A sudden welling of terror behind him, among the ranks of his own army, drew Naruto's gaze. He had only a moment of realization— a spy— before a wave of Dust Release swept away countless hundreds of men and women under his protection and left nought but dust. Naruto screamed, feeling the creeping rage of Kurama seep into him, and sprinted forward. Each strike of his feet left explosions of molten sand in his wake.

In the time it had took him to reach Kurotsuchi, his clones had reacted and countered her attack. They left a broken corpse wearing a Sand jōnin jacket and headband on the ground, a void of people and sand all around it.

Naruto howled in frustration and threw himself back into the fray, looming above both armies and chomping at the bit. He was stronger than her, he knew it, he just had to actually fight her— the real her— and the war would be over. Naruto wasn't used to fighting like this. All his strongest opponents had been real, tangible, people he could meet with words and fists. Kurotsuchi was different. She was like Bolt. They fought from the shadows, using cunning and guile, slowly whittling away your defenses and resources until you had nothing left.

A sudden eruption of Dust Release nearly was his undoing. Naruto's heart fluttered in his chest. **"Watch what you're doing, brat!"** Kurama yowled.

"Shut it, furball," Naruto hissed. He launched himself back into the rank and file of the Stone's army, dispatching whatever and whoever stood in his way, as he fought his way to the Tsuchikage.

Kurotsuchi launched another beam of Dust Release at him and Naruto blocked it as easily as the rest while his clones shielded his allies from the worst of the attack. He lunged forward, swinging his staff, and Kurotsuchi was surprisingly quick on her feet as she dodged the first two swings. She wreathed herself in a cloak of Dust Release, nebulous novas of the disintegrating energies licking at him. Naruto swore beneath his breath, dancing away and batting the tendrils of white-gold chakra with his staff, even as Kurotsuchi cackled and lunged at him.

"What's wrong, Hokage?" Kurotsuchi screamed gleefully as she thrust an open palm forward that shot a lance of Dust Release at him. Naruto dodged. "Give up! The Will of Stone is unbending! Even if you beat me here, another shall rise in my place! The world will know of the strength of the Hidden Stone! That we are the most powerful ninja village of all!"

"Stop this, Kurotsuchi!" Naruto barked. He lunged forward, thrusting his staff at her stomach. "No one ever thought you or the Hidden Stone were anything but strong! Stop wasting so many lives on this pointless war!"

Kurotsuchi laughed madly. "War is the way of our people, Naruto!" she roared. "War is the Way of the Ninja! You seem to have forgotten that! Even your son and his little girlfriend have realized this one truth!"

A myriad of emotions surged through him at the mention of Bolt. It confirmed Naruto's deepest, darkest fears. That Bolt, after his escape, had begun working with the Hidden Stone. He had taught Kurotsuchi the Shapeshifting Technique. His son was the sole reason the war hadn't ended that first day when he captured the Tsuchikage.

Naruto growled, angry, and felt Kurama's infernal chakra rise to answer his call. He surged forward, his vision red, and slammed the haft of his staff into Kurotsuchi's arm between her shoulder and her elbow with all his strength. She exploded into a mist of blood and shards of bone and Naruto immediately felt sick to his stomach as he willingly took a life. Knowing that the victims of the Shapeshifting Technique invariably died did little to absolve the guilt he felt.

The blast of a horn sounded, long and loud. It was the signal to retreat. Thunderous footsteps heralded a mass of soldiers eager to flee the horrors of war. Naruto was treated to the duality of the battlefield, fading fear, rising hope, and muted pride, as another battle drew to a close. Naruto grit his teeth, casting the net of his senses far and wide with both his empath sensing and Sage Mode. As before, there was simply too much background noise for him to pick out a single signature with his empath sensing. Sage Mode's range was simply not far enough to track Kurotsuchi without something more tangible for him to follow, like one of Nagato's chakra receivers.

But, unlike last time, Naruto was not simply content to let his enemies run away. The lives of the men he had lost demanded he seek justice. Naruto called forth his army of clones and they darted forward, collapsing on the enemy ranks from behind, easily subduing and securing them with Wood Release suppression cuffs.

It was at that moment, his senses wide and searching, that Naruto felt a very familiar signature erupt well within his range. Like a roaring flame in the darkness, it was a beacon to his allies and a brand to his enemies.

Bolt.

Naruto took one agonized look between his clones and the distant sands of the Land of Wind where he knew, nestled among them, his son waited. He had to make a choice. He was already running on half strength, his First guarding the Leaf. He had further weakened himself, first by creating his eight clones to shield the army from obliteration, and then even further by creating more clones to capture enemy prisoners.

If he was going to go after Bolt, he would have to dispel some of them.

The choice was acidic, but it was easy. The soldiers of the Hidden Stone's army were merely ninja loyal to their home. They bore no ill will to him or the Sand or the Leaf. They were simply following orders. And Naruto knew, deep down, that Kurotsuchi wasn't among them. She would hide, like a coward, content to continue to whittle him down little by little. Bolt, however, was of chief importance. Both to Naruto himself and to the war effort at large, especially if he had allied himself with the Hidden Stone.

Naruto dispelled his clones, taking a breath as their chakra returned to him, and recalled his Truth-seeking Orbs. He created a platform of inky darkness beneath his feet and it short eastward at the speed of thought. Naruto's eyes widened in horror as his senses pinpointed where, exactly, Bolt was.

The other wing of the joint Sand-Leaf army.

Naruto forced the platform to thunder through the sky at an ever alarmingly faster pace. The red-gold sand beneath him blurred until he could no longer see the crest and trough of every dune. Ahead, the Sea of Glass loomed. It was a beautiful if grim reminder to the Land of Wind that a battle of titans had occurred: his son versus Shukaku. The resulting clash had left miles of sand and rock covered in molten glass that had been kicked up after one too many Tailed Beast Bombs.

Naruto soared overhead, passing the rear of the army— whom, from appearances, held back— and over a battlefield of muddy, wet sand and shattered crystalline glass. The vanguard was strewn across the battlefield, most broken, mangled, or unconscious, with a corpse here or there. Naruto frowned thunderously.

Naruto spotted the battle before he could sense it. Towering walls of stone, two figures locked in a battle of lightning-quick fists and kicks. His eyes widened as he sensed another familiar chakra signature: Lee's son. Suddenly, an explosion of sand was kicked up. Metal burst forth, streaming a flaming green aura of chakra, his boot lodged solidly in Bolt's guard as he was punted like a ball. The other two, Naruto knew, his mind reaching for their names. Both were his son's classmates. Iwabe, a captain in the army, and the shy boy with glasses, Denki.

Denki shot a lance of lightning at Bolt. Naruto swore as his platform brought him closer and closer to the fight. Bolt waded through the jutsu, focussed on trading blows with Metal and avoiding being crushed by walls of stone summoned by Iwabe. Naruto wondered why Bolt was using his own signature Lightning Release techniques and received his answer his son batted away the attack and a black disc shot out of the sand, swallowing the electricity whole.

Naruto landed with a clap of thunder that caused a burst of air to slam into all four combatants. "Good job, guys," he praised his ninja. "I'll take it from here."

It was, quite frankly, amazing that they had held Bolt that long at all. Denki was smart, though, and clever with Lightning Release techniques. The Kaminarimon family ran the largest producer of electricity in the Land of Fire. It was no wonder. Metal and Iwabe looked a little worse for wear, but other than that—

Bolt ascended skyward, more a force of nature than a man. Naruto swore, instantly pushing his Truth-seeking platform to give chase. Naruto was proud of Bolt, in a way, for being so smart. He certainly didn't get his intelligence from him. No, that was all Hinata's side of the genepool. Thunder God Mode was a breathtaking piece of ninjutsu. At first, Naruto had thought it a little arrogant to name a technique after a God. But, seeing it in action... the name fit.

Naruto could feel icy blades of wind licking at his exposed flesh. Still, he gave chase. Bolt _moved_ , thundering into the heavens, straight as an arrow and as quick as lightning. Now that he had a chance to see it, Naruto really could see the "weaknesses" in the technique. All straight, telegraphed lines. His Sage Mode senses were going haywire, the attunement with nature warring with the screaming warning of _"Move! Dodge!"_

Bolt broke away suddenly, going from perfectly vertical to perfectly horizontal, and they were off. Naruto grit his teeth, urging his platform to carry him faster. He would have had no chance had he just been flying on his own. But, with his Truth-seeking Orbs... Naruto was gaining. The landscape became a blur, his augmented senses only barely catching passing landmarks. Sand faded to dense forest and Naruto knew they had to have crossed over into the Land of Rivers.

Just as suddenly as before, Bolt changed direction. Back to perfectly vertical, rapidly gaining altitude. Naruto swore, the words torn from his lips by the raging wind, and followed after his wayward son. Bolt had no intention of stopping or slowing down. If anything, he went even faster. Naruto strove to match him. It was, a laugh growing in his throat, a lot like their matches of hide-and-seek. The higher they ascended, the colder it got. Naruto blinked, the clouds rapidly approaching, and braced himself as they invaded the very heavens themselves.

It was breathtaking in a way that Naruto had never experienced. The sky was a darker shade of blue, the air was frigid and thin, and the clouds caught the sunlight before it could touch the Earth. Naruto wondered why he had never gone flying solely for the fun, the beauty, of it. Then, as a rumble of thunder rang in his ears, he remembered why. He was the Hokage. He had a duty, a responsibility. He could not afford to risk his people's safety and happiness to go flying.

Naruto willed his Truth-seeking Orbs to carry him faster. Bolt broke off, incorporeal lightning dancing across the clouds, and shot eastward. Naruto could see the thick forests of the Land of Rivers give way to the sparse, lively greens of the Land of Fire. It struck him, then, how truly _fast_ they were going. Still, Naruto urged himself to go even faster still. He smirked as he caught a vague turn of his son's head and he could practically feel the sheer annoyance radiating from the Thunder God.

Bolt picked up the pace.

If Naruto thought they had been going fast before, it was nothing compared to how quickly they thundered through the heavens now. Thunder boomed, heralding their passing, and Bolt was wreathed in a shroud of mist that trailed behind him as he shot across the heavens as nothing more than an arrow of lightning.

Naruto would not allow himself to lose. He pushed himself faster and then even faster still. Oddly, the sky appeared to lose its color, its brilliance. But, still, Naruto was gaining on his son. Just a little faster...

Bolt ascended, going vertical, and Naruto didn't hesitate to follow. The sky grew even darker, more purple than blue, and the air was as cold as ice and dry as the desert. Bolt was pushing himself, going even faster, and Naruto did the same. The sky faded, from purple, to a washed out gray. Like a thick fog had moved in, obscuring his vision. Naruto shook his head, bracing himself against the Truth-seeking platform with one arm and wiping at his eyes with the other.

The fog of gray that sapped the color from the world remained and Bolt flew ever higher and higher. Stars became visible, twinkled overhead. Naruto pushed himself, faster, starting to gain on Bolt again.

"— **uto!"** an angry, deep voice roared. Naruto blinked, the edges of his vision narrowing. **"Naru—to!"** Kurama was howling furiously.

" _Wha—?"_ Naruto called back, his words stolen by the wind as he spoke them.

" **Stop this foolishness, brat! Your body can't handle the strain!"** Kurama roared.

Bolt shot horizontal, thundering across the Land of Fire. He was getting away. Naruto couldn't let that happen. Faster, he had to go faster.

"— **aru—to!"**

Naruto urged the Truth-seeking Orb to carry him as fast as it could and his body felt like it weighed a thousand times heavier than it normally did. The world was lost to him, his vision blurry and gray, his sight nothing more than a pinprick that was focussed solely on Bolt. Darkness began to creep into his peripheral. Distantly, a furious bestial voice roared threats but he couldn't understand the words.

His son was so close. No more than a few hundred feet. If he could just inch a little bit further, if he could just will one of his free Truth-seeking Orbs to shoot forward...

The world went dark and Naruto fell.

* * *

 **A/N:**

It has been brought to my attention that I neglected to include or mention what happened to Kohaku last chapter. That was a mistake on my part that will hopefully be amended in future chapters, but: Kohaku, and the Hidden Whirlpool, remained in support of the Leaf despite their misgivings. They are allies and Whirlpool has a vested interest in Bolt's fate, one way or the other.

It's interesting to consider flight in the ninja world and the limitations of the ninja's bodies during said flight. They're vastly stronger than normal humans and can thus withstand far greater g-force. But, eventually, as all physical beings do, they reach a hard limit. There is only so fast you can go before the body simply can't stand going any faster. That's when you get G-LOC. I've always wanted to write a little scene about that and haven't had the opportunity to do so until now.

Bolt picks up his first real title in this chapter. His followers refer to him as the "One Shadow" (一影, read as "ichiei" rather than "ichikage") when he is acting as their leader. This is, more strictly, an _actual_ title, not a sobriquet, similar to the way that "Hokage" (Fire Shadow) is a title. The connotations of which will be revealed in future chapters, although I'm sure many of you will deduce the meaning of it with a little critical thought.

In keeping with the Uzumaki clan nomenclature, there is a small retcon: Cursed Seal of Emotional Control → Cursed Seal of Zamin (शमिन् — "tranquil, pacified, incapable of any emotion").

Lightning Release: Rasengan v2.0! Bolt's newest attempt at jutsu crafting is called Rasenrakurai (螺旋落雷 — "spiralling" + "thunderbolt"), colloquially, the "Spear of the Thunder God." Funny enough, we never see spears in the series even though they are classically the primary and most used weapon in medieval combat.


	93. Chapter 93

**January 10th, 0025 AIT**

Shikamaru took a drag of his cigarette as he re-read Ino's report for the sixth time.

It was exceedingly worrying.

The sheer scope of control Bolt had over the people he "protected" was frightening. A nation without borders indeed. If he poisoned the people's minds about the ninja world, painted them as warmongers and profiteers of blood money, weapons that were so far removed from a normal person's world view that they couldn't even be considered the same species anymore... it would make it very easy to slip in, providing a new defense force, and garnish their utter loyalty. A force of "unpowered" men and women, people just like them, who had risen up against their ninja oppressors to defend themselves and their families. It was no wonder the Leaf— and the Great Five, if Bolt were to be believed— were suffering from a growing loss of revenue from missions.

That was just the beginning. If his borderless nation's economy was truly global, he could provide goods and services that not even the Kage and Lords could provide. If there was a draught in the Land of Wind, Bolt could merely order his soldiers to ferry water to them from the Land of Rain— build an aqueduct, even, provided he could defend it. Not that he would have to try very hard. If a nation were caught— and they would be— destroying an aqueduct that kept the people of the Land of Wind alive, they would be burned at the stake on the global political stage.

The people Land of Frost needed timber to build homes? Bolt could import from the Land of Fire in secret. Shikamaru had no delusions that his own people were immune to the charm of the life, of the future, offered by Bolt. The people of the Land of Water need medical supplies following the wake of his _own_ attack on the Hidden Mist? Bolt could source them from across the continent. He could make his own miracles, literally. The people of the Land of Lightning need food after their exodus? Bolt could ship it in from the Land of Water.

It was almost frightening what people could do when they were working together under a common banner. Bolt was right about that, at least.

And it didn't stop there. He took care of his people. Gave them _purpose_. Any organization could provide relief. Hell, the Union and the Leaf _had_ done so. As much as they could without bankrupting themselves or putting their country in debt. Bolt gave them a future. A home to fight for, a cause to champion, an education, a career.

Bolt gave them _hope_.

That was what was dangerous most of all, Shikamaru knew. His opponent's board, once shrouded in shadow, was becoming illuminated and clear as the pieces made themselves known. People were willing to fight and die for what they believed in, for their home, for their leaders. Shikamaru knew this. Asuma had given his life for the Leaf and the next generation. Shikamaru would give his own life, should it be necessary, just like his own father did during the Fourth War.

That was the Will of Fire.

Bolt was setting up his people to believe in him the same way and it scared the living shit out of Shikamaru. A man, a rebel, a _terrorist_... that could be put down. But an idea? A symbol? That could never die. It was immortal, enduring, and worst of all, the more you tried to tear it down, the harder the people clung to it.

If the Leaf captured Bolt again— or, Sage forbid, killed him— the entire continent would erupt in civil war.

Shikamaru ran a shaky hand through his hair and let the butt of his cigarette fall to the ground. The game that he and Bolt had been playing for years suddenly made perfect sense. The logic behind the moves of the Revolution, the aggression of the new Akatsuki, all the propaganda, everything. Bolt played the long con and he played masterfully. He was the voice of the people, whether he spoke for them or not, _and they fucking believed in it._

If Shikamaru tried to put down Bolt, defend his home and his people, he would only serve to increase the belief in the message that Bolt preached. They had needed to cut the head off the snake when it first reared its head. Now it was too late. Now they were fighting a losing battle and every move against their enemy only served to reinforce the view that the Leaf was simply trying to remain in power. Bolt _was_ the people, and the people viewed any attack on him as an attack on them.

"We've lost," Shikamaru breathed under his breath.

It didn't matter anymore. If Sentoki and the Brotherhood came together to help the Leaf put an end to Bolt one way or the other, it still wouldn't matter. They had lost. It was simply a matter of delaying the inevitable.

A rustling of foliage drew Shikamaru from his dark thoughts. He reached for his chakra blade and berated himself for getting distracted in enemy territory. Shikamaru relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief, seeing Sentoki step from the shadows of the forest with a wry smile on his face. "Good evening, Shikamaru," the monk said, bowing respectfully.

"Good evening," Shikamaru drawled. "How's the arm?"

Sentoki sat down next to him on the rotting log, staring up at the night sky. It really was rather beautiful, Shikamaru admitted. The Land of Steam, for some reason, was as equally awe-inspiring during the night as it was during the day. The sky was dotted with stars, a band of nebulous gas streaking across the heavens for eternity. It was painted a myriad of haunting blues, greens, reds, and purples.

"It is strange," Sentoki answered, humming as he too gazed up at the heavens. "Painful, yes, and I am still learning how to live my life with only a single arm. It is an interesting experience."

Shikamaru snorted. "You don't sound very upset for a guy who just lost his arm in a battle against the greatest seditionist of our times," he sighed.

Sentoki actually _smiled_. "You have much to learn, Shikamaru," he preached. "What has happened, happened, and what will happen, will happen. That is the way of the Circle. Fighting it will not change what has happened to me. Being angry at it will not bring my arm back. If I was destined to lose a limb, it happened for a reason and I look forward to learning that reason."

Shikamaru scoffed and shook his head. "I wish I could be as carefree and optimistic as you," he said wearily.

"I suspected that was the case," Sentoki laughed. "Your brooding was like a fire in the night to one such as I."

Shikamaru laughed darkly. "I guess so, huh," he mused. He gazed up at the stars and wondered why people squabbled in the dirt instead of wondering at something beautiful. "Can I ask you a question, Sentoki?"

The monk nodded. "Anything," Sentoki said.

"You said what happened to you was the will of the Circle," Shikamaru reminded him. "Do you ever think that maybe the Circle wants Bolt to win?"

Sentoki was quiet for a long time before he answered. "Perhaps," he mused softly. "Perhaps the Circle does intend for Bolt to emerge victorious over us. Perhaps the Brotherhood has futilely been guarding the world against the threat of ninshū since the dawn of chakra. It is not my place to know the will of the Circle. But that does not mean I will strive any less to defend the world from the Akatsuki, does it? Perhaps the fight is indeed pointless but I will fight all the same."

Shikamaru froze. There was a simple wisdom in the monk's answer. To fight and never give up. Shikamaru smiled fondly, memories of Naruto proudly stating a similar thing so many years ago. Shikamaru would continue to fight and continue to play the game. And if he lost, he lost. That was all there was to it. But Shikamaru would lose knowing that he had tried his best and done all that he could.

And that gave him some small measure of peace.

"Thank you," Shikamaru murmured.

"Of course," Sentoki bobbed his head.

Shikamaru began to plan his moves. He was playing from a position of weakness. He needed to correct that before he could begin making aggressive plays. Shikamaru knew he would have to attack his enemy where it hurt: his base of power.

Shikamaru needed to go to the Land of Frost.

* * *

 **January 20th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt hated the "alliance" he had made with Kurotsuchi already. It was worth it, he told himself, because it had to be, otherwise all the stupid shit he had had to put up with had been in vain. She had overplayed her hand and underestimated his father. Kurotsuchi had no way of stopping an unchecked Hokage from decimating her army and capturing her ninja. So it was up to him to provide a suitably tantalizing distraction— namely, himself.

Bolt couldn't wait until the day the Tsuchikage and the Hidden Stone had outlived their usefulness. Bolt would relish the look on her face as he destroyed everything she took pride in— her abilities, her ninja, her village, her culture, her nation. All would be trampled underfoot, destroyed, and from the ashes a new and better nation would emerge. One ruled by him.

The One Shadow, looming over all.

Bolt swore as his father faltered, the orange-gold tongues of chakra burning themselves out as the disc of darkness he rode upon dissipated. He fell, through ice and wind, plummeting groundward. Seconds passed and the Hokage did not stir. "Come on, old man!" Bolt rumbled, his words booming across the heavens as the Thunder God spoke. "That's the oldest trick in the book! You really think I'm going to fall for that?!"

His father continued to fall and gave no signs of consciousness. Panic began to well within Bolt. If Naruto died before the Nine-Tails could be extracted, it could take decades until the beast reconstituted itself. Bolt could be dead by then, or worse, old and too feeble to actually fight and defeat the Tailed Beast. That, and... somewhere, some small part of him didn't want his dad to die.

That's what made his dream all the more tortuous. For the One Shadow to rule, it had to be just that— the _One_ Shadow. There could be no others to rally any resistance behind them. That was why Uncle Kakashi had to die. That was why Granny Tsunade had to die.

Bolt howled in frustration. "You old bastard! How did someone as inept as you spawn someone as great as me!" he shouted to the heavens.

Bolt left Thunder God Mode, the thin, freezing air sapping the life from his lungs and chilling him to the bone in an instant. Bolt knew no amount of internal chakra tricks would save him. He created a single clone, grabbed it by its feet, and hurled it at his father's rapidly dwindling orange figure. Bolt watched, Byakugan rapt, as his clone activated Thunder God Mode and thundered towards their father. His clone reached the Hokage in the blink of an eye, becoming physical once more, before a flame of crystalline green chakra erupted in both palms of his hands.

Bolt just prayed all those lessons and drills with Hikari would let his clone ennervate his father so that he could land and Bolt could escape. Kurotsuchi had her distraction, Naraka damn it, his part in her war was done.

Bolt hissed as the air was suddenly scaldingly hot. His clone erupted into flame, charred to the bone in an instant, as thick ruddy orange fur began to sprout from his father's unconscious body. He grew, swelling in size, growing thin and gaunt, and Bolt stared in awe and horror as the Nine-Tails was made flesh once more. The Tailed Beast unleashed a terrible howl heralded by a thunderous boom of chakra that set the heavens ablaze with reds, oranges, and yellows.

" **Foolish, stubborn human brats!"** the Nine-Tails roared its fury. **"I will finish this for the both of you!"**

That was good enough for Bolt. He activated Thunder God Mode and thundered through the heavens, far and away from his father and the raging Nine-Tails. He wasn't yet confident in his ability to defeat both his father and the Nine-Tails. Not without the help of his friends and the Sword of Muramasa. _"Hibiki, Tsuchigumo, get me out of here. Now,"_ Bolt commanded.

He felt a pull at his navel and Bolt allowed himself to be flung through space and time.

* * *

 **January 22nd, 0025 AIT**

Bolt dragged his feet as he marched through the halls of the Eye. He hadn't slept much the previous night, still coming down from the high of narrowly being captured by his father and his growing progress on mastering the Spear of the Thunder God. Bolt was so close he could practically taste the sweetness of victory. Still, his duties as the leader of the Akatsuki and the One Shadow demanded that he continue on— lack of sleep be damned.

If there was one small, bright speck of light in his otherwise dark world, it was that he finally got to make use of his stately office. Katasuke had requested a meeting in the most official sense of the word: he wanted to pitch a project proposal and ask for an increase in funding. Considering that the man had more than enough work on his plate and accounted for nearly a full half of their organization's fiscal budget, Bolt could only wonder at what Katasuke could have dreamed up in the name of his "science."

Bolt settled into the comfortable leather armchair behind the desk, sighing, letting his head loll against the rest and closed his eyes. Today, too, was a great hallmark for the Akatsuki and his future empire. He was going to organize an assault on the Five-Tails once Tsuchigumo's spies reported its whereabouts in the Land of Plains.

Things were beginning to move quickly and that meant the Thunder God had to move even quicker. The looming sword above his head that was Sarada was an ever-present weight on his mind and shoulders. She could— and would, if her last words were to be believed— destroy him, if allowed to. Bolt could not allow that to come to pass.

The clock ticked forward— eleven o'clock, exactly— and a staccato rapping on his door drew Bolt's attention. "Enter," he bade.

Katasuke strode into the office, standing tall and proud, his glasses riding high on his nose. He had a number of scrolls, old leather-bound books, dusty tomes, and charts in his arms. "Young Master," Katasuke greeted him, bowing slightly.

"Katasuke," Bolt murmured officially. "What can I do for you?"

The scientist beamed brightly. "I've come to you today with a most fascinating proposition, Young Master," Katasuke preened. "In the course of researching how best to bioengineer your Sword of Muramasa, I have stumbled across numerous texts referencing certain experiments by other scientists over the years. Chiefly, the Box of Ultimate Bliss created by the Hidden Grass, the so-called "Ultimate" Summoning Beast created by the Hidden Cloud, and the famed and terrible Zero-Tails, created by the now extinct Land of the Sky."

Bolt leaned forward, quirking an eyebrow and gesturing for Katasuke to continue. He was only vaguely aware of the names and connotations from his history classes at the Academy so long ago.

Katasuke nodded and smiled widely as he unfurled a scroll. "There have been numerous attempts to create life, a living weapon, but few have succeeded— and of those that did, the previously listed are the most successful. What you have tasked me with creating is smaller in size but no less powerful in scale. This scroll—" Katasuke gestured to what appeared to be some kind of list in a dead language. "—depicts the physical elements and the quantities used by the scientists from the Hidden Cloud to create the body of the Ultimate Summoning Beast."

Bolt nodded as Katasuke paused for effect. "Go on," he said.

"It is my desire, then, to perfect the bioengineering you wish for me to develop by creating one or more of a creature similar to these experiments— a Tailed Beast, if you will, that is not one of the Nine," Katasuke announced.

Bolt paused, taking a long, deep breath. He stared into Katasuke, willing the man to bow before him. Katasuke began to sweat and fidget under the weight of the silence. "What is the purpose of these creatures you wish to create, Katasuke?" Bolt demanded.

Katasuke swallowed, smiling, seemingly eager to continue his pitch. "My work, as you well know, Young Master, has always been to put the power of even the most powerful ninja in the hands of, well, anyone. My work with the Gauntlet is proof of that. But the Gauntlet can only go so far. It has limitations, weaknesses. This project, I believe, is the next step in the evolution of our military history. The creation of artificial Tailed Beasts that will allow anyone to wield powers far beyond what a mere man could ever be born with," the scientist crowed.

Bolt weighed the options. On one hand, it gave him a new weapon to use against the Great Five. He could bestow great power upon any of his followers that he so chose, perhaps even himself if Katasuke's project bore great fruit. On the other hand, what if Katasuke created something so powerful that he no longer needed the protection that Bolt offered him?

"And how would you go about creating these artificial Tailed Beasts?" Bolt questioned.

Katasuke cleared his throat, stepping forward and producing more diagrams and texts. "It is of the belief of myself and my forebears that the Tailed Beasts themselves are merely entities created through the coalescence of great quantities of chakra. Given their power, it is not unreasonable to suggest that the cumulative might of the Tailed Beasts would equal every man, woman, and child on Earth. It would be nigh impossible to create something of that strength without understanding how it was done in the first place, but I believe the original thesis holds true: a sufficient quantity of chakra, gathered in one place, could be used to give birth to life," he explained proudly.

Bolt steeped his hands and hummed in thought. His eyes drifted past Katasuke, gazing into the abyss of his mind. The concept of an artificial Tailed Beast went against everything he had stood for. The Tailed Beasts were menaces to the peace and stability of the world. They needed to be dealt with if the world was ever to have a chance of unifying. Still, it was tempting. A temporary tool, far weaker than the original Nine, that could be used against his enemies and disposed of when the war ended— much like Katasuke himself. And, if Katasuke was telling the truth, it would speed development of his countermeasure for his father and the Nine-Tails. _That_ was truly invaluable.

"And where, exactly, would you be gathering this chakra from?" Bolt pressed. Historically, the gathering of such massive quantities of chakra were at the cost of the lives of many hundreds or thousands of innocents. Bolt would not sacrifice the people he had chosen to champion to gain a paltry imitation of a Tailed Beast.

"Ah, and that is the question!" Katasuke announced. "There are no intact records of what method either civilization used to gather the chakra necessary for the creation of their entities. However, it was rumored that the Zero-Tails of the Land of the Sky fed upon the darker emotions of mankind's hearts— an approach that I believe to be the most efficient usage of resources. Certainly we could sacrifice the lives of many in order to generate the sufficient energy, but it would needlessly draw the attention of the world and unite them against us! An act I know that you, Young Master, would not approve."

Bolt merely grunted an affirmation. Katasuke was, for a scientist, shrewd in the ways of understanding the human mind. He knew what Bolt wanted and knew that if he wanted to advance his science that their goals needed to align.

"In addition," Katasuke continued. "It is infeasible to collect so many people for sacrifice. There would be death camps across the countryside! Not wise at all. No, the most efficient would be to create hubs that drew in and absorbed the ambient chakra of the people! Perhaps even an entire nation! Not only would that grant more chakra than it would be possible to harvest, it would be a renewable source of energy! One that would supply my research for years— decades, even— to come!"

Katasuke posed proudly, hands on his hips. Bolt nodded slowly. If Katasuke could deliver on his promises...

"Very well," Bolt said, nodding. Katasuke visibly brightened. "You have my permission. Do not harm those that fall under my shadow. Have your amended budgetary requirements sent to me when you have them and I'll see that you have the resources needed."

"Thank you, Young Master! You will not regret this!" Katasuke cried, bowing respectfully.

The scientist turned to leave, gathering his things, and Bolt called out to him as he reached the door. "And Katasuke?" Bolt called. "I expect results. Working proof of your theory and the advancement of the bioengineering needed for the Sword of Muramasa."

Katasuke nodded seriously. "It will be done, Young Master," he said, before scurrying back to the bowels of the Eye and returning to his precious lab.

* * *

 **January 23rd, 0025 AIT**

There was a reason the Union had never ventured far into the Land of Frost after it had become apparent the speck of a nation had fallen under the control of the Revolution. It was simple, really. There was no standing enemy. The Revolution hid in plain sight, among the people, and the people of the Land of Frost already detested the Union for waging the heaviest fighting of the Fourth War obliterating their countryside. Their ninja couldn't find business nor shelter among the people of the Land of Frost and it was unfeasible to house a force in the harsh cold of the country. Eventually, the Union had no choice but to surrender its "control" of the country to the Revolution.

Shikamaru swallowed thickly. He stood atop a crag of a mountain that created the border between the Land of Steam and Frost. Looking behind him, he saw naught but beauty. Looking ahead, it was a harsh wasteland of ruined mountains, scarred countrysides, and cold tundra. It was a stark difference between the two countries.

"Everyone ready?" Shikamaru asked solemnly.

He received only grim nods of confirmation from his team. "Remember your roles," Shikamaru reminded them. "Ino, you're my wife. Chōji, you're my brother-in-law. Sentoki, you are a displaced shipwright after you lost your arm in the attack. Got it?"

"Got it," they echoed.

"And remember," Shikamaru said grimly. "No chakra."

They embarked on their journey far slower than Shikamaru would have liked. But they were posing as powerless civilians. Their pace couldn't be too quick or they would give themselves away as ninja. The climb down the mountain's path was steep but not quite sheer. It still left Shikamaru's fingers and palms aching from clutching at jagged stone to steady himself. Ino was tense, trying to play it off as nerves from the climb, but Shikamaru knew she could feel the watchful eyes of the Land of Frost gazing upon them even as they descended.

Shikamaru was right. Not even a minute after they had finally reached the plateau between the Land of Steam and the Land of Frost, a border patrol appeared from some hidden base of operations that Shikamaru had neither seen nor sensed. They were soldiers, that much was clear, standing tall and in formation. They dressed in black slacks and wore some of the most elaborate armor Shikamaru had ever seen. It harked back to a ninja's jacket in design but that was where the similarities ended. Shikamaru could see layers of thin, interlocking plate armor that were covered by a weave of black fabric. Two straps fastened the armor to the body, passing over the shoulders, and were locked in place by pauldrons. The guards were armed with what Shikamaru knew was a Gauntlet— all smooth, interlocking metal plates, gears, and springs. It covered their chosen arm from the tips of their fingers to their elbows. Ammunition boxes were strapped to their waists and backs, filled to the brim, he knew, with tiny fūinjutsu scrolls that contained the ninjutsu within.

Shikamaru swallowed. "H-Hello," he greeted. He let his nerves echo in his tone. They were civilians passing into what was now known as seditionist controlled territory. They _should_ be afraid.

The border patrol was silent. Shikamaru hated that he couldn't see their faces. They all wore those same featureless white masks that hid their identities and facial cues. Shikamaru was working with limited information and he hated it. He swallowed and tried again. "We are refugees from the Land of Water," Shikamaru explained tersely. "Our homes were destroyed in the attack and our livelihoods ruined. We... we heard we could make a new life here."

This time, the guards looked to each other and spoke in the language that all comrades of the battlefield spoke. Shikamaru's eyes darted back and forth as they silently communicated their judgement with one another.

One of them stepped forward. She was different than the rest, Shikamaru could tell, by the sheer deference the others gave her. She was their commanding officer, no doubt, and likely one of the highly trained operatives employed by the Revolution. "My name is Belfry. I'll need to ask you some questions before I can allow you passage," she intoned coldly. Shikamaru swallowed. She was one of the assassins created by the man only known as "the Architect."

"Sure," Shikamaru nodded.

Belfry withdrew a small handheld electronic Scroll— one of the newer models produced by the Kaminarimon company, Shikamaru thought, which begged the question: _how the fuck did a seditionist get one?_ — and quickly began typing. "Please state your name, age, place of birth, occupation, and education for the record," she began.

"Yuki Tanaka," Shikamaru rattled off smoothly. "Thirty-nine, Land of Water, farmer, no formal education but I know my numbers and letters."

"And what did you grow, Mister Tanaka?" Belfry questioned.

Shikamaru swallowed. "Anything, really," he shrugged. "Not much arable land back home. Just small things, vegetables and herbs and the like. I was mainly involved in husbandry."

That, at least, he had experience in. Shikamaru remembered long days taking care of his clan's deer after mating season at the behest of his father. He could at least bullshit enough knowledge to fool some soldiers.

Belfry nodded. "Next," she gestured at Ino.

"Yui Tanaka," Ino answered timidly, hanging off Shikamaru's arm. He saw Belfry's eyes dart between them. "Thirty-four, Land of Water. I was a housewife but I also ran my family's florist business on the side. I didn't go to school but my father taught me how to run the business."

Belfry nodded slowly, typing more information into her electronic scroll. "Are the two of you married?" she asked easily without looking up.

"Yes," Shikamaru cleared his throat.

"And where did you have the ceremony?" Belfry questioned.

Shikamaru bristled. Because that really wasn't any of her business if they were actually married and it wasn't a standard question to ask someone. Luckily, Ino quickly answered for the both of them before his silence could become suspicious. "Oh, we got married at the Water Temple! It was a beautiful ceremony, truly, with lots of lillies and—"

"Next," Belfry silenced her with a wave of her hand as she gestured at Chōji. Shikamaru breathed a sigh of relief. They could have easily wiped the floor with these guards but that wouldn't get them integrated into the hierarchy of the Land of Frost. First, they needed to get their foot in the door.

"Minato Takahashi," Chōji said, his voice deep. He towered over all of them, and with his thick red beard, looked suitably menacing. "Forty-one. Land of Fire. I was a cook. Learned the trade from my old man."

"Any history of education, Mister Takahashi?" Belfry queried lifelessly.

"Don't need no education to swing a knife and put something over a fire," Chōji grumbled.

Belfry nodded easily. "And you?" she nodded at Sentoki.

Sentoki smiled amicably. "Takeru Yamamoto," he said serenely. "Fifty-two. Land of Waves. I was a shipwright before, well..." he gestured feebly with the stump of his left arm that Bolt had taken. "Lost it in the attack on the Mist. Can't really build ships with only one arm."

Belfry turned all her focus to Sentoki and Shikamaru swallowed nervously. Because _damn_ there were not a lot of aging, bald, scarred men who were missing their left arms in the world. They couldn't use any technique to disguise themselves for fear of being discovered by a sensor, a random check, or a barrier. They had to make do with good old fashioned disguises and silver tongues. Shikamaru thought their cover was blown right then and there. But, somehow— because Shikamaru knew Bolt wasn't so inept as to not inform his forces who was hiding in his lands— none of the guards recognized Sentoki. The woman continued to scrutinize the monk for a few more moments before returning to her Scroll.

"When did you emigrate to the Land of Water?" Belfry asked.

"Oh, it had to have been twenty-five or thirty years ago, now," Sentoki shrugged. "Just before the start of the Fourth War."

"And where did you learn your trade?" Belfry pressed.

Sentoki smiled broadly. "I'll have you know I studied under the great Tazuna," he stated proudly. "Learned all that I could from the old bastard before I found an apprenticeship in the Land of Water."

Belfry stared at Sentoki like he was a piece of meat and it didn't take much of an imagination for Shikamaru to imagine the guards as a pack of hungry wild dogs. His heart hammered in his chest and he suppressed the instinct to reach for a chakra blade that he couldn't carry with him to the Land of Frost.

Shikamaru was so certain their cover was blown that he nearly choked when Belfry simply nodded and stowed her Scroll. She gestured for another of the soldiers to step forward. A masked man fished out a handful of neat papers from his pack before giving them to her. Belfry produced a pen and quickly began scribbling on them. "Welcome to the Land of Frost, ladies and gentlemen," she said lifelessly as she handed them each a single sheet of paper. "These are your immigration papers. Do not lose them. Keep them on you at all times. If you are asked to provide them, do so immediately. Failure to comply is a capital offense."

Shikamaru nodded. This was starting to look a lot more like prison than paradise. Still, Belfry continued on. She sounded bored, as if the message she relayed had become rote. "There is a strict eleven to six curfew. Anyone caught out at night for any reason during those hours will be arrested. Mister Tanaka and Mister Takahashi will be allowed jobs in their chosen occupations. Missus Tanaka and Mister Yamamoto will be given training free of charge in an occupation of their choosing. You have sixty days from now to find employment. If you cannot, the state will employ you. All four of you are eligible for a free education at one of the many schools in the capital, Rikubetsu. Should you desire to continue your education, you may submit applications to the Academy. If you wish to join the military, speak to one of the masked guards near you."

Shikamaru's mind raced to take in all the new information. Laws to obey, places to remember, organizations to chart. He nodded in understanding and Belfry seemed satisfied. "Continue on this road for nine miles until you reach the town of Wakkanai. There you will be greeted by another guard and be given quarters for the night. They will assist you in relocating and settling," the woman paused, taking a breath. "Be on your way," she commanded, gesturing for them to begin the long march into the Land of Frost.

Shikamaru was utterly quiet as they walked. A minute passed, then five, then ten. When he was certain they were away from any listening ears, he exhaled slowly. "How the hell did we not get caught?" he demanded.

"Sometimes, Shikamaru," Sentoki said sagely. "Luck is the most important ability of all."

Ino and Chōji laughed lightly while Shikamaru just sighed.

It was going to be a long, stressful, troublesome mission.

"What a drag," he swore.

* * *

 **February 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Bolt drew in a long, deep breath. Clarity welled within him like winter's chill on a frosty morning. The Cursed Seal of Zamin was beginning to grow on him. He would never abuse it— just like the power that Orochimaru offered him, Bolt knew that overuse of the seal could and would permanently alter him as a person. But, in short, controlled bursts? It was an excellent tool for increasing his intellectual and logical attributes.

" _I will chase down the Five-Tails,"_ Bolt told his team through their link in the astral network. _"Once I have found the Tailed Beast, I will ensure that he cannot run away. Then I will summon you to the battlefield."_

" _Yes, my Lord,"_ Tetsu answered.

" _Got it,"_ Hikari echoed.

" _Hurry the fuck up, blondie!"_ Kagami and Kagari screeched, as one, their bloodlust seeping through the mental communication.

Bolt nodded to himself, opening his eyes, and ascended skyward as the Thunder God. Flying, Bolt found, was one of the most freeing, enjoyable experiences he had ever had. Pushing his speed as the Thunder God to its limits, looking down at the world from up high. The endless sand dunes of the Land of Wind gave way as Bolt headed southwest. He made sure to give the battlefield a wide berth— sand being kicked up as another battle raged between the Leaf and the Stone— not daring to draw his father's attention, and kept the Hidden Sand on the distant horizon. The dunes gave way, all sparse vegetation fading until it was naught but dead weeds clinging to the wasteland, and the ground plateaued until the horizon and beyond. The air shimmered with heat as the unforgiving sun strangled the life out of the land.

The Land of Plains. And, somewhere in the unforgiving wasteland of death, heat, and sand, was his quarry: the Five-Tails. With the body of a white stallion and the head of a dolphin, it was the fastest of the Tailed Beasts. Bolt could see the appeal in the Land of Plains to the creature. It was nothing but an endless expanse of flat land, ever shifting and changing. Very easy for one whose greatest strength was its speed to lose any who would pursue it.

But the Five-Tails had made a grave error. It was not the fastest being that walked the Earth. That honor belonged to the Thunder God and he ruled the skies, scouring the land, leaving no stone untouched. It was a mountainous, five-tailed horse. There was nowhere for it to hide and the land would leave telltale signs in the wake of its passage.

And, if that failed... Bolt had seen several of the entrances to the underground tunnels where the people of the Land of Plains built their homes and scraped out their meaningless existences. They had no central government, no ninja villages, and what little jutsu they knew were more folk techniques passed down from one generation to the next than anything a ninja would employ on the field of battle. Bolt could always conscript the locals to assist in finding the Five-Tails.

As it turned out, Bolt didn't need to chase the locals from their dens like rats. Bolt kept to the coast, keeping the ocean on the horizon, hoping that the aquatic half of the Five-Tails would be drawn to the water. When Bolt began finding titanic hoofprints the size of houses marring the sands, he knew he was on the right track.

" _I've picked up its trail,"_ Bolt informed his team.

" _Fucking finally!"_ Kagami snapped. _"I'm so bored!"_

Bolt followed the Five-Tails trail eastward until the tracks faded as they continued into the ocean. _"The Five-Tails is underwater,"_ Bolt relayed. He paused over the ocean, Thunder God Mode fading, and began channeling Water Release chakra. Bolt dove into the ocean with no hesitation, taking a deep breath, the water parting before him as he shot forward with great strokes of his arms. He wasn't quite as fast as Hikari was underwater, but he was fast enough.

The water so far south was clear and warm. Bolt could see for hundreds of feet in any direction, brightly colored fish and coral visible on the seafloor. Still, the Five-Tails wasn't nearby. Bolt eyed the native aquatic life. They appeared calm, undisturbed, which was odd, considering that a Tailed Beast had recently passed through their home. Bolt kicked his legs and swam forward. He activated his Byakugan, the white eyes of his clan easily finding the diminished tracks of the Five-Tails. The Tailed Beast, it appeared, had wandered the seabed, avoiding the reefs of coral, as it meandered the coast southward.

Bolt surfaced for air, gasping for breath, before diving and quickly swimming south following the shoreline. He repeated the same pattern, hour after hour, the water growing warmer and warmer until it eventually began to cool back to something more recognizable from his homeland. Ashore, Bolt could see lush greenery in the distance, shielded by a shimmering mass of air that withered under the harsh sun. He had never been so far south before. Hell, Bolt doubted few people from his homeland had. His people knew there were unexplored, "dark" lands across the ocean, but no one had ever been there— or, rather, been there and returned. They had never really had a time of lasting peace long enough or stable enough to justify sending men and resources to explore. Bolt vowed to change that when he united the world.

Eventually, Bolt found his prey. The Five-Tails was on a lazy stroll through a great reef, each stride of its four long legs carrying it hundreds of feet in a single bound. Bolt saw the Tailed Beast through his Byakugan long before it saw him. But the Five-Tails did sense him. The horse-dolphin froze, turned, its red-rimmed slitted eyes locking onto him from miles away. It turned fully to face him, parted its maw, and exhaled.

Several things immediately leapt into place in Bolt's mind as the water around him began to warm exponentially. _Five-Tails → Water Release → Fire Release → Boil Release. Water was being superheated. Steam explosion on a titanic scale._

Bolt shot skyward, the water so hot that it began to cook his skin by the time he breached the surface. An instant later, he was the Thunder God and he was far and away from the ocean as a great swathe of it erupted into an apocalyptic cloud of steam. Water surged in to fill the sudden gap, kicking up great waves that towered above the landscape and swept inland. The Five-Tails stood astride in the parted sea, steam and water rising all around it, its slitted bestial eyes locked on him in defiance and challenge.

Bolt could respect that. It was brave, honorable, but not very smart. Bolt aligned the path he could take, Thunder God Mode moving through the steps, and he lunged at the Tailed Beast with a thunderous boom. He struck it dead in the center of its skull, nestled between its four flowing horns that adorned its head like a crown.

The Five-Tails reared back on its hind legs, making a shrill noise of pain that made Bolt's ears ring. A cry torn between a whinny and a creaking door. It was horrible, unnatural, triggering something primal in Bolt's animal brain. A sense of perversion, of wrongness. In that moment, Bolt understood that there was no possible way that the Tailed Beasts were creatures of nature. Bolt thundered aside, pausing, then spearing into the Five-Tails' exposed ribs and _pushing_.

Dark blue blood spurted from a man-sized gash Bolt had dealt the Tailed Beast. He inched forward, the demon's thick hide preventing him from spearing through, and the blue blood quickly began to evaporate. Wisps of blue-white chakra drifted skyward before fading entirely. The reaction of the Five-Tails was immediate. It roared in pain, the same ear-splitting noise, before flailing madly in an attempt to put some distance between itself and the Thunder God.

It flopped onto its side before kicking all four of its legs and running aground. The Five-Tails was on its feet in an instant, an infernal glare leveled at Bolt, before it took off at a dead sprint into the wasteland of the southern reaches of the Land of Plains. Bolt gave chase. Fast as the Tailed Beast was, the Thunder God was faster. Bolt raked at the Five-Tails' flanks, eliciting another cry of pain, before the Five-Tails rounded on him and parted its maw as black-purple chakra began to coalesce before it.

Bolt thundered aside, instantly focusing on the heels of the Tailed Beast's hind legs. He cut across them, slashing through the thinner hide and soft tendons. Blue blood stained the sand a dark black-blue color as the Five-Tails cried out in pain and unleashed its payload on the unsuspecting landscape. Fire blossomed all around them, reducing the sand to molten slag. Much like his battle with his first Tailed Beast, Bolt thought. The Sea of Glass, how aptly named.

As quickly as he had put the Five-Tails down, it was getting back up. Its wounds were healing before Bolt's eyes, bone regrowing, tendons reattaching, muscle knitting back together. All with a soft white-blue glow. The Five-Tails roared and unleashed a bank of steam that blot out the sun. Bolt shot forward, piercing the veil, the Five-Tails sprinting away from the battlefield. The Thunder God gave chase, not allowing his quarry to escape him. Bolt appeared before the Tailed Beast for an instant before his path amended itself and he slammed into the demon's skull a second time.

The Five-Tails shook its head, beady eyes furious and terrified. Then it bolted, like a scared newborn foal. The vague association of "respect" and "Five-Tails" that his mind had created under the influence of the cursed seal amended itself. Bolt dropped to the ground, Thunder God Mode fading, and he tapped into the vast power of the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva.

The distance between himself and the Five-Tails grew as the burning, inky brand spread across his skin. Bolt fell back into the now familiar throwing stance. The motions— _rotation, power, containment_ — came easily to him after nearly a decade of practice. The shape manipulation, much refined and improved compared to his initial attempts, assumed its final and most stable form: two thin, elongated whirling cones of blue-white chakra attached at the bases that was as long as Bolt was tall. Golden arcs of positive natural lightning were devoured and subsumed by the whirling, whirring mass of chakra until the base Rasengan was merely a delivery vessel wreathed in its gilded payload of lightning.

Bolt took aim, the Five-Tails well within the visual range of his Byakugan, aiming for the Tailed Beast's legs. "Don't move, Five-Tails," Bolt said, more to himself than the demon. "I would hate to have killed you here by accident."

Bolt took two preternaturally quick steps forward and hurled the Spear of the Thunder God forward. The spear left his fingertips, arcs of lightning and wisps of chakra being torn from his hand as the weapon was parted from its creator. The Spear of the Thunder God was devouring, all-consuming, parting all that stood before it and scouring it from existence. In its wake, even the air feared to return. Bolt held his breath as the world grew solemn and silent, all of creation pausing. Then, moment broken, thunder boomed, a sound so deafeningly loud that it sounded as if reality itself had been shattered like glass. A concussive wind, as solid as any stone, slammed into Bolt and batted him away as if he was a mere insect. His chakra dipped, dangerously, nearly halving under the sudden loss.

Bolt braced himself on his hands and knees, coughed, and felt something warm and wet splatter against his forearm. He blinked, tears welling and falling down his cheeks. With a shaky hand, he reached for his eyes with gentle fingers that came back crimson. Bolt stood, shedding tears of blood but vision clear, and began his march forward, following along the gash that had sundered the ground.

He found the wreckage of the Five-Tails easily. One of its tails and its left hind and forelegs had been severed at the thigh. Where the dismembered limbs were, Bolt didn't know. The Tailed Beast struggled feebly, neighing in distress and futilely trying to hobble away.

Bolt took in a deep breath, steadying himself, and called forth his clan's chains. _"Come, Tetsu,"_ he beckoned.

* * *

 **February 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Hikari didn't fight the tug at her navel as she was whisked through space and time. Her fists were clenched, blood thrumming, bloodlust welling in her chest. Though she was nowhere near as frothing as Kagami and Kagari, she still was eager to test herself against the mettle of another Tailed Beast.

What Hikari saw upon setting foot on Earth once more was nothing like what she had imagined. Even Kagami and Kagari, nearly lost in their battle rages, were given pause.

Bolt loomed over the mangled corpse of the largest horse she had ever seen. Its left half was horribly mutilated, legs missing, ribs exposed and charred as if it had been flayed. Bolt had summoned the Uzumaki clan's chakra chains to subdue the Five-Tails, fiery, spiked violet links of chakra that speared through the Tailed Beast and tore at its already ruined body.

Hikari knew Bolt was strong. It was given, knowing his parentage and training. But strong enough to single-handedly bring a Tailed Beast— chakra given monstrous form— to the brink of death? That was something out of his tales of the Akatsuki. She and Tetsu had managed to defeat the Three-Tails together, and whilst they hadn't been in any true danger, it had been far from _easy_. Bolt made it look easy. It was hard for Hikari to imagine how strong monsters like Nagato, Kisame, and Itachi— whom Bolt had told her had all defeated Tailed Beasts single-handedly on their own— actually were.

Now, feeling the gulf between her own prowess and Bolt's? Now Hikari understood. Her eyes rose from the Five-Tails to Bolt, eyes widening as she saw his blood running freely from his ears, eyes, and nose. She darted forward, hands glowing crystalline green with chakra. "Tetsu! Begin sealing it!" she barked.

"Fuck!" Kagami whined. "We fucking missed it! Are you shitting me?!"

Tetsu loped forward, withdrawing the Amber Purifying Pot, and quickly began to seal the Five-Tails within.

Hikari ran her hands over Bolt's face, cupping his cheeks, and began stemming the bleeding and repairing what damage she could.

* * *

 **February 2nd, 0025 AIT**

In all his long life, Kokuō had never experienced an agony quite as exquisite as the one he felt at the moment. He could feel the shadow of Death lingering in the shadows, waiting for him to breathe his last so they could once again duel for the fate of his power. Idly, through the pain, Kokuō took grim satisfaction that Death would not be coming for him this day. Already he could feel his chakra flowing into his Father's sealing urn.

The Five-Tails turned his gaze upon his captor. The son of the man his Father had told him would one day unite him and his brothers once more. So similar in appearance and yet so radically different at the same time. The same hair, the same scarred cheeks, but the eyes... those were Uncle Homura's eyes, but they were cold and dark. There was no warmth there, not like Naruto. They were as different as two souls could be.

Kokuō whined pitifully as the chains gouged at him. It was the second time he had been chained in his long, long life. They were sinister but they didn't hold a candle to the unrestrained madness and malice that echoed through the chains of the corpse of the Ten-Tails. No, these chains carried a malice in their chakra of a different kind. A malice that echoed in their master's eyes. A desire for domination, for dominion over all that would challenge him.

Kokuō exhaled, long and pitifully. He closed his eyes, his mind sinking deeper and deeper into its depths, until he reached the mental space that all his brothers shared. **"Naruto..."** he breathed, the barest wisp of chakra carrying his memories of the fight leaving him before Kokuō knew only darkness.

* * *

 **February 2nd, 0025 AIT**

Naruto blocked another beam of Dust Release, batting aside seven Stone ninja with his staff, and stepped forward to hunt down Kurotsuchi again. He employed the same defensive formation as last time, with the addition of sparse clones among his own army to root out spies before Kurotsuchi could posses them, and shock troops scouting ahead looking for the _real_ Kurotsuchi among the rear of her armies.

Already there were mounds of prisoners his clones had cuffed in the wake of the battle. He had had his clones spending much of their time between battles building prisoner camps until the war ended and it could be decided what would happen to the men who were just following orders. Most of them were good men and women who were just following orders, Naruto knew, and had no choice in the matter. In times of war, disobeying your superior's orders was a capital offense. It was either fight and maybe die or disobey and certainly die. No, Naruto couldn't blame them.

The loss of his son— again— weighed heavily on his mind. He had been so blinded, so naive. Naruto desperately wanted nothing more than a way to turn back the clock. To step in for his past self and be the father he should have been. It would have been so easy and prevented so much heartache. Instead, he had ignored Kurama— the furball actually had the nerve to scoff at him— and charged foolishly ahead like he always did. Naruto imagined Sasuke would quite willingly give him a verbal beat down for being so stupid. Instead, he could have gotten himself killed or Kurama captured. Luckily, it seemed Bolt had been unwilling to risk fighting him— smart, Shikamaru said— and simply wanted to bait him away from the battlefield to allow Kurotsuchi to escape.

Not this time. Naruto wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. He would ignore Bolt for now, defeat Kurotsuchi, win the war, restore peace, and then bring his wayward son home.

That was the plan.

" **Naruto..."**

"Kurama?" Naruto questioned, brow furrowing as he blocked another beam of Dust Release and swallowed a growl of frustration. "Kind of busy at the moment, furball!"

" **That wasn't me, Naruto,"** Kurama rumbled.

Naruto froze, retreated, and followed Kurama deeper into their shared mental space. He reached the white void, now scarred from having so many of his friends torn from it, and found it empty save for a wisp of red chakra. Naruto raised an arm, fingers ghosting through the chakra, and felt memories not his own flash through his mind.

" _ **Kokuō!"**_ Naruto and Kurama howled as one.

* * *

 **February 3rd, 0025 AIT**

Naruto wearily sat in a sweltering tent before a mass of wires and screens. Recent events were a tangible weight on his shoulders. One by one, screens of static snow cleared and his greatest allies and friends appeared before him.

Bee and Gyūki, looking grim, already having been told the news. In the back of his mind, Saiken and Chōmei listened in. Their rage simmered and bubbled, threatening to spill over into their shared link, and Kurama was bristling. Konohamaru, clad in the ceremonial robes of the Hokage, along with his clone, Sai, Shikadai, and Himawari. Kohaku stood behind them, thankfully having stayed and reaffirmed the Whirlpool's desire for a continued alliance even after his imprisonment. Sakura and Shizune were nothing but frozen pictures and fluctuating static. The Land of Water was a long ways away from the Land of Wind, Naruto knew, and the signal wasn't as strong as it could have been. Shikamaru and his team were absent, sadly, having entered the Land of Frost some time ago. Naruto wished desperately that he had his friend's guidance in this moment.

"We have a problem," Naruto began without preamble. "The largest since the end of the Fourth War. The new Akatsuki has been hunting down the Tailed Beasts and capturing them. I have proof. Memories from Kokuō— the Five-Tails— just before he was captured."

"Shit," Konohamaru swore loudly.

"I think it's safe to say that if the Akatsuki has captured Kokuō, they were responsible for capturing the others as well. That means they have Five of the Nine Tailed Beasts," Naruto said. "That also means Saiken, Chōmei, and Bee and Gyūki are in danger. Bolt told me he captured Shukaku because he was a threat to the people of the Land of Wind. He would have had no reason to capture the others unless he had a plan for them, meaning I don't think he's just going to stop after getting his hands on Kokuō."

"What about you, Naruto?" Sakura asked pointedly.

Naruto frowned. "Kurama and I are strong enough to defend ourselves," he answered.

" **Damn right we are, brat,"** Kurama yowled.

"We'll need to begin setting up a counterattack," Shikadai said timidly, as if unsure if he should be speaking. "Can we bring the Tailed Beasts in? Take them somewhere defensible. Give them guards, either way."

Naruto turned his attention inward. _"Saiken? Chōmei?"_ he asked.

" **I won't hide like a coward,"** Saiken bubbled. **"... But I will accept a guard, if it would put you at ease, Naruto."**

" **I as well,"** Chōmei echoed. **"I'm a bit safer than the others because I can fly. So the humans will have to be few in number and not afraid of heights."**

Naruto breathed a sigh of relief. "Saiken and Chōmei will accept guards, but they won't hide and we don't really have a place to actually hide them," he relayed.

"I'd offer to house one of them in Whirlpool," Kohaku said. "But... I don't think that would help any. Bolt and Tetsu can both bypass our barriers since they have Uzumaki blood in their veins."

"What about Bee?" Konohamaru asked.

"Gyūki and I will be fine," Bee assured them. "I told old man Dodai what happened. He's already got guards crawling up my ass."

"Still," Shikadai pressed, sounding more confident. "We're spread too thin, especially after the dissolution of the task force. We're fighting a war on _three_ fronts: the west with the Hidden Stone, the east with the Hidden Steam, and the Tailed Beasts with the rest of the Akatsuki."

Naruto nodded grimly. He was well aware of how bad their situation was.

"And what are you suggesting?" Konohamaru asked.

Shikadai froze, took a deep breath, and then stood straight and tall. "I think it would be best for the war effort if we were to temporarily release and conscript Sarada Uchiha," he said.

"What?!" Konohamaru choked.

"Her Mangekyō ability is the strongest tool we have in this war," Shikadai continued resolutely. "It allowed us to almost beat Bolt and the entirety of the Akatsuki once and Bolt even admitted during the escape that he couldn't beat Sarada if it came down to a fight. She is our best and only chance at turning this war around. We _need_ her."

Naruto swallowed. "I—"

"Wait," Sakura said, a hint of command entering her tone. "I want to talk to her before she's released."

Naruto froze.

"Shizune and I have done all that we can for the Hidden Mist. I'll head back to the Leaf and talk to my daughter. Sasuke told me some... things... before he left. Once we've had a chance to talk, we can see about letting her out to help," Sakura pressed.

Naruto couldn't deny her. She was one of his oldest friends and Sarada was her daughter. "Alright," he acquiesced. Taking a breath, he continued. "Sakura will deal with Sarada. Sai, I want you to head to the Land of Frost. See if you can't find Shikamaru. Help him complete whatever mission he has set himself and then get them back to the Leaf as soon as possible. Shikadai, you're still head of the task force in my eyes. That means you are in charge of organizing a guard to defend the Tailed Beasts and defeat the Akatsuki. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir," Shikadai snapped to attention, bowing. The others echoed and mirrored him.

As the faces of his friends faded, Naruto felt the weight of fate on his shoulders. Things had been set in motion that could no longer be undone. War was coming, from without and within, and Naruto couldn't help but feel that everything he and Sasuke had fought and bled for was about to come to an end.

He wondered where Sasuke was, at that moment, most of all.

* * *

 **February 4th, 0025 AIT**

Himawari wearily plopped down onto her stool and began to inhale the steam wafting from her bowl of ramen. Ichiraku's was still the best around, after all these years, and her father had insisted they ate their anytime they had gone out as a family. She couldn't help but develop a taste for the food.

"This is a real shitstorm, isn't it, Hima—" Shikadai was asking.

He never got to finish asking her, either. Himawari leapt into a defensive stance as she was surrounded by acrid chakra smoke. She blinked, veins bulging alongside her skull as she activated her Byakugan. Himawari sighed in relief as she found herself in the small mud hut of Elder Fukasaku and Shima. They were eating the usual fare— herbs, vegetables, insects. Himawari sighed. "To what do I owe the honor, Elders?" she asked, bowing.

"Sit, Little Sunflower! Sit," Elder Shima beckoned her over.

Himawari smiled at the nickname and eyed the spread. Not that she didn't like Elder Shima's cooking— she actually did— but she was stressed, tired, and had been on a date. "I would love to, but... I'm kind of busy at the moment..." she ventured.

The Elders shared a look. Fukasaku sighed. "I'm sorry, Himawari girl," he croaked. "But this is business, not pleasure. We thought a meal might help ya calm yer nerves."

"Calm my nerves before... what?" Himawari asked warily.

Elder Fukasaku smiled brightly. "You should feel honored, girl!" he croaked proudly. "The Great Toad Sage has had a dream about your future!"

Himawari froze. In all the long history of the Toad clan, she knew, only a handful of their summoners had ever had the Great Toad Sage prophesied their future. She swallowed thickly. "Well," she exhaled. "I don't think I _can_ eat now."

"Oh, see what you've done, Pa!" Elder Shima scolded her husband.

The two old toads began to bicker and argue. "I think I'll just go see the Great Toad Sage," she uttered, leaving the two to their dinner.

It was night at Mount Myōboku, warm and comforting, the stars twinkling overhead. Himawari made her way to the great hollowed out roots of some long-dead tree. Inside sat the Great Toad Sage atop his thrones, titanic scrolls in ancient script looming all around them. A few of the older toads— Gamabunta, she recognized— lounged around the throne room.

The Great Toad Sage was _old_ in a way that was tangible. Himawari could feel an ancient air of wisdom about the graying toad. He was smiling, eyes closed, a necklace of prayer beads looping around his neck. His hide was a ruddy orange that had long since faded as the centuries passed him by.

"Himawari Uzumaki..." the Great Toad Sage rasped. "I am... sorry."

Himawari blinked. "Sorry, sir?" she managed to choke out.

The old toad bobbed his head, the motion long and slow. "You have a heavy fate, girl," he cautioned her. "Should you wish to be spared from knowing, I would not fault you."

Himawari swallowed as her heart tried to crawl up her throat. "No," she said softly. "I want to know."

The Great Toad Sage was quiet for a long time. It seemed as if all of Mount Myōboku had grown solemn in preparation to hear the old toad's words. Finally, he spoke.

" _You shall become a talented ninja, peerless, celebrated in this life and long after your death. You shall walk among the stars, a balm to your allies and a bane to your enemies. Yours is a future of great love and great tragedy. Ever shall you walk the wandering path, long and dark, winding and forking. Already have you chosen and many more times to come you shall choose. And at the end of this path you shall make the greatest choice of all. Whether you choose to become the Shield or the Sword, countless will die in your name. The blood of the dead shall rise to fill oceans and you will be damned all the same by those you choose to save or consign. But know this: never shall you know peace. Ever are you doomed to a restless life, and though many shall find shelter in the shadow of your greatness, never will you find a shady rest of your own. Only in death shall you find salvation and only should you find yourself worthy of it."_

The toads looked at her with sad, pitying amber eyes. Himawari swallowed and blinked away tears. The breath she had been holding came out ragged. How was she supposed to deal with something like that? Her entire future laid bare and she was going to be miserable. How was anyone supposed to deal with that?

"T-Thank you, Great Toad Sage," Himawari managed to choke out as she bowed.

The Great Toad Sage gasped for breath. "I truly am sorry, young one," he told her, nodding his head in dismissal.

Himawari turned and fled.

* * *

 **...**

* * *

Of all the worlds he had visited, Sasuke treasured this one the most. He had seen countless wastelands and barren landscapes, worlds so alien that he wondered how they could have ever supported life at all.

Sasuke dubbed the planet "Yang," for it embodied life. He had been tempted to name it after Naruto, for surely the planet had to have lived by the idiot's motto of never giving up, but Sasuke knew his friend would never let him live it down if he knew Sasuke had named a planet after him.

Because of all the planets he had seen, only Yang had _life_. It was weak, feeble, still struggling, but it was there. Sparse patches of grasses and flowers that were more weeds than anything that Ino might keep in her family's shop. The last time Sasuke had been on the planet, he had made a small garden for a sapling. Now, the tree stood almost as tall as he was.

Sasuke treasured Yang above all else because it proved one thing: the Ōtsutsuki were not all powerful. For every world they raped and murdered, life could still find a way to endure. Sasuke took heart in that. It meant that humanity stood a chance. It meant that they could fight and they could win. They could drive back the Ōtsutsuki, end their threat once and for all, never having to live in fear of another Kaguya.

But only if Sasuke could reach Earth in time to warn them. In a way, Sasuke loathed himself. For as much as he treasured Yang, he knew it was unlikely that the Ōtsutsuki at his heels would spare it as they chased him back to Earth. Had he had more time, Sasuke would have taken a longer route. Hopped around the single planet with life that he had found in his travels. Alas, if sacrificing Yang to save Earth was what Sasuke needed to do to ensure his species' survival, he would do so without hesitation.

Sasuke breathed deep, the scent of flowers heavy on the air, and opened his eyes. His Rinnegan's powers had returned at last. He reached forward with his ocular powers, grasping at the fabric of space, bending it to his will along the established star-routes. Space folded in on itself, forming a portal of whirling darkness before him, and Sasuke stepped through as he was whisked through reality.

He had just over a year to reach Earth. Sasuke pushed himself hard these last few months, trying desperately to buy Earth even a week more time to prepare for the Ōtsutsuki once he arrived.

Sasuke could only hope that would be enough.

* * *

 **A/N:**

700k words next chapter lads! I never expected _The New Dawn_ would turn into something of this length when I started it. Hopefully you guys have enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing. Speaking of which, this is the 7th chapter in a row with a 10k+ word count. Good lord.

Things are gonna get real bad real fast for our cast on both sides of the aisle from here on out and I imagine it won't get better for quite some time. Ye be warned!

Upcoming non-story chapters: Kagami and Kagari prelude and another Revolution omake. Perhaps a shorter omake from the Boruto anime characters' point of views.

* * *

 **Clarification what happened to Naruto last chapter** : Naruto experienced what is known as g-force induced loss of consciousness, or G-LOC. G-LOC is the loss of consciousness associated with excessive and sustained g-force ( _g_ as in _gravitational_ , a type of acceleration that causes the perception of weight) that drains blood away from the brain and causes a lack of oxygen. This phenomenon is commonly observed in high-speed flight with symptoms such as grayout (a loss of color vision), tunnel vision, blackout (complete loss of vision but retention of consciousness), and, finally, G-LOC.

This was why Naruto lost consciousness during his chase with Bolt. He was literally going so fast that his blood was too heavy for his heart to pump to his brain and provide it with oxygen. This is the so called "hard limit" of speed that exists for any living physical entity with mass. It is also partially the reason why Bolt chose to go in the direction of an incorporeal Lightning Armor "version 3" instead of a physically augmented one like Darui's inclusion of natural chakra. As an entity with no mass, Thunder God Mode does not hit this hard limit of physical beings. It does, however, have a limit, as Lightning Release chakra does not equate to lightning in terms of speed. That is why you can see individual arcs of it in anime— my "comic book" logic. In addition, "lightning" and Lightning Release chakra does not function _as is_ in the vacuum of space. Now, a case can be made for electrons jumping between two objects in a vacuum without the visible display of plasma (lightning). Interesting enough, this is how tube TVs worked before we figured out other methods.

Another note: Naruto _does_ need oxygen. Some of you were clamoring about _The Last_ where Naruto fought on the moon in the "vacuum" of space. This is where I exert my power as an author and say that, somehow, some way, Naruto was still breathing. Whether the moon in Naruto has a (small) breathable atmosphere, as people do live in/on it, or Naruto was producing oxygen with a Wind Release technique, or whatever. _Humans need oxygen to survive_. Powerful Naruto may be, anaerobic he is not.


	94. Chapter 94

**February 6th, 0025 AIT**

Shikamaru sighed. He tried not to let his hands glance against his pants. They were stained pink and red, the fabric stiff and starched, after he had assisted in the birth of a calf of some kind of strange, large wooly oxen that called the Land of Frost home. Thank the Sage for gloves Shikamaru prayed silently. More than anything, he wanted a fucking shower.

Rikubetsu was the largest city in the Land of Frost, its capital, and Shikamaru was, in his heart of hearts, honestly impressed at how developed the city was. The Fourth War really, really fucked up the Land of Frost. To such a degree that it was beyond any one single nation— hell, even _all_ of them together— to put it back together. Naruto and Sasuke, Madara and Obito, Gai and Kakashi, the Tailed Beasts... all went for a tear, at one point or another, across the country during the war, levelling mountains and changing landscapes with a wave of their hand. Rikubetsu was sprawling and flat. Its buildings were neat and uniform, each one an exact copy of the other. But they were modern, with electricity and running water, and the roofs were tiled and strong enough to hold hundreds of pounds of snow and the walls were thick and insulated against the cold. The streets were paved and kept clean and the buildings and walls were kept free of street art unlike the Leaf. Power lines and street lamps lit the city at night. The guards were professional and uniformed. The people were friendly and supportive of each other. They looked out for one another.

More than anything, Shikamaru was impressed by the tangible feeling of culture, of _community_. Rikubetsu, and the Land of Frost, felt like it was a home. Not his home, obviously, but it was a home to its people.

It made his goal of tearing it all apart all that much harder.

Shikamaru passed a pair of men, grizzled and tall with bulging muscles. They must have been miners, Shikamaru thought, coming home from the evening shift. He heard only a fragment of their conversation as he passed, but that fragment was enough. The people of the Land of Frost were very vocal in their opinion of the Leaf. Of the Great Five. Of the society of ninja, really. The hardest part of the infiltration had been learning to accept that people hated his home and actively wished for its destruction.

But it did afford Shikamaru a solution. _The_ solution, he hoped. If Shikamaru could show these people that ninja weren't what they thought they were, that the Leaf wasn't what Bolt told them it was, then maybe, just maybe, Shikamaru could convince them that the Akatsuki wanted nothing more than world domination and damn anyone who gets in their way— that the Akatsuki was only using them as a shield to hide behind.

Shikamaru rounded the corner of the street, strolling down the sidewalk, and saw Ino on the front porch taking down some of their laundry that had dried. She noticed him and blew an exaggerated kiss. God, Shikamaru hoped Sai would never read the report on their mission. He did _not_ want to find the creepy guy's sword between his ribs one day. "Hey," Shikamaru greeted her, waving his hand.

"Tough day at work?" Ino asked, eying his stained pants.

Shikamaru sighed. "Yeah," he breathed. Being a farmer was more work than he had ever thought. Shikamaru had a well of newfound respect for the men and women that provided the food he ate.

"Well, at least you get to do something you chose. I'm a damn laundress!" Ino barked.

Shikamaru sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Yui—" he made sure he used her cover identity. "—we talked about this. These people don't need a florist and everyone is expected to contribute in some way or another. It was the first job we could find you that didn't take any training. It was that or risk not finding a job and letting them assign one for you."

Ino crossed her arms. "Well thank you, husband dearest, for looking out for me," she grumbled.

Shikamaru sighed and shook his head before heading inside and leaving Ino to her work. The four of them, being friends and family, shared one of the neat identical houses that dotted Rikubetsu. He nodded to Chōji, who had found employment as a cook for the guards, and Sentoki, who had found a small tailor's shop that was willing to employ a one-armed man. Sentoki had said it was more than acceptable since he had spent countless hours sewing the monks' robes when he was an initiate. All the while, Shikamaru had them keep an ear to the ground for intel about Bolt, the Akatsuki, the Hidden Steam, and the Three-Tails.

Shikamaru swept the house casually, looking for bugs, wiretaps, and keeping his senses open for foreign observation techniques. It probably wasn't necessary, given that he had a Yamanaka to keep a watchful eye on things, but Shikamaru would rather be safe than sorry. A single squadron of guards at the border they might be able to beat. An entire city of them? Shikamaru wasn't stupid. Assured that neither he nor his companions were under surveillance, Shikamaru kneeled and reached into his shadow. It was a neat trick he had learned after his father had died from the Nara clan scrolls. Ways to hide things in your shadow, ways to hide in the shadows of others, and ways to become shadow entirely. Shikamaru fumbled around, feeling for the small camera and mic he had borrowed from Intelligence before embarking on the mission. If he could record the people of the Land of Frost, get their words and actions on tape, he could begin developing counter propaganda to sway things back to his side.

Shikamaru was interrupted by a knock at the door. In an instant, his heart was hammering. He stood, withdrawing his hand from his shadow, and casting wary glances at the windows to see if anyone had seen him. He saw Chōji and Sentoki, tense and ready for a fight, eying the door. Shikamaru cleared his throat and answered it. Ino was outside, happily chatting with an older woman about how men were incapable of keeping their clothes clean and were only just more intelligent than swine.

Shikamaru swallowed a nervous laugh. "Hello," he greeted casually.

"Ah, you must be Yuki!" the old woman cried. "My dear Yui has told me all about you. It's so good to meet you!"

Shikamaru glared at Ino who was smirking mischievously at him. "Ah, yes, missus...?" he trailed off.

"Yukimura! Kasumi Yukimura," the old woman stood on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek in greetings. "My family and I live just down the street. We were having a celebration tonight and inviting everyone on the block. You're new, but I wanted to know if you would come!"

Shikamaru chuckled nervously. "We would love to, Missus Yukimura," he began. "But..."

"Of course we'll come!" Ino exclaimed loudly, drowning him out. "Isn't that right, Yuki?"

Shikamaru sighed as his eyes found the heavens. Ino was going to be the death of him. "Of course we'll come," he agreed happily with a faux smile.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Kasumi cried, quickly babbling instructions and directions.

Before Shikamaru knew it, the old woman was running off. He turned a withering glare on Ino. "I hate you," he said petulantly.

Ino stuck her tongue out at him. Shikamaru sighed. He made his way back into the house, fetched his camera and mic, and informed Chōji and Sentoki what they would be doing for the night and who, exactly, had volunteered them. Shikamaru showered and changed out of his clothes, mercifully, before making his way down the block to the house the old woman had specified. There was already several families mulling about when Shikamaru got there. Some he recognized and greeted cordially while others he was introduced to. There was small talk, pleasantries, little things that had to be said to keep their cover.

It wasn't until Shikamaru headed inside to greet the host did he start to feel that something was amiss. Chiefly: the grizzled, giant man armed with a sword and was so tall that it looked like Shikamaru could have passed for one of his legs. "Uh," he choked. "Hello, sir."

Shikamaru bowed. Not out of respect, but to forcibly remove his eyes from the man's visage. He was horribly mutilated and burned from the face down. Skin pocked, scabbed, and layered as if his flesh had been molten and then cooled.

The old swordsman grunted. "Stand up straight, boy," he grumbled. "Everyone stares the first time."

Shikamaru swallowed. "Sorry," he apologized.

"Don't be," the man shrugged. "I'm proud of the scars. I might be an ugly bastard, but no one can say I was a coward."

Shikamaru quirked an eyebrow in interest. He could sense there was a tale there, somewhere. "How'd you get them?" he ventured.

The two words the old man grunted felt like a punch to the gut. "Sasuke Uchiha," he answered. Shikamaru's eyes darted from the man's scarred face to the sword at his hip and the crude topknot on his scalp.

"Yeah, I'm a samurai. Or I was," the man confirmed. "One of the few who saw that bastard's black fire and lived to tell the tale. Name's Hayate Yukimura."

"Yuki Tanaka," Shikamaru said, reaching out and shaking the other man's hand.

"Ah," Hayate groused. "You're the new kids my wife was telling me about."

"That's us," Shikamaru said with a breathy exhale. "So, what are we celebrating? Kasumi didn't say much."

Hayate smiled proudly. "That'd be my grandson, Sōsuke," he explained. "He's a city guard here in Rikubetsu. One of the best. Trained him with a sword myself since he could walk. He was already good with chakra before he signed on with the One Shadow. With that Gauntlet of his? Sōsuke's the best of ninja and samurai in one body."

"Ah," Shikamaru nodded. He suddenly wished Ino wasn't such a vindictive bitch sometimes. He did _not_ want to be anywhere near what sounded like one of the upper echelons of the Revolution or someone that was on the fast track to being there.

"Yep," Hayate beamed. "That's my boy. So good the One Shadow himself selected Sōsuke for an advanced training program. That's what we're celebrating tonight!"

"Huh?" Shikamaru blinked, awed.

"That's what I said the first time too, hah!" Hayate slapped him on the back and Shikamaru nearly tumbled to the floor. "Can you believe it? My Sōsuke studying under the One Shadow himself?"

"Er, yeah," Shikamaru choked as his mind scrambled to take in the new information. "That's amazing. What's this training program he's going into?" he pressed.

Mister Yukimura, proud grandparent that he was, probably said more than what he should have. But he wasn't a ninja, so he wouldn't know that. Shikamaru smiled. "Don't really know myself," he shrugged. "Something about a new weapon— and not a Gauntlet, either. Said it was real cutting edge stuff."

Shikamaru swallowed and nodded. Yeah, that sounded like something he and the Leaf should know about. Shikamaru supposed it was worth going to the party after all. If Bolt was starting a new weapons program it meant that he was going to be pushing the Leaf and its allies. There would be a battle, one Bolt intended to win. Shikamaru didn't intend to let him. The only active fighting was in the Land of Wind and the Akatsuki had no stake in the war, as far as he knew...

Cheers erupted and Shikamaru turned to eye the commotion. Sōsuke Yukimura, garbed in the laminated black armor of the Revolution and armed with a deactivated Gauntlet and a sword at his hip, blinked owlishly at the assembled guests. He was tall, solidly built, and moved with determination and focus even as people began to congratulate him and pat him on the back. Keen brown eyes, framed by brown hair, darted from each guest to the next. Shikamaru recognized the look. The look of a soldier searching for an enemy. Shikamaru slipped fully into his civilian guise as he greeted the man of the hour.

Food and drinks were served after Sōsuke had finally arrived. The people were too poor to buy rice wine and wouldn't dare think of using precious food commodity to make booze. Instead, they drank an alcoholic beverage made from a fermented fruit that grew high in the mountains. Shikamaru had seen them once during work. Hardy, fibrous, and pale white, like snow. The fare was more liberal and appealing to Shikamaru's palette. It was a far cry from all the meat he had grown accustomed to eating at the Akimichi restaurants Chōji always dragged him and Ino to.

Shikamaru waited until all the guests had had several drinks before he began gathering intelligence and footage for his propaganda film. He did his best to avoid being in the same room, let alone visual distance, of Sōsuke. Shikamaru was sure he could take the seditionist in a fight, but he didn't want to press his luck.

The night grew darker and Shikamaru grew bolder. People began to leave, inebriated, and those that stayed continue to drink to the point of losing their higher faculties. Shikamaru discreetly turned off his camera and hid it in his shadow after feigning a drunken stumble. He would have loved to record the conversation he had planned to have with Sōsuke, but the revolutionary hadn't had more than a single cup of wine since the start of the night. It was too much of a risk if he ended up being caught. A drunken curiosity he could explain away. A wire he could not.

"So—" Shikamaru slurred. "—You're part of the Revolution, huh?"

Sōsuke's eyes immediately focused on him and Shikamaru had to force himself to remain drunkenly languid as he was assessed as a threat. Sōsuke, apparently, found him to be nothing more than a harmless, nameless drunk. "Yes, I am," he answered succinctly.

"That's gotta be interesting, I bet," Shikamaru said, taking another drink of the fruity alcohol.

"I am rarely bored, if that is what you mean," Sōsuke nodded.

"And yer dad said you get to meet the One Shadow!" Shikamaru slurred, placing a steadying hand on Sōsuke's shoulder. The man frowned at his drunken antics. "That's gotta be something!"

Sōsuke looked nervous for a moment before bobbing his head. "Yes, I have been given a great honor," he said.

Shikamaru chuckled, exhaling his alcoholic breath in the revolutionary's direction. His nose wrinkled. "You know, I always wondered something," he slurred. "The Revolution was lead by the Celestial Maiden, you know? A woman. And then, all of a sudden, it's led by Bolt Uzumaki, son of the Hokage. A man. Kind of strange, no?"

Sōsuke deftly removed Shikamaru's hand from his shoulder and took a step away. "Our leader concealed his true identity in order to avoid capture from the authorities," Sōsuke said succinctly. "Wearing a mask and changing his gender was an excellent tactic. Whether the One Shadow is the Celestial Maiden or Bolt Uzumaki does not change the fact that he is the one that has given our people hope and a future to fight for."

Damn. That probably meant he couldn't play that angle of dishonesty to sow discord. Shikamaru silently swore. "I guess that's true," he slurred instead. Shikamaru moved on from that line of questioning. Lingering would only arise suspicion. He had one or two questions left before he would need to excuse himself. "Still! Crazy, you get to train under him! You must be pretty strong, huh?"

"I consider myself one of the more powerful members of our organization, yes," Sōsuke nodded, casting glances about the room and looking for an escape from Shikamaru's drunken interrogation.

Well, Shikamaru couldn't have that. "I gotta ask, man," he slurred, moving to wrap an arm around Sōsuke's shoulders. The revolutionary deftly avoided it and Shikamaru stumbled. "What do you think he'll teach you?"

Sōsuke inched away, already looking to mingle with the other guests in order to escape him. "The others and I were selected for our chakra control and our willingness to accept foreign chakra sources," he said hurriedly. "I assume we will be learning how to control them."

Shikamaru sobered gravely as Sōsuke quickly fled. Bolt wasn't just running a new weapons program— he was encroaching upon human experimentation. Something he had never expected given the "differences" between him and Orochimaru. It gave Shikamaru some perverse pleasure knowing that Orochimaru was right, in a way, and that would piss Bolt off greatly.

"Imitation is the greatest form of flattery my ass," Shikamaru grumbled under his breath as he took another drink.

* * *

 **February 9th, 0025 AIT**

Through time and space, Katasuke hurtled. He snapped back into reality, his body finding its proper location in both axes of reality. Katasuke blinked, shaking off the feeling, and quickly began scurrying through the small hub he found himself in. It was one of many countless such facilities scattered across the continent used by Tsuchigumo as a server for his nigh infinite chakra threads. They were small, self-sufficient, and well defended, housing only a spool of chakra thread fed through a pinprick in space-time and several combat puppets acting as guardians. Each hub was redundant. Even if one were to be discovered or destroyed it would barely affect the network. Other hubs would come online, picking up the slack, and additional hubs constructed.

Katasuke admired that about the puppeteer. Awkward and antisocial, yes, and more than a little insane, but a fellow scientist and academic Tsuchigumo was. Certainly the white-haired boy was the only one in the Akatsuki, save for the Young Master, that he could have an actual intellectual conversation with.

Katasuke quickly found what he was looking for: a small box of steel and parchment, furled scrolls and chakra threads feeding into it. Katasuke smiled. That was another thing the puppeteer's network was good for: mass collection of chakra. The collection device was rather simple. A prototype based on the rough— and quite frankly, dated— designs of the Box of Ultimate Bliss. In terms that he had had to use to explain to the less intelligent members of the Akatsuki: a chakra battery. Of course, it was much more complex than that. The concept of storing chakra for later use was nearly as old as fūinjutsu itself and just as simple. No, it was the act of harvesting ambient chakra without the knowledge of the human crops that was impressive.

It was one of his greatest works yet, Katasuke thought proudly. Checking the readings of the box, he had to agree with himself. It and its many brethren scattered across the continent were continually absorbing ambient chakra that was a byproduct of the people's emotions. The stronger they were, the more chakra he gained— love of others, love of country, anger, fear, pride.

Fear, especially, was ripe for the picking. Both among the warriors fighting in the west and the people more broadly that had yet to accept the Young Master's rule. But, in equal measure, Katasuke found that the Land of Frost and Steam were host to a great hope that burned as bright as any fire. The devices in those zones were particularly high yield.

Soon, very soon, he would have enough chakra to begin the first of many experiments that Katasuke hoped would birth new life. Monstrous life, yes, but life all the same. And, if he was right, a life powerful beyond all save for the Tailed Beasts and the Tailed-Beasts-in-human-form, like the Young Master and his companions.

Katasuke recorded the readings, happy with them, and retreated back to the Eye. His laboratory greeted him, row upon row of cylindrical vats bubbling with primordial ingredients for multicellular life. All the framework was done. All that was needed was the chakra. Then, after the Young Master had divined suitable hosts, the real work could begin: weaponizing his newest creations, just as he had weaponized ninjutsu with his Gauntlet.

Katasuke smiled. Nothing could stop the indomitable march of science.

* * *

 **February 11th, 0025 AIT**

Sarada threaded her fingers through her hair. It was getting long. Too long, almost, like Bolt's was when he was in her cell— or was she in his? Sarada didn't know. She wondered how Bolt always somehow managed to pull off the tousled, messy look despite knowing he never tried to. Sarada was certain that if she had a mirror she would look a mess.

Her thoughts turned dark, as they always did, and her eyes ached. Sarada blinked away tears. She thought the barrier might have been faulty. That it didn't correctly counter her Sharingan. Perhaps because it was a bloodline? But that wouldn't make any sense. Bolt would have been able to use his Byakugan. Sarada doubted she was simply powerful enough to overpower the barrier. If Bolt wasn't— and he had tried— then Sarada knew she definitely wasn't.

Wiping at her eyes, Sarada reflected upon how her life had become so twisted. Deep inside, some part of her desired the ability to use her Mangekyō ability. It was rather frightening, really. Sarada knew the dangers now, she knew the pain, and yet she still wanted to use her clan's eyes.

Bolt was out there, somewhere, and he was moving ever closer and closer to the apocalyptic future she had been shown. But Mitsuki and Himawari had neatly shattered that belief of hers, hadn't they? What if Omoikane really was manipulating her? What if the vision she had seen was something he had made her see? What if it wasn't even the truth at all? What if it was an unlikely truth? One that was so unlikely to come to pass that it only ever existed in the depths of their shared powers?

What if Omoikane had played a tune and Sarada had willingly danced in the palm of his hand?

That was the worst question of all. That all she had foreseen, all that she had done, had been for naught. What if Bolt played no part in the dark future she had seen? What if he died like her father and the Hokage? Just another mutilated corpse dead at the hands of the Ōtsutsuki? What if Bolt died? Oh, God, what if he died? Sarada's hands rose to press against her eyes. Phantom agony echoed across her memory. The feeling of overwhelming pain and darkness and pain and darkness and pain and darkness and pain and darkness—

Sarada shook her head violently. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't experience that torment again. It would break her. Sarada knew it. If she had to stand on that forsaken crag and watch Bolt die again something deep inside her would shatter and be forever broken, never to be repaired.

Sarada rocked back and forth as the palms of her hands dug into her eyes. "Can't," she croaked. "Can't do that again. Never again. Anything but that. Please. Please, please, please, please, please..."

The snap and crackle of chakra that Sarada associated with the opening and closing of the suppression barrier drew her out of her thoughts. Sarada blinked, her vision clouded, as hot, angry tears spilled from her eyes. A person loomed at the fore of her cell, garbed in red, but she couldn't make out much else. Sarada growled and blinked again, her vision failing to clear, and squinted. She couldn't make out their features. They drew closer and closer and Sarada withdrew into herself, tucking her knees under her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Sarada? Sweety?" her mother's voice echoed.

Sarada gasped, blinking away tears. "Mom?" she asked, her vision swimming before her eyes. She could vaguely make out a mop of wispy pink hair at such a close distance.

Her mother kneeled down before her where she had been sitting on the floor. A soft hand cupped her chin and a gentle thumb caressed her cheek. "It's getting worse, isn't it?" her mother asked.

Sarada nodded, cursing her eyes as more unshed tears welled. She blinked. Her vision cleared, if only slightly, allowing her to see enough to know that the woman in front of her was actually her mother.

"How bad is it?" her mother pressed. A sliver of pale skin loomed before her eyes. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sarada squinted, waiting for her vision to clear enough to answer the question. "Three...?" she ventured.

Her mother was silent for a moment. "Sarada, I was holding a kunai," she said softly.

Sarada sniveled, closed her eyes, and hid her face between her knees. "I'm going blind, aren't I?" she asked.

"Legally, I think you're already there," her mother said, her tone a mix between the venerated Doctor Uchiha and loving mother. "Was it this bad before or after you fought Naruto?"

Sarada swallowed. "After," she admitted reluctantly. "It was bad before, too, but... nothing like this. I think... I think I pushed myself too far."

Arms wrapped around her and Sarada allowed herself to be pulled into a tight, warm embrace. It felt good to have some human contact after being isolated for so long. She had been so terribly sad and lonely for so long. Mitsuki, Himawari, and her other friends helped fill the void, but Sarada knew, on some deep level, that the hole in her heart was artificial, hewn by her eyes, capable of being filled by only one person. It was a strange torture, one that she knew she had been submitted to, but one that felt right all the same. That was what frightened her most about her eyes.

"It'll be okay, Sarada," her mother cooed softly. "We'll find a way to get your vision back."

Sarada shook her head. "No, mom, you don't understand," she said brokenly. Sarada knew how to get her vision back. She knew and she refused. Even if she could find another pair of genetically compatible eyes, Sarada would never rob another of their light to sustain her own. Given that the only Sharingan in existence aside from the two in her skull were her father's... no. She would never do that to him.

"Sasuke told me your vision would get bad before he left," her mother admitted. "He didn't know how quickly it would deteriorate. He only ever had his own experience and his situation was... unique. Sasuke told me about what he knew of his brother's declining visual acuity and gave me some of the Uchiha clan scrolls that survived the massacre. I've been studying to help you for when this day came."

Sarada swallowed thickly as it felt like her heart was trying to crawl up her throat. "Thank you," she choked, pulling her mother closer.

They sat like that for a long time. Sarada could feel the questions bubbling inside her mother but couldn't think of the appropriate path to avoid having the difficult talk she knew was coming. She missed Omoikane...

No! No, she didn't! Why was she thinking like that? Sarada didn't want to know everything. She hated it. She hated the knowing. She just wanted to be normal. She wanted to feel the thrill of fighting a skilled opponent without knowing every move they would make before they themselves did. She wanted to have a conversation with her friends without knowing every variation of the topic and every possible answer they had and opinion they held.

"Sarada?" her mother questioned. "Sweety, I know this might be hard to talk about, but I need to ask... why? Why do this to yourself? Just for Bolt?"

Sarada felt unjustified anger bubble in the pit of her stomach. " _Just_ for Bolt, mom?" she hissed indignantly, pushing her mother away. "Bolt is possibly of critical importance to our survival as a species and he is more important to me than you can ever possibly fathom!"

"Oh?" her mother pressed knowingly. "You say that like the man I married wasn't just as obsessed with his brother as you are now with Bolt."

Sarada swallowed the vitriol that had risen within her.

"Sasuke was just as blinded by his obsession with Itachi before he had awakened his Mangekyō Sharingan," her mother continued. "After? It got worse. Much worse. Karin and I talk, you know? We are... we _were_ , some of the foremost medics in the world. She told me all about what happened to Sasuke. How he changed after Itachi died. How warped and twisted he became as he tried to cobble together some salvaged, mangled understanding of the love he and Itachi shared."

Sarada was quiet and allowed her mother to pull her back into a hug.

"I saw Sasuke change so much and almost die so many times, Sarada," she whispered brokenly, as if it was a sin. "I just don't want to see the same thing happen to you. I don't want you to be in as much pain as Sasuke was in. I don't want to watch you destroy yourself over what you feel for Bolt."

Sarada nodded feebly.

"So, why, Sarada?" her mother pressed.

Sarada's lips formed a thin line. "I had to," she managed to choke out. She wanted to rock back and forth but her mother's arms kept her anchored. "I couldn't let him die here. I wouldn't... I wouldn't survive it, mom. I know I wouldn't. I _need_ him. And Bolt could be so much more important than we know. If I'm right, he's one of the most important figures in the war effort. And if I'm not, I don't care. If I had to choose between Bolt dying and living, I will choose living every single time. Even if I end up here. Or worse."

She had to. She had to, she had to, she had to, she had to, she had to, she had to, she had to, she had to, she had to! Why didn't anyone get it?!

"I understand, Sarada," her mother said.

Sarada choked on a sob. "How can you?" she demanded brokenly.

"Because I watched Sasuke choose his brother— a rogue, dangerous criminal— over us, over me, Naruto, and Kakashi, the only family and friends he had left. Sasuke chose to chase his pain until he finally caught up with it and by that time he was too broken to accept the love that he had left behind," her mother answered easily. "And I swore to myself when we got married, knowing that our children could have the Sharingan, that I would never let them make the same mistakes Sasuke did."

Sarada swallowed and nodded weakly.

"I think I know how Hinata feels, now," her mother laughed softly.

"What?" Sarada questioned.

Her mother shook her head. "It's like... we're a team, Sarada. You, your father, and I. We're a family. And, really, the only people you can trust absolutely are your family. You love them unconditionally no matter what they do. It's always going to be you, Sasuke, and me against the world, and I'm always going to choose you and your father over the world any day of the week. I guess that's how Hinata must have felt, huh? Even if Bolt is some kind of crazed, megalomaniac war criminal, he is still her son and she will always love him no matter what. Just like you and I."

Sarada buried her face in her mother's hair and squeezed her with all the strength her emaciated frame could bring to bear. "I love you too, mom," she whispered. Sarada blinked as her vision began to clear and sharpen, amazingly.

"There's one more question I need to know the answer to," her mother pressed. "I need to know if what you said still holds true. That you still want to fight the Akatsuki. That you're still loyal to the Leaf. That you still believe in the Will of Fire."

Sarada scoffed. That was the easiest question in the world compared to what they had just been speaking about. "Of course," she said. "I'm going to be the Hokage. One day. I hope. Would it matter if a military dictator had a criminal record?"

Her mother laughed softly at her poor joke. "Good," she said. "Because you're getting out of here and we're putting your criminal mind to work just as soon as I take a look at your eyes."

Sarada blinked owlishly, mouth agape. "What...?" she asked.

Her mother smiled down at her. "You're being pardoned, Sarada, on condition that you agree to continue fighting the Akatsuki and submit to probation and monitoring until such time as the war's end," she said.

Sarada couldn't believe her ears. It was too easy. It shouldn't have been that easy. Not when Bolt had suffered for so long and tried so hard only for his father to lock him up and throw away the key. Not when she just waltzed out of her cell because she believed in the Leaf and not in Bolt.

Still, if Himawari was right, if Omoikane was manipulating her... if releasing Bolt wasn't saving the world, but dooming it? Then Sarada had a responsibility to see Bolt stopped. She was the most qualified ninja to stop him. Sarada knew how he operated, knew how he thought, could use her foreknowledge to put a stop to any plots Bolt had afoot, and was strong enough to go toe-to-toe with even the Thunder God himself.

"Okay," Sarada nodded.

There was no one else. It had to be her. Someone else would get it wrong.

* * *

 **February 13th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt's eyes scoured the parchment of the scroll he was reading as his free hand idly strokes his ribs where the Cursed Seal of Zamin had been tattooed. He read without seeing, eyes automatically returning to the top of the page to begin again as he tried to absorb the information. He had made a mistake. Hikari had been right, in more ways than one. His newest Cursed Seal did more than just suppress his emotions— it changed him on a fundamental level. A change that, quite frankly, Bolt would have been fine with, had it not threatened the very reason for his existence, his dream, his goal.

Bolt had made mistakes in his battle with the Five-Tails. He wasn't as fast, wasn't as decisive. Instinct had been superseded by cold, hard, efficient logic. It made him slow. Bolt didn't need to think, all he had to do was act. Without feeling, without emotion, he was truly a machine. He gave himself a task and his machine self moved to accomplish that task automatically— at all costs.

That was unacceptable.

Bolt had gone too far under the sway of the Cursed Seal of Zamin. He was far and away the superior of the Five-Tails. The creature was beneath the Thunder God. An opponent he could have easily relegated to his subordinates, and, indeed, perhaps to their benefit. Another foe for which they could hone themselves as Bolt himself had done already. But no, instead, he had gone all out on the Tailed Beast, nearly killing it and himself with his experimental and unfinished Spear of the Thunder God. It was only through sheer luck, tempered by his machine self's cold logic, that had allowed him to make the shot non-lethal. If he had made even a single error in using the technique... the Five-Tails would have died. The Akatsuki would have been set back years, decades, even.

That was unacceptable. Absolutely, irrevocably unacceptable, and the embers of anger were stoked.

More than anything, Bolt was angry. At himself, yes, but also at his father, for driving him to such dire lengths. Angry that, unless he could find some way to better control how he acted when influenced by the Cursed Seal, Bolt would be relegated to a supporting, non-combat role. There were other things he could do, yes, like play politics— Shikamaru was still missing-in-action in his lands— but Bolt was a fighter at heart. He led from the front. He was there, rubbing elbows with his men, fighting alongside them. He inspired them and kept them safe and they fought all the harder because of it. That was what Bolt was good at. Take that away and what was he? A two-bit S-class threat that was being hunted by the apex predator of the planet.

Bolt forced himself to read and absorb the information in the scroll he was supposed to be reading. A treatise on the application of the micromanagement of chakra in elemental techniques. The Spear of the Thunder God was not yet complete. Not only did it use much of his chakra— nearly a full half— but it was also so radically powerful that it damaged him upon its use. Hikari had been most cross with him as he had bled from his ears, eyes, and nose. Too much power and not enough control. He was left, again, bereft of an ultimate technique, and Bolt was unwilling to attempt Wrath of the Thunder God again without first having some reassurances that he would actually reconstitute himself at the end of it.

All Bolt had were _ideas_. The power was there, nigh limitless thanks to the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva. It was the control that he lacked. Perhaps he was going about it wrong. He was too focused on the concept of a projectile attack like Rasenshinsei and his family's other variations of the Rasengan. A projectile attack was flawed because it required formation before detonation. Bolt had no way of knowing how truly powerful the technique would be until he unleashed it. No, he needed something _modular_. Something he could alter on a case-to-case basis. Wrath of the Thunder God was simply a wave of overwhelming power. If he could find some way to channel that power, reduce the technique to its most basic form... if he could _shoot_ a Wrath of the Thunder God? Kurotsuchi and her Dust Release came to mind— not a projectile, a _beam_. Yes, that could work. Bolt made a note of his train of thought for later testing.

The only good news in all of his recent string of failures? Bolt knew he could narrowly outrun his father if push came to shove. If he _had_ to, Bolt could act on Earth without the Cursed Seal of Zamin and simply run away from his father after his mission had been accomplished. The knowledge filled Bolt with a sense of grim pride. There was finally something he was better at than his godlike sperm donor.

There was a knock at the door. Bolt blinked. "Enter," he bade.

Hibiki opened the door and peeked inside with a lopsided happy smile on his lips. "Bolt," he greeted warmly. He ducked inside, carrying a handful of furled field reports. "I have the reports you asked for. The Hidden Stone isn't faring as well as you had hoped."

Bolt scowled and accepted the scrolls. "Thank you," he grumbled, quickly finding the scroll bound in a brown ribbon, denoting it had originated from the Land of Earth. Bolt did not miss the scroll bound in red for Fire.

The report was simple, if flowery, in its message: Kurotsuchi was losing. "That stupid bitch," he swore. Honestly, Bolt knew he shouldn't have been surprised. He had learned long ago that if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. Surrounding yourself with allies that you had personally instructed and trained was a close second.

Bolt froze uncomfortably as Hibiki slipped around the desk behind him and began massaging his shoulders. "Trouble?" he hummed, fingers pressing into corded muscle.

Bolt's first instinct was to pull away. He had never been great with touch. Most of it was childhood sparring with his grandfather and aunt. The only people he allowed to casually touch him were his sister and Hikari. But that was why Hibiki was with the Akatsuki, wasn't it? For him. Out of some strange, twisted attraction to Bolt's chakra. That had been part of the game. Keeping Kagami and Kagari sated with battle, facilitating Katasuke's "science," training Tetsu and Hikari, and ever dangling the carrot that was his affections in front of Hibiki. Keeping the Akatsuki together was more difficult and taxing than anyone would ever suspect.

Bolt allowed the contact to continue. "Kurotsuchi lost," he told Hibiki. "My father and the joint army has pushed her back to the mountainous border of the Land of Earth and Wind. She has served her purpose, though, thinning the ranks of my father's army and keeping him busy."

"Hmm," Hibiki hummed happily.

If nothing else, it gave Bolt a chance to vent without dumping all of his frustrations on Hikari. Bolt began slowly, working the problem over in his mind even as he explained it to Hibiki. "Now that Stone is on the defensive, they've lost their advantage," he said. "My father will continue pushing them and the Tsuchikage will continue to exact a toll in lives for every mile Stone's forces are forced to retreat. Eventually the Tsuchikage will be forced back to her city or she will be captured by my father. Sand will almost certainly ask for her death, should she survive the battle. Given my father's predilection for non-lethality, I would say that is likely."

"Not going to finish her off yourself?" Hibiki asked. "That was always the plan, after all."

"Of course I will," Bolt rolled his eyes. "Our involvement in the war cannot be known and, more than that, I cannot allow my father and his allies to claim a victory this late in the war. If they can show the people that they have control, that they can still win, then the people will cling to them instead of me. That cannot be allowed to happen. The Akatsuki and I will swoop in after my father has done all the hard work, assassinate the Tsuchikage, and claim the good will of the people for bringing the war to a swift and decisive end."

"As cunning as ever," Hibiki laughed.

Bolt reached for the report bound in red ribbon. It was short, concise. The parchment burned as stray arcs of electricity began to lick at the scroll and the desk. Hibiki gasped and released him. Bolt growled.

Sarada was free.

Bolt had thought he had more time. That the nepotism, bureaucracy, and fear mongering of the Leaf would hinder the time it took them to come to the conclusion that Sarada was their best hope of beating him. Anger coursed through Bolt, his blood as fire. Of course, he should have known better. With people like Shikamaru and Shikadai opposing him, Bolt should have known. He should have made countering Sarada and her foreknowledge his number one priority. Instead, he had been wasting his time lounging about with his true family and continuing to lead the hunt for the Tailed Beasts personally when he had no need to.

"Bolt?" Hibiki ventured softly.

"What—" Bolt snapped at him, only to be interrupted by the shrill wail of an alarm. Bolt was on his feet in an instant, the Eye of the Storm humming with chakra as its creator cast his senses far and wide for the source of the danger.

There was a great... a great _something_ wreaking havoc in the bowels of the castle, rampaging from the labs towards the surface. "Hibiki, tell the others that one of Katasuke's experiments has gotten loose," Bolt commanded him. "And turn that damn alarm off."

Hibiki formed the Tiger sign, relaying information and orders, and the alarm blissfully silenced itself as Bolt flashed through the halls of his castle. It was a horrible creature, long, sinuous muscle, like a snake, with ruddy colored flesh and chitinous shells linked like armor. Countless insectoid arms, comically short for its long body, were a blur as the monstrosity rampaged. Bolt rounded a corner, coming face-to-face with the beast, and it lunged at him. A fleshy appendage on its head spat forth a sack of pink flesh that writhed with teeth and spewed acid.

Bolt garbed himself in his Lightning Armor and thrust a palm forward. The tongue, or whatever it was, exploded into a mist of blood and pulpy meat. The creature shrieked, more in anger than pain, and surged forward. The fleshy appendage split open, divulging a bulbous head, like a reptile, a maw of ruinous teeth bared as it tried to swallow him whole.

There was a reason no one liked to fight in hallways. Tight, confined quarters made use of large weapons and dodging nigh useless. It was why Tetsu carried his shortswords even still. Bolt growled as his arms found their way willingly into the maw of the monster. One above, one below, preventing it from swallowing him whole. Bolt grunted as he was slammed into a stone wall and, with a thought, strength coursed through his body instead of speed. Bolt reared up, tearing the creature's head in two, before finding its "brain" and scrambling it with the Gentle Fist. Blissfully, the creature stilled.

Heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of Tetsu, a shortsword in either hand, looking ready for battle. "My Lord," he bowed, eying the creature.

"Katasuke has some explaining to do," Bolt growled, marching further into the bowels of the castle in search of the mad scientist. Tetsu followed behind him dutifully.

* * *

 **February 16th, 0025 AIT**

Shikadai nervously eyed his gathered allies. It seemed like they were always moving from one great battle to the next, each more devastating than the last. And each battle always left its mark. If not physically, then emotionally. Chōchō and Inojin were still working out the kinks in walking and fighting again after Bolt had nearly killed them. Though Shikadai still felt great guilt over Lady Tsunade's death, the former Hokage had performed her last healing to the high standards she had set for herself in life. His friends would live, they would be whole, and they would learn to fight again.

Kohaku and the Whirlpool was another matter entirely. By the grace of the Sage of Six Paths himself, Whirlpool had reaffirmed its allegiance to the Leaf and continued to support them in dealing with the Akatsuki and Bolt. Shikadai counted his lucky stars. Because without Kohaku, he had no idea for how to defeat Bolt and the Uzumaki clan's chakra chains. Bolt was already strong enough for mother's to threaten their children to eat their vegetables or he would pay them a visit. The added utility of an ultimate defense made him that much more of a nightmare to deal with.

Shikadai brushed his knuckles against the back of Himawari's hand. She looked up at him, eyes lidded and dark, a lost look. Ever since the toads had summoned her back to Mount Myōboku, she had been withdrawn. Shikadai hadn't yet managed to bring her out of her shell or learn what was bothering her. It bothered him more than he liked to admit.

The door opened, Sakura and her red dress and pink hair making the room seem brighter, and behind her, Sarada. She looked better than the times that Shikadai had seen her. Her long black hair had been tamed and combed and Sarada looked less malnourished after a few good meals and a warm shower.

Naturally, the entire room was tense. Sarada had betrayed them. Shikadai didn't fully understand the reasons why, at least, from what Himawari had told him of them, but what he did know is that they needed every person they could get if they wanted to defeat the Akatsuki and come out on top without dying. Sarada and her Sharingan were some of the greatest force multipliers he had at his disposal and Shikadai wasn't going to let them go to waste if he could safely employ them.

Shikadai had expected Himawari to be the one to break the silence and go to her best friend— he thought wrong. Himawari had withdrawn into herself, again, colder and darker than before. The duty fell to him and Shikadai felt it settle on his shoulders like a weight. He cleared his throat. "Welcome back, Sarada," he said, simply for a lack of better words. She nodded tightly and Sakura smiled weakly at them all.

"So," Shikadai began, now that they were all present. "I'll bring everyone up to speed. We now know for certain that Bolt and the Akatsuki are capturing the Tailed Beasts. We have proof that they were responsible for the One and Five-Tails being sealed. The Two, Three, and Four-Tails disappearances are also attributed to them. We know the Akatsuki is gathering the Tailed Beasts, we just don't know why."

There were grim nods all around.

"The Seventh has tasked me with organizing a guard for the Six and Seven-Tails, as they are the last remaining free Tailed Beasts. The Eight-Tails is safe with the Hidden Cloud, for now. And, of course, the Nine-Tails is more than safe with the Seventh. Our mission will be to guard the remaining Tailed Beasts and prevent them from falling into the hands of the Akatsuki," Shikadai explained. "The Six-Tails, Saiken, is a bipedal slug capable of powerful Water Release techniques and secreting a caustic liquid or gas. The Seven-Tails, Chōmei, is a flying beetle with six wings and a single tail capable of powerful Wind Release techniques and various insectoid abilities."

Shikadai paused as the others took the information in. He took a breath. "The Six-Tails will be the hardest to defend. It is weak to Lightning Release, which all four of the five combatants of the Akatsuki can use. Needless to say, keeping Bolt away from the Six-Tails is the highest priority. The good news is Tetsu's and Kagari's Fire Release attacks will be next to useless in the face of a Water Release user as strong as the Six-Tails," he said. The others nodded. "The Seven-Tails we can be a bit more loose with. It can fly, meaning only Bolt will be able to actually catch and fight it. In addition, the Seven-Tails is capable of creating Wind Release attacks that can change landscapes. One of Thunder God Mode's primary weaknesses is damage dealt by Wind Release chakra. If Bolt gets hit by the Seven-Tails, he's done."

That brought a smile to many of his friends' faces.

"However... the guard with the Seven-Tails will have to be smaller and not afraid of heights. From my understanding, the Seven-Tails doesn't need oxygen and is capable of upper stratospheric flight. Needless to say, it's going to be cold and it's a long way to the ground if you fall," Shikadai smiled wryly. Several of his friends blanched, including Kohaku.

"I've been given the approximate locations of both the Tailed Beasts by the Seventh," Shikadai continued. "We'll use Sarada to monitor them. When she foresees the Akatsuki making their move, we'll shift both guard squadrons to defend the Tailed Beast they're attacking. Hopefully, if we're lucky, we can manage to kill or capture one or more of the Akatsuki during the battle."

Shikadai paused. "Everyone understand?" he asked.

Inojin spoke up. "Why doesn't the Seventh just seal the Six and Seven-Tails inside him? He's in constant communication with the others, isn't he? Speaking of which, why was the Five-Tails the first Tailed Beast able to reach out to the Seventh if the others were caught by the Akatsuki as well?" he asked.

Shikadai nodded. "The Seventh can't seal the others inside him," he explained. "The Tailed Beasts are reluctant to give up their freedom after so long, even under the threat of the Akatsuki. There's also more practical reasons for not sealing the others. Gathering of the Tailed Beasts in a single container generally leads to bad things, according to the Seventh. Also, the Nine-Tails is not exactly the most... understanding of beings. He doesn't share, in the Seventh's words."

Himawari laughed lightly under her breath and Shikadai smiled. "As for why the Five-Tails was able to send a message to the Seventh while the others were unable to, well," he continued. "We don't know. It could be that the Akatsuki made a mistake during the battle and the Five-Tails wasn't as out of it as they thought. Something could have gone wrong during the sealing process. The Five-Tails could simply just be strong enough to overpower whatever Bolt was using to suppress its chakra. We just don't know."

"So," Shikadai ventured. "Who wants to volunteer for what?"

Their group was quiet for a moment. "I'll go with the Seven-Tails," Himawari chimed.

"Alright," Shikadai said. "Who else wants to go with her?"

"I'll be enough on my own, Shika," she told him. Shikadai frowned. "The Seven-Tails will be the least at risk, like you said, and I'm probably the only one here who would be comfortable at those heights and able to survive the fall. The rest of you should focus on the Six-Tails. Kohaku will need to be there in case my brother uses his chakra chains and Sarada will need to go because she's the only other one besides me that can fight Bolt on equal footing. You need to be here to plan for whatever Bolt comes up with in the heat of battle and Inojin and Chōchō shouldn't push themselves too hard until we know they're out of the woods."

Shikadai turned to Sakura, who had resumed her duties as the chief medical officer of the Hidden Leaf. She understood the question without having to be asked. "They are well on their way to recovery," Sakura said. "But I am hesitant to clear them for field work just yet. Something as strenuous as a frigid low oxygen environment is definitely not what will help them heal."

Shikadai frowned thunderously. Letting Himawari go by herself was something he did not want to do. He knew she could take care of herself but even Himawari wasn't invincible. Bolt alone was enough to go toe-to-toe with her. What if he brought allies? Even adding the Akiyama sisters— the weakest of the Akatsuki's combatants— would easily stack the fight in Bolt's favor.

"I'll be fine, Shika," Himawari said. "Promise."

"If need to," Sakura said. "We can draw on people we can trust that aren't part of the task force. Team Eight and Team Guy... well, Lee will help, I'm sure. Captain Yamato, if we can pull him off Orochimaru duty. Has anyone seen Mitsuki?"

"Mitsuki went back to Orochimaru," Himawari answered, glancing shyly at Sarada. "He only came to see Sarada."

"I suppose we can't count on him, then," Sakura frowned.

"We can ask Yamato to make contact with Orochimaru," Shikadai said. "He can return with Mitsuki and any other allies or assistance that Orochimaru can offer."

Although he couldn't trust Orochimaru, he was still a Sannin and technically an official ally of the Leaf until such time that he violated the terms of his pardon. And, so far, the snake had been on his best behavior— which was depraved by any other man's standard, but still.

"Alright," Shikadai nodded. "Let's see who we can recruit and then move out. We'll meet back here tomorrow and then head out for the Six-Tails' location while Himawari and anyone that chooses to follow her go to the Seven-Tails. Dismissed."

* * *

 **February 18th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt watched as the wide-eyed, green-faced soldiers he had selected for the artificial jinchūriki program were warped into the Eye. They were the best of the best, latent talents and geniuses all. Still, nothing compared to the pedigree and lifetime of training that most ninja were made of, but they would do. Sixteen in all and Bolt hoped, for their sake and Katasuke's, that even half of them could handle having an artificial Tailed Beast sealed within them.

Katasuke's newest pet project had paid dividends at great costs. His monstrosities were wild and furious, more angry at life and their creator than anything Bolt had ever seen in the Tailed Beasts themselves. Still, they were powerful, from a mere mortal's point of view, and useful tools in their own right. If any of the assembled soldiers before him took to being a jinchūriki, they would easily be as powerful than even the most grizzled jōnin. The stronger ones might even be a match for a weak Kage, like the Kazekage or Mizukage. Bolt didn't have high hopes for that, but it was on the table.

Only when all the soldiers were assembled did he speak. Chakra coiled within him, like a snake, and Bolt spoke with a thunder that whispered in their ears. A neat technique he had created when learning Wind Release from the hawk clan. "Welcome to the Eye of the Storm," he said. "For the foreseeable future, I will be training you in the ways of chakra. At the end of your training, you will be given a great gift. Those of you that _endure_ —" and by endure, Bolt meant _survive_. "—your training will become more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

The acolytes he had gathered were casting thinly veiled alarmed looks about the courtyard of the castle in an attempt to locate him. They had no idea that the stone arches they stood near housed the only entrance to various false pocket dimensions where he had sealed away the Tailed Beasts. Bolt sat even higher, hidden amongst the tiled roof of the castle and eying his "students" from up high.

The notion of him having students was odd. Of course, they weren't _true_ students. Not like he had been to Master Sasuke. They were more akin to swords that Bolt was honing against a whetstone. Neither were they like Hikari or Tetsu, friends who had driven each other to become stronger and stronger. The concept of a true student, a disciple, someone whom he saw a kindred soul in, momentarily fascinated Bolt. For so long had he been climbing the mountain that was power, he had forgotten that, someday, he would reach the apex. Now that he approached that apex, it could be time to turn his sight back down the mountain and look for a disciple to pass on his knowledge, his techniques, and his beliefs.

That, however, was something Bolt felt unlikely to happen. Such a kindred spirit would be unspeakably rare and precious, unlikely for him to discover by mere happenstance in a single lifetime. Still, it was something to keep a weather eye out for. Perhaps that was why his father had never taken a student? As far as Bolt knew, his father had only ever taught Konohamaru— and even then, their relationship was not a true master-student relationship. More akin to how an older brother would teach the younger a technique or two, drive them to improve themselves.

Perhaps his father had never found that kindred spirit for which to pass down his teachings? Bolt imagined it would have to have been someone of remarkable talent, power, and compassion to attract the eye of the Hokage, the most powerful man in the world.

Bolt pondered what attributes he would seek in a disciple. Loyalty, chiefly, for he would be entrusting them with not only his techniques, but his dream of a single unified nation for his people. Someone who was naturally driven, someone determined and possessed the perseverance to continue training and fighting even when most men would have broken in body and spirit. A cunning intelligence and natural curiosity. Scholarly, really, someone who would take to his fūinjutsu as easily as Bolt did himself under the tutelage of the Uzukage so long ago. Preferably someone with a great talent in Lightning Release so that the Thunder God would live on in another, though Bolt supposed he could hardly afford to be picky with their elemental affinities given his previous requirements. Perhaps, when the war ended, he would set his sights on the new generation born in the Land of Lightning and find his disciple there.

Bolt descended from his perch and fell to the courtyard. The Akatsuki robes he wore billowed and his boots touched down with a soft click that drew the eyes of his hopeful jinchūriki. They were wide-eyed and startled but determined. "Follow me," Bolt commanded.

* * *

 **February 20th, 0025 AIT**

It was time to go on the offensive, Naruto decided. Too long had he been passive and defensive to the benefit of the Tsuchikage. He and his clones had slowly but surely captured more and more of her ninja but there was an ever increasing number of men and women coming to reinforce their comrades from the motherland. All the while, more and more of his people perished or were captured in turn.

Naruto could no longer abide that.

His clones assumed the proper formation for defending his men against the Tsuchikage's Dust Release while another clone flew above the army, ready to engage Kurotsuchi should she or one of her doubles appear. Naruto stood among his men, ready to fight and push the Hidden Stone out of the Land of Wind.

He reached for his Six Paths power that had been given to him by the Sage— the power of Asura. It had changed and matured since the early days of the Fourth War. Faded, in a way. As Naruto became more and more adept in its use, more and more of its knowledge seemed to slip from him. The power to breathe life into those all but at Death's door had left him. For the life of him, Naruto couldn't figure out how to do what he had done to save Guy's life. He had spent long hours with Sakura and Granny Tsunade in a failed attempt to rekindle that power but all that Naruto felt was dying embers. The most he could do was pump the dying full of his Six Paths Yang chakra and hope that they would pull through, but it was a far cry from putting a stop to death itself.

Naruto keenly felt the loss of that particular power. In this war with the Tsuchikage and the war looming before him with the Ōtsutsuki. More than anything, Naruto regretted not being able to save the lives of those under him.

Naruto breathed deep and reached out with his senses. With his Six Paths power, he bent the land to his will. Mountains trembled and the very stone of the Land of Earth itself rose to do his bidding and turned against its inhabitants. Sand drifted skyward, a painful reminder of the loss of Gaara. There were panicked cries of alarm from the Stone army as Naruto had the Earth swallow their legs up to their knees and formed prisons of sand and boulders to trap them. His men roared a battle cry and charged, his clones ever watchful for the glow of Dust Release.

And Naruto drove them back, out of the Land of Wind and through the mountains back to their home from whence they came.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Regarding Rasenrakurai and the Spear of the Thunder God, and why the two have different names: the Spear of the Thunder God, more broadly, is the parent jutsu of Rasenrakurai. SotTG refers to the overarching ultimate technique Bolt wishes to create, another city-killer akin to Wrath of the Thunder God, while Rasenrakurai specifically refers to the spiraling thunderbolt variation of SotTG. I hope that clears some things up.

A lot of meta stuff and foreshadowing of things to come as we approach the calm before the storm. The next release may or may not be a double release of the Akiyama prelude and chapter 95. We'll see.

700k words! Tentatively I place us at the ¾ mark, meaning the story should end around 1m words, equating to 30 chapters with an average of 10k words each. If everything goes to plan, TND should wrap up sometime between August and October this year. I hope you all have enjoyed the ride so far.

As always, thanks for reading.


	95. Chapter 95

**February 10th, 0025 AIT**

They were deep undercover in enemy territory, surrounded on all sides by thousands of men and women that wanted nothing more than for him and his home to be crushed underfoot by their storied "One Shadow." It was to great surprise, then, that Shikamaru opened his door after hearing a knock to see a familiar face. His eyes bulged as Sai smiled pleasantly at him.

"U-Uh," Shikamaru stammered dumbly.

"Yuki! It's good to see you again!" Sai exclaimed fondly.

"Uh, yeah, you too..." Shikadai mumbled, eyes darting around the street looking for the ever watchful guards.

Sai clasped him by the forearm and pulled him into a rough embrace. "Ikki," he whispered, so quiet Shikamaru wasn't sure if he heard the pale-skinned man speak or if it was a trick of the wind.

"Come in, Ikki," Shikamaru said, beckoning for Sai to step inside. There, at least, he wouldn't have to worry about their identities being exposed.

Once inside, Sai began looking around for what Shikamaru could only assume were hidden cameras and mics. "We're secure," Shikamaru said.

Sai nodded. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," Shikamaru said. Their team made sure no one was watching them or listening in more than strictly normal for a policed city-state.

"Good," Sai stated evenly, his cheery expression becoming neutral. Ino appeared from somewhere in the next room and immediately broke into a sprint as she leapt at her husband and embraced him tightly.

Shikamaru politely looked away as they kissed. He was forced to clear his throat politely, if forcefully, as the kiss became more heated. "What brings you here, Sai?" he asked, knowing Naruto wouldn't send his best operative deep into the Land of Frost without a good reason.

Sai, cheeks dusted pink, immediately sobered. "We have a problem," he said. "We've learned that the Akatsuki has been responsible for the disappearances of the Tailed Beasts over the past year. Naruto received a distress signal from the Five-Tails before Bolt sealed it away."

"Shit," Shikamaru swore, brows furrowed. Troublesome little bastard.

Sai nodded. "Naruto is still dealing with the Hidden Stone in the west," he continued. "Your son has been placed in charge of organizing a guard for the Six and Seven-Tails. Naruto wants you to head back and help spearhead the defense of the remaining Tailed Beasts. It is of the utmost importance that they are not captured."

Yeah, Shikamaru could see why that would take precedence over what he was doing in the Land of Frost. The idea of another organization following the ideology of the original Akatsuki and its aims for the Tailed Beasts bode ill for every man, woman, and child on the continent. Shikamaru nodded. "Alright," he agreed. "I've got all I need here, anyway. It'll be a little odd for all of us to leave at once so we'll have to be careful."

Sai smiled. "I've already prepared an extraction for us," he said.

Shikamaru saw that Chōji and Sentoki had joined them at some point during Sai's explanation of recent events. They all nodded in affirmation. Shikamaru sighed. "What a drag," he breathed.

He really hated war.

* * *

 **February 17th, 0025 AIT**

It was that feeling between dreaming and waking, where you knew you were dreaming and yet you couldn't bring yourself to wake just quite yet. It was a feeling that Sarada had become exceedingly familiar with. A feeling that haunted her every waking moment, every lidded eye and every bob of her head as she strove to keep herself awake. If she didn't sleep, she couldn't dream, and if she couldn't dream, Omoikane couldn't speak to her.

It was that feeling Sarada felt that immediately shocked her into lucidity. The feeling of drifting, of an endless dark, of a sky dotted with twinkling stars. She knew Omoikane would come for her. She knew the Ōtsutsuki would try to twist her views and warp her mind, bend her to their will and use her as a pawn to further their conquest of her people. The Seventh had been very specific in who the fair, white-skinned and white-haired foreigners were.

Sarada embraced it. No one dared to think themselves above the Uchiha. History had been abundantly clear on that point: those that underestimated her clan paid a heavy price. And for his part in her mental torment, Sarada would make Omoikane pay— one way or the other.

The ivory tower of stone loomed ahead of her, a crown of arches atop it. Sarada masterfully guided her mental self image through an arch and into the study of Omoikane. He was there, waiting, smiling, as innocent and unassuming as ever. The white-haired man's smiled flattered at her expression of thunderous anger and Sarada grinned. She touched down, stance wide, ready for a fight if it came to it.

The silence yawned, tense. Omoikane regarded her soberly and his entire demeanor changed from the unassuming mentor to the wary opponent. "I do suppose I owe you an apology," he spoke at last, his use of her language masterful unlike their previous conversations.

"What do you want with me?" Sarada growled.

"With you?" Omoikane ventured. "Truthfully, very little. You are merely one cog in a machine that has spanned eons. You have your role to play, though. An important cog, if you will."

"You played me," Sarada hissed. "You used our ability to make me act as you saw fit."

Omoikane regarded her, subdued. "Yes," he admitted.

"Not this time," Sarada growled. She expected the pain to come, as it always did, when she used her Mangekyō Sharingan. It didn't. The burning power of her clan filled her eyes as she turned her gaze on Omoikane and she saw...

Nothing.

Sarada saw nothing but an endless sea of gray fog. No fraying timelines or opening and closing doors, no forks or winding paths. She gazed into the abyss and the abyss gazed back into her. Sarada gasped, reeling, hands flying to her eyes.

"I'm afraid it will be impossible for you to simulate my actions with your current level of data on me and my people," Omoikane said smoothly.

Sarada blinked, metaphorical heart hammering in her chest as she was left bereft of her powers in the den of the lion. She needed to leave. It was stupid of her to think she could use an ability not her own against its creator. Stupid, spiteful, prideful.

"I assure you I mean you no harm," Omoikane said, eyes resting on her own.

Sarada shivered. "There's no way I can trust you or what you say," she intoned, backing away.

"That is true," Omoikane nodded. "I would argue that one does not need to trust another to hear what they have to say, however."

Sarada froze and swallowed. She could see the logic in that. But what if that was what Omoikane wanted her to think? What if she stayed, heard him out, and his words shaped her actions in the future, consciously or subconsciously? He could plant the seed of doubt and she would nurture it unknowingly—

Omoikane sighed audibly. "Though it matters little, I do swear that I have not used our ability to affect the path of our interaction— this time, at least," he said.

Sarada parted her lips to scathingly denounce him. "Although," Omoikane mused aloud. "I suppose that matters little and proves even less. Very well. I propose a trade: I shall freely give you information that you yourself desperately wish to know."

"I'm not giving you anything," Sarada growled.

Omoikane smiled politely. "You have little of value you could offer me," he said and Sarada felt foolishly insulted. "Ah, I apologize. You humans have strange ways. My people are rather blunt. I merely wish for your company, that is all. I do so detest using our ability on friends, after all."

Sarada snorted. "Friends?" she asked, casting a wary eye around the study. "Expecting company?"

"On the contrary," Omoikane smiled. "I have ensured we will be undisturbed, even by Takamimusubi. I imagine he will be most cross with me for denying him parallel use of our ability."

Sarada bit her tongue. On one hand, this was a golden opportunity for her to gather more information for the Seventh. On the other, nothing Omoikane said could be trusted. Worse, she would constantly have to be checking herself against his influence. It was a risk, listening to what he had to say. And, ultimately, it was a risk Sarada felt she should and could take.

"The little boy who was here last time?" Sarada ventured.

Omoikane nodded with a wry smile. "Yes, though he would be most offended to be referred to as such in your tongue. We have a different word for his lack of physical growth in our own language. Needless to say, he is quite old and hails from an even older clan," he paused. "I take it you have agreed to speak with me?"

Against her better judgement, Sarada nodded.

"Excellent," Omoikane said smoothly. "Believe it or not, you and I become close friends in the future."

"I highly doubt that," Sarada remarked.

Omoikane smirked, something mirthful and knowing. Sarada didn't like it. "Believe what you will," he shrugged. A table of white stone appeared before them, two stools on either side. Omoikane took a seat. A bowl of strange fruits of impossible shapes and colors appeared between them. "Do try the pyramidal brown one. I believe it tastes like a cross between what you humans call a pineapple and a strawberry."

Sarada eyed the fruit like a brandished sword. "They're not real, of course," Omoikane added pleasantly. "But the taste can be simulated. If I recall correctly, they are a personal favorite of your little raijū."

Sarada blinked. "My little... what?" she asked.

Omoikane quirked his head at her. "The blond one," he said. "Bolt Uzumaki."

Sarada frowned. "Bolt is not my little anything," she replied tersely. "Why do you call him a... raijū?" The word tasted foreign on her tongue.

"Beasts as tall as a man, wreathed in lightning? They hunt men for sport to feast upon their navels? The children of Lord Raijin himself?" Omoikane explained. "You don't have those?"

Sarada stared blankly at him. "I don't think we do," she deadpanned.

"Huh," Omoikane huffed. "How fortunate of you. They are a bit of a pest on our homeworld. They are nightmarishly quick on their feet and ferocious in battle. Ever since Lord Raijin disappeared, they've been in quite the rage."

Curiosity was eating at her. Sarada couldn't help it. "You said they were the children of Raijin? The god of lightning, thunder, and storms?" she asked.

Omoikane laughed, something high and crystalline and light. It was deceptively beautiful. Sarada flushed at the thought. "I apologize," he said. "You humans have a very odd view on the concept of "gods," though Lord Raijin certainly would have qualified as such by your standards. I knew he had traveled to your homeworld at some point in the distant past, but I had no idea his name and legacy lived on to the present day. Fascinating."

"So he was one of you? An Ōtsutsuki?" Sarada asked.

"Oh, yes," Omoikane nodded. "One of the greatest of us all, I should say. He and his brother, Lord Fūjin, were some of the greatest paragons of our race."

"What happened to them?" Sarada questioned. It wasn't every day you learned that a "god," religiously recognized, was actually real.

"Ah," Omoikane looked crestfallen. "Alas, neither I nor any of my people know. Lord Raijin and Lord Fūjin were the closest of brothers and the fiercest of rivals. Their clashes were legendary, even by our standards. Like all great rivalries, it grew and grew until it became less of a competition and more of a war. They grew apart, their battles growing ever more frequent and more violent, until one day they had their final clash. Such power was their ultimate attack that the sky was rent asunder, exposed to the void beyond the sky, and remains scarred to this very day. Some say they perished in the attack. Others say they were wounded and are biding their time for yet another battle."

Sarada supposed that was one way to view the legend. "And what do you believe?" she asked.

Omoikane smiled fondly, warmly, and in that moment, Sarada couldn't help but feel that he wasn't lying to her or deceiving her. "I believe," he said softly. "That, as all siblings do, they grew to understand one another and rekindled their love. I believe that they had grown weary of the fighting and left for a grand journey, never to be seen again."

Sarada rather liked that idea. It hit a little too close to home for comfort, given Bolt and Himawari's relationship. "I see," she said.

Omoikane nodded. "I suppose I should uphold my end of the bargain. What would you like to know?" he asked.

The easiest question popped into her mind. "Why can't I use—" Sarada was about to call her Mangekyō's ability by name, but realized it would be quite confusing with the man himself standing before her. "—why can't I use our ability on you?"

"Ah," Omoikane clicked his tongue. "A difficult question to answer. Have you divined the truth of our shared ability's nature?"

Sarada pursed her lips. "I assumed I was just... seeing the future? Reading timelines, I guess?" she ventured.

Omoikane chuckled softly. "Alas, if only it were such a powerful ability," he said. "No, I'm afraid the truth of the matter is much less fascinating. You see, before anything else, I am a philosopher. Long, long ago, I stumbled upon a thought while attempting to unravel the mystery of creation. My people do not believe in "gods," as yours do. If there ever was such a being, it has surely left us to our own devices. That still left the question: where do we come from and why do we exist?"

Sarada nodded and followed along. Omoikane was surprisingly passionate in his explanation.

"I was contemplating that very question when I had an idea," Omoikane continued. "You see, I was already beginning to develop what would become our shared ability at the time. Of course, I had originally intended it to be a very different technique. Something to help me organize my thoughts, keep information neat and sorted. That all changed when I considered the nature of reality. Perhaps, I thought, we were merely a dream? An illusion. A _simulation_ , if you will. My people have certainly developed techniques of a similar nature, though far, far lesser in scale and power."

Sarada swallowed. She could read between the lines. The Seventh had told her enough— Infinite Tsukuyomi.

"Naturally, it alarmed me greatly that I could be nothing more than a simulated consciousness, a mere character crafted from a wisp of another's chakra," Omoikane said gravely. "Thus, I set out to discover the truth of the matter. You know the weaknesses of all illusions, yes?"

Sarada nodded. "You need to craft the illusion. If it's not realistic enough, the victim will realize it's an illusion and break free. The more detail you add, the stronger the illusion, and the more chakra you need to use," she answered.

Omoikane nodded, a pleased smile on his lips. "Correct," he said. "And creating a fully rendered illusion takes a great deal of chakra, doesn't it? We tend to take shortcuts."

Sarada nodded. "Not creating details of the illusion that the victim is unlikely to see until they need to see it," she said.

"Indeed," Omoikane agreed. "Thus, I approached the the problem of a simulated reality in the same manner. If it truly was an illusion, even an incredibly advanced and powerful one, it should still hold to the same vulnerabilities. By forcing the illusion to render more and more, and thus use more and more chakra, I hoped to eventually reach the threshold upon which the illusion would unravel, make mistakes, or render incorrectly. Thus I created our shared technique, the pinnacle of the Sharingan's predictive ability: a simulation of reality unto itself."

Sarada blinked owlishly. "I— we're simulating reality? That's how we see the future?"

"Correct," Omoikane nodded. "Our ability is simply the simulation of reality using our cumulative knowledge of creation. The mortal mind is capable of retaining a great deal of subconscious information. It taps that, and more, to create the simulation. Physics, astronomy, climatology, chemistry, biology, economics, psychology, sociology, and so much more. All can be broken down into logical, mathematical data, to be manipulated as we see fit. The more data we have, the more accurate our simulation. And, in the case where we have little or no data..."

"The fog," Sarada concluded.

Omoikane smiled fondly. "Yes," he said. "The fog. Unfortunately, our ability is not perfect. Some beings and things simply defy all logic. The simulation cannot render them or their actions, though we can create a simulation of the simulation of their actions. I clever workaround, if inaccurate, I've found."

"What kind of things can't we simulate?" Sarada pressed. She was finally learning the truth of her ability and its actual weakness, not just a flaw in her usage as Bolt had deduced.

"It depends," Omoikane said. "For me, there is very little. I know of only two such beings that I cannot simulate. There are certain techniques, for example, that defy mortal comprehension. Techniques that reach beyond the mortal coil, or techniques that are so chaotic in nature that not even their wielder understands fully. Things of that nature. For you, I imagine there is a great deal that you will be exposed to that you will be unable to simulate easily or quickly."

Sarada nodded idly. "So," she sighed. "Did you ever figure out if we lived in a simulation?"

Omoikane frowned. "Alas, I have not," he said. "Though I believe it is safe to say that we do not. I have pushed the limits of my own simulations far enough that we should have seen some malfunction in the illusion, if that were the case."

Silence yawned between them. Omoikane idly began peeling the strange pyramidal fruit he had said Bolt, apparently, liked, or would come to like, anyway. The brown skin gave way to soft orange flesh. Omoikane took a slice for himself before offering the rest to her. Sarada smiled thinly and shook her head. No fucking way was she eating anything he offered her.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Sarada demanded. "We're enemies, you know."

Omoikane hummed. "You humans have a saying, I believe. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,' if I recall correctly," he quoted.

Sarada wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

* * *

 **February 18th, 0025 AIT**

Mitsuki tried to hide his small smile as a visibly nervous and disturbed Yamato stuttered out a report to him and his father. Orochimaru wore a wide, feral grin that bared teeth that seemed to make the aging man all the more nervous. The contents of the message, however, were grim. His Sun was on the move once more, orbiting through the sky, his light touching all.

Bolt was hunting the Tailed Beasts and everyone who was anyone knew that could only mean bad things. Even Orochimaru, even him. Mitsuki was worried.

"So," his father hissed. "You've come for my help, have you?"

"Y-Yes," Yamato stuttered.

"Hmm," Orochimaru hummed. "Five of the Nine Tailed Beasts in the hands of a genius on a crusade? That _does_ bode ill for all involved, even me."

His father's slitted eyes fell on him and Mitsuki stilled. "Mitsuki," Orochimaru hissed casually. "Why don't you go see if you can't help tame that unruly Sun of yours."

Mitsuki nodded as nerves blossomed within his chest. He had not seen Bolt in a long, long time. "Alright," he agreed.

Orochimaru chuckled darkly. "Run along then, Mitsuki," he hissed. "I'm sure Yamato is eager to be on his way."

The brown-haired man practically dragged him from his father's mountainous hideout. Mitsuki smiled wryly.

"Wait," his father's cold voice, uncharacteristically sober, rang out. Mitsuki froze. "Be careful, Mitsuki. Your Sun is more alike us than you think. He's a snake, hiding in the grass, biding his time and hiding his strength. You remember the story I told you, yes?"

Mitsuki nodded stiffly. The man who had flown too close to the sun and been burned. Seeing that his father had nothing left to impart, Mitsuki turned and follow Yamato out of their mountainous hideout. He heard his father's low, grating laughter drift through the air.

"Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, indeed."

* * *

 **February 23rd, 0025 AIT**

Bolt gazed _through_ the scrap of parchment that sat before him. Tsuchigumo and his army of puppet spies had finally discovered the location of the Six-Tails— an event worthy of praise had it not been for his meddling friends guarding the Tailed Beast. Sarada had, as he had expected, been freed and pardoned, conscripted to fight against him. And therein lied his trouble: Bolt had yet to devise a counter to her precognitive abilities. If Sarada was guarding the Six-Tails, using her Mangekyō to foresee when they would attack, then there was no hope of capturing the Tailed Beast.

Bolt stood before a fork in his path. To the left, he could abandon his aim of freeing the world from the vicious, cannibalistic circle of power that the Tailed Beasts represented. To the right... to the right, he could spring the trap. So what if Sarada knew he was coming? He was the Thunder God— wrathful, overwhelming, unstoppable. If Sarada knew he was coming, let her tremble. Knowing he was coming would not stop him. In the face of overwhelming power, all his friends could do was cower and try to weather the storm as he took what he wanted, what he deserved.

This time, there would be no holding back. Sarada and Shikadai had proved themselves worthy of facing the Thunder God. They had elevated themselves from thorns in his side to enemies of his future of global peace, order, and stability. And, like Kakashi, Tsunade, and the Kage before them, they too would need to be removed if his dream was to ever come to fruition.

"It's a trap and you know it, Bolt," Hikari said firmly.

"I know," Bolt answered.

"What's our next move then?" Hikari pressed.

Bolt paused, standing before the fork in his path. Left or right? That was the question.

"We spring the trap," Bolt decreed.

Sarada might be luring him into a trap, but Bolt was determined to make them pay for every drop of blood. Theirs was not the only trap that was to be sprung. The first of his shock troopers were ready to be tested in the fires of war.

* * *

 **February 23rd, 0025 AIT**

Sarada gasped, strangling the noise in her throat as it rose. Time bowed, penitent, the threads of her simulations unravelling and reforming themselves. Doors opened and doors closed as people— the Akatsuki and her friends— made their future choices. Pressure mounted behind her eyes as each future became darker and darker, Bolt more desperate and feral in each one. The future was in motion and it was up to her to guide them through its turbulent waters.

"Noon," Sarada intoned. The others, gathered around the campfire, looked up sharply. "Bolt will be here at noon, tomorrow, with the entirety of the Akatsuki."

Shikadai swore colorfully. He began to rattle off plans and strategies to the rest of the team. Sarada ignored him— anything he could and would say would be laid bare before he Mangekyō. She had a far graver and more important task: fooling both Bolt and her friends. If what Omoikane had shown her was true, which Sarada believed it was, corroborated by the Seventh as it was, then the coming war between humanity and the Ōtsutsuki was one that would be long and bloody. If Bolt had a part to play, she was determined to see him play it.

She wouldn't let Bolt capture the Tailed Beasts. Not yet, at least. She would impede his progress, slow him down, but she wouldn't stop him, she wouldn't capture him. She would play both sides, ensuring her friends thought they were fighting the good fight and Bolt was slowly but surely advancing towards his goal. Little did either party know they would be dancing in the palm of her hand as she gazed down at them with all-seeing eyes.

That was what it meant to be Hokage. One who beared the burdens others couldn't. One who endured. One who sacrificed. Sarada could be that person. She had proved it already. She had done what was necessary when she freed Bolt. She would prove it again, if need be. For as benevolent as the Seventh was, for as cunning as Shikadai and his father were, Sarada couldn't trust them with the future. Not when her eyes pierced the veil and saw the apocalypse that loomed before them.

No, if humanity was to have a chance at survival, Sarada knew she had to be perfect. She had to be the guiding hand, the puppeteer behind the scene, the chess master moving every piece according to a grand strategy that only she knew. She was the only one who could do it. Someone else would falter, someone else would get it wrong. In this, she was alone.

In this, Sarada would not allow herself to fail.

"We'll need Himawari," Sarada told her team.

Shikadai paused, brows narrowed. "It'll take her some time to get here from where the Seven-Tails is. She might not even make it in time for the battle. Are you sure we need her?" he asked.

Sarada nodded, eyes following the fraying threads of her simulations. Himawari wouldn't make it to the battle, true, but she would be invaluable for what came after. "Yes," she confirmed.

"Troublesome," Shikadai swore. He, and the rest of their team, turned to face the mountainous body of the Six-Tails that loomed behind them. "Er, Saiken, could you please..."

" **Of course,"** the Tailed Beast squelched. Sarada moved away from a trail of slime that she was dangerously close to stepping in. **"Done. Chōmei has passed on your message to Himawari."**

"Thank you," Shikadai bowed. Sarada murmured her thanks along with her team. She still wasn't comfortable with the idea of the Tailed Beasts being as intelligent as a human.

The night was quiet after that. Nothing but the sound of chirping crickets and babbling water. Overhead, the night sky twinkled with a thousand stars and colors. Barely visible were the nearly destroyed monolithic statues of the founders of the Leaf: Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha.

Sarada closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tomorrow, the Valley of the End would bear witness to yet another climactic battle between two great foes.

* * *

 **February 24th, 0025 AIT**

Mitsuki nervously paced. He wasn't the only one, either. The team was barely able to wait in silence, let alone stand still. The sun crept higher and higher and the time got later and later. Sarada remained adamant: Bolt would attack at noon. Which was, by his estimation, mere minutes away. Mere minutes until he would once more gaze upon his Sun. Despite his nerves, Mitsuki smiled at the thought.

He felt them before they arrived. Mitsuki could feel the way the natural energy around them parted. And, in the void of its wake, space began to coil in on itself. He reached deep within him, readying himself for battle, tapping into the power of his Sage Transformation and letting the energy of the world fill him with its power. Years of training and practice made the transformation effortless and seamless— no longer did his body suffer any unnatural physical transformation. Now he was simply wreathed in a writhing mass of spectral blue-green chakra that took the form of nebulous, wispy serpents.

His Sun, heralding the new Akatsuki, winked into existence. They were garbed in black robes dotted with red clouds, coiled and ready to attack. Mitsuki felt, more than saw, his own team slip into their own formations. Bolt's eyes, a pale violet, fell on him and Mitsuki shivered.

"Wait!" Shikadai called out. Every pair of eyes on the soon-to-be battlefield fell on him.

Mitsuki saw Chōchō and Inojin inch closer to their leader to defend him. Shikadai held a furled scroll aloft, paused a moment, and then hurled it at the red-haired swordsman of the Akatsuki. Before it could even come close, a chain of flaming violet chakra, thin as a finger, speared it. Mitsuki eyed his Sun as Bolt twitched a finger and the chain receded. Mitsuki had not thought Bolt had achieved such a mastery of the Uzumaki clan's chains. His father had been very thorough in his education of the technique, given that Karin had been able to use a similar, albeit weaker, version of it.

"It's a message from Master Nishimura," Shikadai shouted.

Bolt tilted his head before idly passing the scroll to Tetsu. The moment the furled parchment touched the giant man's hand, it winked out of existence. Mitsuki inhaled on instinct as the air became pungent and sweet— ozone. Lightning crackled from the tips of his Sun's fingertips to his hair.

"Before we start," Shikadai interrupted— bravely, or more likely, foolishly. "I want to ask you a question, Bolt."

"I came here to fight, not to talk, Shika," Bolt intoned gravely. Mitsuki inched forward as the blond's skin began to glow a faint blue-white with chakra.

Shikadai ignored him. "My dad had some wise words that helped me through the aftermath of your escape," he explained. "He told me that every ninja was like a piece on a chessboard. We all have our roles to play. Lady Tsunade—" Mitsuki did not miss how his Sun twitched at the name. "—had her role to play, and we had ours. So I want to ask you: who do you think the 'King' of the Leaf is?"

Bolt let out a breathy sigh. "The Hokage, obviously," he drawled.

Shikadai chuckled under his breath. "That's what I said too," he said. "At first, anyway. My dad had a very different opinion. One that explained Lady Tsunade's actions in a way no one else could. He said Lady Tsunade was a Queen— versatile, unstoppable, the greatest sword and greatest shield of the King. So who was the King? Who was the person the Queen was willing to die to save? It was us. Chōchō and Inojin. The next generation. That's who the 'King' is. It made me realize something, too. So long as the next generation carries on the ideals of the Leaf, you will never win. Give up, Bolt. Please. If not for yourself, then for Himawari. She needs her brother back."

Mitsuki quirked a brow as Bolt paused. The blond's shoulders dipped, then rose, then dipped again. A low sound, like rumbling thunder, escaped his lips, and Mitsuki realized he was laughing. "Let me speak in terms you'll understand, Shika," his Sun said tersely as lightning crackled through his hair. "Life isn't a game of chess. I thought my previous lesson would have made that abundantly clear. In war, both sides don't have the same pieces. In war, both sides aren't playing by the same set of rules. But let me humor you. Let me tell you the difference between you and I. If _you_ were a piece, you would be a Pawn. You see, pawns see only their comrades at their sides and their enemies across the battlefield. Me? I am a King. My view is of the board is much different. My enemies are all around me. A Queen to the left, a Bishop to the right, a Pawn before me. All trapping me. All preventing me from getting what I want. You see, Shikadai, chess is like war. It's all about sacrificing as little of your own pieces as possible to achieve victory."

Shikadai scoffed. "You think you're the King of the Leaf?" he asked.

Bolt shook his head and smiled, wide and grim. "I think I'm going to be the King of the entire world, Shikadai— rolling thunder formation."

Before Mitsuki could even blink, Bolt was garbed in his Lightning Armor and Tetsu had produced two longswords with wicked curved fangs from thin air. Both men were shrouded in screaming electricity as they lunged at Mitsuki— darting past him, heading for Sarada.

"Ignore them, Mitsuki!" Sarada's shrill command echoed above the din of battle.

Mitsuki faltered but lunged forward, sprinting at the remaining members of the Akatsuki. The no-longer-masked woman had her hands up, fingers splayed and clawed, grasping at something Mitsuki could neither see nor sense. Whatever it was, he knew letting her do it wouldn't be beneficial to their cause. He lunged at her.

Before he could so much as throw a fist forward, a massive blue-purple blade of chakra winked into existence before him and attempted to spear him through. Mitsuki grunted as he was impaled, the spectral steel catching in his wispy natural energy armor. The blade retreated, heralded by an explosion of fiery orange-red chakra behind him as Sarada donned her Susano'o, and Mitsuki had just enough time to raise his head to see a pair of crossed fingers before his eyes.

"Hey, Whitey!" one of the Akiyama sisters— he wasn't sure which— said. Then she snapped her fingers and his world exploded.

* * *

 **February 24th, 0025 AIT**

Sarada grunted as her blood stilled in her veins. She knew it was coming, saw it was coming, and managed to prepare herself to fight against it. Still, it was painful. The flames of her Susano'o licked at her skin as she called forth her spectral guardian to block the dual attacks of Bolt and Tetsu. Both men crashed against the armored ribs of her construct, an echoing boom of thunder heralding their strikes as pointed fingers and thrusted swords met spectral bone and steel. Sarada commanded her Susano'o to slam a fist down upon Hikari, forcing the woman to cease her so-called "Blood Release" technique, as Bolt and Tetsu circled around her.

Sarada turned to follow them. Tetsu withdrew the Bluntsword, tossing the Thunderswords skyward, and placed the axe of the Bluntsword against the spinal column of her Susano'o before slamming the hammer down. The resulting strike caused her armor to be rent asunder and her spectral guardian's bones to be crushed. Bolt, fast as his moniker, lunged through the opening and thrust a fist of lightning in her face, aiming for her eyes. Sarada's heart hammered in her chest as she casually leaned back, dodging, and kicked Bolt in the chest as she ejected him from the innards of her Susano'o.

If there was one thing she liked about the man Bolt had become, it was that fighting him was never boring. He treated her like a serious threat, he respected her, and in return, Sarada couldn't help but respect him.

Bolt and Tetsu were on their feet and circling her again, still garbed in their respective Lightning Armors, and the crimson-haired swordsman again attempted to hew her armor with the Bluntsword. Sarada didn't let him. Her free arm came down, shattering stone, forcing the both of them to leap away. Sarada raised her construct's other arm, blocking a chakra-enhanced punch from Hikari that dented armor and nearly broke bone.

"Tetsu! Hikari!" Bolt barked. "Encircle and ensnare formation!"

Sarada raised both forearms of her Susano'o as Tetsu leapt at her from one side and Hikari from the other. She deftly blocked both strikes as Bolt stood before her, legs astride, thrusting hands forward as spiked, fiery chains of violet chakra lunged at her. Sarada smiled as chains of gold erupted from the ground, tangling amongst their more sinister brethren and preventing them from harrying her, by comparison, much slower Susano'o.

Kohaku broke away from where Mitsuki, Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō were fighting the rumored-but-unconfirmed S-class combat puppet of Tsuchigumo and the Akiyama sisters. There wasn't any sign of—

"Lord Jashin!" Sarada turned, keeping her eyes on the battlefield, as Hidan charged from some hidden place and joined the fray. Absent, however, she noted, was his keeper, Yasuo. In fact, she did not see him among any of the fraying threads of time that her Mangekyō could see. He wasn't, and wouldn't, be a part of the battle. Hidan went straight for Shikadai, alarming his team.

That was when the trees began to erupt from the ground as Captain Yamato, safely hidden away and defended, made his presence known.

Bolt slammed into the spectral chestplate of her Susano'o, an audible growl echoing in her ears as he attempted to shear through her armor with an arm wreathed in screaming lightning. There was a feral quality in his battle rage, only added to by the animalistic scarring of his cheeks, and for a moment, Sarada could see why Omoikane had called Bolt a "little raijū." As he withdrew, a spike of metal pierced through the small rent in her armor, erupting into her inner sanctum. Sarada stared, cross-eyed, at the Needlesword, stopped mere inches from her skull.

Bolt was barking orders as Sarada brought the arms of her Susano'o down on him and his Right and Left Hands. "Keep her busy!" he shouted, violet and gold chains continuing to clash. "I'll deal with Kohaku!"

Sarada easily batted away a thunderous kick by Hikari and endured a searing, fiery Flash that made the air within her Susano'o uncomfortable hot. Bolt and Kohaku were fighting— more of a dance, really. And, finally, Sarada understood the true nature of the Uzumaki taijutsu style: it was to accommodate the chains. The two Uzumaki men danced, circling, like whirlpools, sweeping legs and arms, their chains mirroring them where they protruded from their lower backs. Like a skilled fishermen hauling in a catch, Bolt and Kohaku formed elaborate nets and traps with their chakra chains as they attempted to corner the other and seal their chakra.

Sarada lashed out with a spectral fist as Bolt cornered a twirl and hurled a Rasenshinsei into the midst of Yamato's impromptu forest. The attack detonated with a thunderous boom that resonated in her ears and heart, but did little else. Sarada paid little attention to the other half of the battle, save for making sure none of her friends perished. Of which, she thought extremely unlikely— Hidan had orders, once again, to capture Shikadai, and Mitsuki was a powerhouse that, even four-on-one, the Akatsuki were struggling to keep at bay. With the help of Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō, it was likely— probable, even— that they would emerge victorious.

And then Sarada had no more time to spare for her comrades. She felt the ghostly energies of Hikari's 'Blood Release' seeping into her body once more. Sarada fought against it, leapt out of the way, her Susano'o mirroring her. Sarada leapt skyward, traveling along the spinal column, coming to rest in the skull of her construct. There, she inhaled deeply. When Sarada exhaled, she unleashed a storm of fire upon her opponents that spewed from her construct's lips.

Hikari leapt forward to challenge her and spat a rising column of water that met her fire in an explosion of steam. Sarada moved, raising an arm, as the woman leapt to the side and spat a crashing wave forth that broke upon her Susano'o. Armored as she was, Sarada weathered the attack and the screaming lightning that danced across the waves as Tetsu unleashed an electric Flash with his Thunderswords.

Sarada's eyes widened as she backpedalled, a fiery violet chain spearing past her. Bolt stood, legs astride, arms raised, his features locked in rigorous concentration as eleven chains whipped at Kohaku. She frowned, amending her predictions. Bolt was pushing himself harder than she had thought he would. Shocked as she was, Sarada did not react to Hikari lunging at her until a chakra-enhanced fist struck her Susano'o in the jaw, shattering it and nearly exposing her body within.

Sarada turned, pivoting on the 'base' of her construct's spinal column, backhanding Hikari and slamming her into the ground. Tetsu was in her face, hacking at her Susano'o and trying to cleave through its armored neck—

Then Bolt was attacking her savagely, a clone— now garbed with one of the masks he used for his 'Paths' of Pain— did battle with Kohaku. Only, instead of chains, Bolt's clone took the form of a woman— and, Sarada supposed, female Bolt was quite... striking, to say the least— and used wispy lengths of ornamental cloth in lieu of chains.

Sarada reeled as her Susano'o was struck full force by a charging Bolt, clad in Thunder God Mode and nothing more than a strike of lightning, and then he was physical again, striking her spectral armor in the smoking rent he had dealt it.

All this and more she had foreseen, and all that and more she had been prepared to strike down. Sarada reached within herself, calling for the ghostly weapon that sang in the memories of her chakra. The Heavenly Jewelled Spear answered as she raised all four of the arms of her Susano'o. Bolt, Hikari, and Tetsu were wide-eyed as the spear erupted into existence with a roar of spectral fire. The power the spear possessed, so alien, indescribable in her or any tongue, yet mastered by her and her alone with ease, welled within Sarada. She swung the spear, projecting a wall of pure force that could not be denied. The three members of the Akatsuki arrayed before he fled before the might of the full power of her Mangekyō, but it was not enough. Sarada caught them all, her power undeniable, and hurled them from the battlefield in a tidal wave of upturned earth and trees.

Bolt recovered first. He thundered at her, fully immersed in his technique, the Thunder God roared a clap of thunder that heralded his charge. Sarada thrust forward her spear, parting the air, sending the Thunder God astray. The four arms of her Susano'o expertly spun the spear, as if she had wielded the weapon since birth, her foresight having long since seen the actions of Bolt far in advance. She struck him down, crushing him beneath a crushing weight of pure force.

Hikari struck her from behind as Sarada dealt with the true threat. Fiery tattooed lines marred her pale skin, as red as blood, her strength amplified a hundredfold and more. Sheer physicality crushed the armor of her construct and shattered its bones. It was a simple matter to pour more chakra into her Susano'o, to heal it of its wounds, to swing her spear and strike the woman down with an attack that even the Seventh would fall before. Sarada crushed her into the dirt and the stone, threatening to grind her into dust.

Then she was retreating, moving back and away, her Heavenly Jewelled Spear coming up to bat away twin towers of chakra unleashed by Tetsu and his Twinswords. Each Flash was as powerful as any ninjutsu Sarada had ever seen, dwarfing the impressive height of her Susano'o three times over. Still, before the majesty of her spear's power, all things were turned aside.

Bolt was glaring up at her, teeth gritted, white eyes so very wide and angry and thrilled all at the same time. And he had only eyes for her, and Sarada revelled in it. His eyes drifted past her, back through the Valley of the End, where Hashirama and Madara, scarred but still standing, stood over the dwindling river. There, above them, perched upon the lip of the lake, was the Six-Tails, watching over the battle and under the guard of her mother, Yamato, Lee, and his team, Team Two. Sarada was loathe to have had to call Metal, Iwabe, and Denki away from the battle in the west. Alas, Metal and his father were the most powerful taijutsu users the Leaf had to field. They were some of the few who could dare stand before the raging storm that was the Thunder God.

Sarada heard, saw, the words before they left Bolt's lips. "Go for the Six-Tails, Tetsu!" he barked.

Sarada wouldn't let him. All it took was a twirl and a slash of her spear, a wall of inviolable force, and the crimson-haired swordsman was flung across the battlefield like he weighed nothing more than a twig.

Bolt howled in fury, a clap of thunder echoing across the battlefield, and he lunged at her wreathed in lightning.

He didn't even get close.

"Leaf Hurricane!" Metal and his father shouted, emerging from the trees. They were twin blurs of flaming green chakra, perfect mirrors of each other, their kicks faster than the eye could follow. Bolt was hit high and low, his guard shattered, his legs swept from beneath him. Metal and his father struck Bolt from below with powerful kicks, sending him skyward, and Sarada raised her spear in preparation. "Primary Lotus!" the father and son chanted, leaping skyward, grasping hands finding their way through screaming lightning to grip at Bolt's body.

Bolt hit the ground with a thunderous crack of stone that echoed across the valley and Sarada brought her spear down, crushing him. All eyes found their way to them, battles pausing for but a moment before the chaos of war returned and the combatants began again with renewed vigor.

Lightning blossomed all around them, forcing Metal and his father to leap away lest they be charred and turned to ash. Sarada didn't fear for them, empowered as they were by the Seventh Gate, the Gate of Wonder. And, truly, they were a wonder to behold.

Bolt emerged from the hole from whence he had been sent, his robes tattered, his lips pulled back in a wordless snarl that bared teeth. The scars upon his cheeks were darkened and inflamed, bestial in a way that Sarada had never seen Himawari's nor the Seventh's. Bolt reached up, a hand finding its way between the folds of his robe as he tore it free and discarded it. He wore nothing but a shirt of mail beneath, the metal glowing as electricity arced through it. His skin was dotted with inky designs that Sarada's Sharingan traced eagerly. The swirling storage seal on his forearm, the triangular branches on his chest, and a square upon his ribs that seemed to cause the nearby veins to turn black.

Sarada grew grim as the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva began to spread, burning red-orange as it snaked across pale skin before turning an inky black color as it settled. White eyes were aflame with the thrill of battle as gold lightning licked at Bolt's skin.

Now, Sarada knew, the battle had truly begun.

* * *

 **February 24th, 0025 AIT**

It was hard to see his childhood friend, Metal mused, compared to the man Bolt had become. Bolt had always been a little withdrawn, a little sad, a little quiet. Looking back on it, Metal could see the seed of darkness that had been planted in his heart at a young age. And blossom that seed had. Bolt had always been good, Metal knew. Hell, Bolt had been the one to help him overcome his shyness. To be comfortable with his father's eccentric personality and one-trick fighting style. But _this_ Bolt, the one before him, was something else entirely. A once-in-a-thousand years genius. A peerless ninja with no equal under heaven. It took the combined might of him, his father, and Sarada to keep him from blitzing the field and overrunning their slower, more vulnerable teammates.

Metal stood, tensed, at his father's side, eying the crater inside which he knew Bolt would crawl from. Because there was no doubt in his mind that their attacks had been enough to put down the most superb ninja Metal had ever had the privilege of laying eyes upon. And emerge Bolt did. Akatsuki robe tattered, he discarded it, a maniacal look drawing his lips back to bare teeth. A burning tattoo of inky darkness snaked across his pale skin, the blue-white Lightning Armor he was garbed in was subsumed by a brilliant yellow-gold electricity.

The Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva.

"Mitsuki!" Sarada shouted shrilly across the battlefield.

Bolt _moved_. Metal, his body tearing itself to shreds using the Seventh Gate, could just barely keep up. He couldn't fathom how Bolt could stand to move at such a speed without damaging his own body. Years upon years of practice using the technique, the very act of its use training his body to withstand the rigors of the jutsu? The Lightning Armor, inadvertently, may have been very much akin to the weights he and his father wore. A constant tax on their body, strengthening it over and over and over until they were as fast with the weights as they were without.

Metal blocked a lightning-fast jab, two fingers of the Gentle Fist thrusted towards his temples. Bolt would have scrambled his brains. The attacks came, again, just as fast, and it was all Metal could do to defend himself while his father went on the offensive.

All of a sudden, Kohaku sailed through the air. Metal blinked, the Yagami woman having attacked him whilst the clone of Bolt distracted him. The clone's opponent dispatched, it disappeared, and Bolt roared a battle cry, a metallic thunderous clap, and charged. Metal blocked the first thrust, missed the second, and earned a boot of crackling lightning to the chest for his troubles. The air rushed from his lungs in a great gasp and Bolt loomed over him, poised to strike the final blow, only to be stopped as his father kicked him away. Sarada had disembarked from her Susano'o, entering the fray herself, somehow avoiding every strike Bolt sent her way and managing to score a few hits of her own.

Metal got to his feet, chest aching, coming to his father's aid. Bolt struck at his father, the strike breaking against his guard, only to leave a crackling sphere of gold lightning as his arm withdrew. The sphere expanded rapidly, exploding outwards, and his father was knocked from his feet and sent careening down the valley towards the river. Metal knew his father would recover and charged to Sarada's aid as she faced off against Bolt alone.

Metal launched at him with a high kick, forcing a block, and Sarada spun on the balls of her feet, conjuring her Susano'o once more, swinging her spear in the same motion and knocking Bolt skyward with the sheer power of its swing. Metal was on him in an instant, hands grasping and burning as golden lightning licked at his skin, grappling Bolt and hurling him into the ground with another Primary Lotus.

Bolt growled something feral, unleashing a blade of golden lightning that nearly speared him through, and then he was attacking Sarada again, trying to gouge out her eyes. He didn't even get close, though, to Metal's relief. Sarada blocked him with the flat of her spear's blade, slamming him against the ground. At the same time, a colossal boulder of worn stone crashed into the bank near him, with it coming the familiar shape of the Akatsuki's giant swordsman. Sarada twirled her spear casually, a small, pleased smile turning the corners of her lips upwards.

She was controlling the entire fight, Metal realized, and he felt a second wind coming as the battle did not appear as close as it had mere seconds ago. Sarada's unique telekinesis— for that was all Metal could call it— and Captain Yamato's Wood Release provided a nigh impassable barrier between the battlefield and the Six-Tails. For which, Metal was eternally grateful. His teammates, Iwabe and Denki, were strong, but they had no place on a battlefield with the likes of Bolt. They held back, with Lady Sakura, a last line of defense, defending the Six-Tails and their team's medic, well protected by Sarada, Yamato, and Kohaku.

Bolt stood before them, growling and heaving for breath, something angry in his white eyes. They flicked skyward, and before Metal could even comprehend the movement, lightning was made flesh and Bolt was above them, trying to get at the Six-Tails himself. He shattered against an invisible wall, stray arcs of screaming lightning arcing randomly in every direction.

With a wave of her spear, Sarada sent a roiling storm of lightning careening away from the Tailed Beast. She tapped the butt of the spear against the stone, eliciting an echoing thud of finality. As if she was chiding Bolt for his futility.

Metal stepped forward, his father rejoining the battle at his side, confident in their victory as Bolt took physical form before them.

* * *

 **February 24th, 0025 AIT**

They were losing.

It was unacceptable. Unthinkable. Battle rage clouded his thoughts, but Bolt knew his Akatsuki was being pushed back. Tetsu couldn't get past the combination of the Wood Release user's meddling, whatever fūinjutsu traps Kohaku had laid, and whatever the damned telekinesis Sarada had awakened. Hikari was dealing with Kohaku, preventing him from interfering with his fight with Sarada, and Kagami, Kagari, Tsuchigumo, and Hidan were only barely holding a far more powerful Mitsuki than he remembered.

They were going to lose unless he did something. This battle was a marathon, not a sprint, and he had been reluctant to drain his reserves using Thunder God Mode, but now he had little choice in the matter. If he was fortunate, Sarada would be unable to use her strange ability to bar his passage.

Bolt set his eyes on the Six-Tails looming in the distance, forming his path in his mind's eye, and flesh was made lightning as he thundered forward. He had barely covered more than a few yards before he slammed into something, his path shattering, his electrical avatar coming undone at the seams. Then something, an inviolable wall of force, was pushing him away, slamming him into the ground where he reformed, physical once more.

What did Sarada's spear do? How did it work? Every technique had a weakness, a limitation. It couldn't be all powerful. Was its range limited? What about the force it could bring to bear? Was there a limit in how long she could sustain it, or how often it could be used? Was there a limit to how much force it could project or withstand? How much chakra and concentration did it take to use and maintain?

All questions that flittered through Bolt's mind as he stood. He refused to lose. Too much rested on victory. The Akatsuki could not afford to be defeated in the capture of the last Tailed Beasts. The Six-Tails, and the rest of its demonic brethren, must be sealed away if the world were to have a real chance at peace. More than that, the Akatsuki could not suffer the loss of one or more of its members. Bolt had too few people he could trust to carry out his orders. Ultimately, he was one man. And one man could not wage a war against the entire world. Even if he could, Bolt would never surrender his friends. The people that had come to like the true him. The him that the rest of the world feared.

So Bolt would hold nothing back. This would be his trial. He would sever the last bonds that connected him to his past, and in doing so, make way for his new world order. He would not lose. He would not fail.

Above all, he would not fail. Bolt would rather die than go back to being a failure.

He would have to sink to depths he had yet to sink to. Desperate times called for desperate measures; untested and dangerous techniques. It was a bit to reminiscent of his time under Orochimaru for Bolt's liking. The addictive thrill of power coursing through his veins. It dulled the senses and muddled the mind. A feeling of invincibility that he hadn't felt before or since. Bolt reached deep within himself, tapping into the Cursed Seal that burned his skin and set his blood aflame, a thin barrier between him and the natural energy that would surely mortally wound him should the seal fail.

Bolt sank himself beneath the turbulent waves of its power, basking in the warm glow of his "godhood," sensing the promise of immortality just beyond his reach, and pulled with all his might.

Thunder boomed, heralding his name across the heavens like the emperors of antiquity.

And the Thunder God walked the Earth once more, generously sharing his gift with all that would stand before him.

* * *

 **February 24th, 0025 AIT**

Mitsuki blocked a swing from the psychopathic zealot's scythe with his forearm, the crude metal unable to pierce the shroud of natural chakra he wore nor his durable skin beneath. Kagami and Kagari rushed him, manic grins stretching their lips thin, eyes alight with bloodlust as they rained explosions and gouts of molten rock down upon him. Those, too, he turned aside, blocked or destroyed by one of his spectral serpents before they could pose a danger to him or his armor. Shikadai, Inojin, and Chōchō were working on disabling Hidan while he dealt with the Akiyama sisters and, worse, the human puppet crafted from the corpse of one Danzō Shimura.

The puppeteer was, unfortunately, the greatest threat in the battle. Mitsuki had been warned by his father of the dangers the man Danzō had been posed. Strong, quick, with greater-than-average chakra reserves and a natural compatibility with the Senju cell line. The puppet retained the body's devastating Wind Release techniques and used them to great effectiveness. Augmented by puppetry, Mitsuki also had to dodge all manner of ninja tools, poisons, traps, and devices that Tsuchigumo brought to bear.

But worse? Worse was being unable to even look at his opponent. For, nestled in the right eye of the puppet, was a Mangekyō Sharingan. Tsuchigumo didn't use its ability— conjuring strange spectral weapons of indigo fire from thin air— often, and Mitsuki knew it was because someone who was not an Uchiha could never use their clan's eyes with ease, but the puppeteer made efficient use of its ability to cast illusions and predict his movements. And while Mitsuki was certain that it was not the eye of Itachi Uchiha, and therefore capable of casting the ultimate illusion, Tsukuyomi, it was nonetheless a distraction he could not afford.

And all the while he was slowly but surely sapping natural energy from the surrounding landscape, depriving Bolt of his greatest weapon. It was a difficult battle on both fronts. The Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva was greedy. It devoured natural energy gluttonously, heedless of the damage it caused to the surrounding nature. It was reluctant to release the energy that it did devour and Mitsuki had to fight it for every particle of energy that there was to be had. It was a task of utmost importance, according to Sarada, for without his interference, Bolt could simply enter into a contest of chakra reserves between the two of them. One in which she would lose.

Mitsuki would not allow that to happen. Bolt was his Sun, but Sarada was his friend, too. He was loathe to lose her to the brilliant radiance of Bolt.

Hidan lunged at him after kicking away Inojin, savagely swinging his scythe with abandon and screeching gleefully. Mitsuki slapped the weapon away and lashed out with a kick that struck the side of the insane man's knee, shattering it with an audible crack. Hidan cried out in ecstasy or agony, Mitsuki couldn't tell which, and simply shambled on. Grabbing the immortal by the shredded Akatsuki robes he wore, Mitsuki threw him bodily in front of an explosive spark sent his way courtesy of Kagami. He darted around the explosion, slipping past the elder sister and finding the younger with her guard down. Mitsuki struck Kagari in the chest with a chop, augmented by his shroud of wispy natural chakra, that caused bones to snap. She screamed, dropping to the ground and clutching at her chest.

"Kagari!" her sister cried in alarm.

Mitsuki turned away as Kagami began to unleash a barrage of explosions upon him in an attempt to buy her sister some time and space to recover. Overhead, a towering wave of roaring fire scoured the sparse forest dotting the valley as Tetsu roared a helpless battle cry at the continued harassment of Captain Yamato and his veritable fortress of Wood Release trees that prevented him from getting at the Six-Tails. Thankfully Kohaku was doing a commendable job of keeping Hikari busy whilst Sarada dealt with Bolt. Mitsuki wasn't sure why Metal and his father had broken rank and left the Six-Tails, but he was sure it was under the order of their team's medic. Lady Sakura was quite powerful in her own right and more than capable of defending the Six-Tails alone, let alone with the help of two superb ninja such as Iwabe and Denki.

Mitsuki felt the flow of battle shift in their favor and he was determined to make it a reality. This time... this time his Sun would be his. He gathered the shroud of natural chakra, wispy and serpentine, ready to strike the final series of blows that would bring the battle to an end. Natural chakra coursed through his being, mixing within his core and empowering him, and Mitsuki felt faster and stronger than he had ever been before as he darted forward, weathering the explosions that detonated harmlessly against his armor, and closed the distance between himself and the last of the Akiyama sisters. Mitsuki reared back, fist clenched, and threw his arm forward as Kagami balked in fear and anger. His fist met her stomach and Mitsuki heard a grunt of pain...

And nothing else.

Mitsuki was disarmed as he felt every iota of natural energy within him be sapped and drained away, leached and withered. Kagami, too, was surprised, clearly not expecting mercy nor underperformance, and Mitsuki felt fear blossom in his heart. The shrill cry of terror Sarada screeched, echoing across the battlefield and over the din of combat, made him shiver. "Everyone, get behind me!" she screamed.

Mitsuki snapped to attention, casting his gaze to where Sarada and his Sun had been doing battle. Sarada was garbed in her Susano'o, armed with her spear, a look of supreme doubt marring her features as she leapt and crossed the distance between herself and him. Mitsuki backed away as she landed, Kagami having been forced to leap away lest she be trampled underfoot, the others quickly disengaging, save for Hidan who continued to attack maniacally, heedless of the danger.

Then Mitsuki's eyes found Bolt and he gasped. All the warnings and subtle hints his father had ever uttered about his Sun suddenly rang in his mind, missing pieces of the puzzle finally being put into place. This was what his father had warned him to be careful of. How had Mitsuki not seen it?

The seal branded upon his Sun's pale skin burned and writhed, a fiery orange-red color, expanding as it gorged itself upon a veritable feast of natural energy. It grew, spreading, marring even more of Bolt's aristocratic features as it darkened the skin until it was a sallow, dead gray color. Black bled into the whites of his eyes, infecting the prized dōjutsu of the Hyūga clan like a disease, until they were a tainted parody of the beauty of the All-Seeing White Eye; white iris wreathed in inky dark sclera.

The Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva: Level Two. Just like Jūgo.

Mitsuki kneeled down, scooping a whimpering Kagari into his arms and leaping to safety behind Sarada and her Susano'o. Shikadai managed to catch the shadow of Hidan's scythe and Chōchō slammed a fist as large as she was tall into the undying man, sending him careening down the valley. Tsuchigumo and Kagari had retreated behind Bolt where Hikari and Tetsu had rallied to.

Fiery golden lightning pooled and gathered around Bolt. The air was thick with chakra, cloying, so heavy that the air felt like water. Sarada, too, exerted the full measure of her power, her Susano'o growing its third and fourth arms, its full set of armor, and several malformed angelic wings that curled protectively around her construct's body. Bolt was hunched over, teeth gritted, his left hand clutching at his right wrist as a clap of thunder built in his throat. Sarada drew back her spear, the very air seeming to flow around its head like water. The world grew solemn and quiet as if dreading the coming clash. It was an entirely unnatural feeling.

Mitsuki shuddered.

"And now," Bolt said, voice carrying an echo of thunder. "This... is where you end!"

Sarada thrust her spear forward.

Bolt thrust his palm forward.

They both roared an inhuman battle cry.

Mitsuki hissed and reared back in pain as his eyes were seared by a blinding light. Lightning surged forward, spiralling and cyclical, a beautiful burning gold color. It was omnipresent, obscuring everything before him, and so painfully bright that it made the noon sky appear dark and lifeless by comparison. It was deceptively silent, save for a crackle akin to a roaring fire, and it superheated the air until it was so hot that it blistered his skin. Worst of all was the smell: like rotten fruit. So overpowering was the scent that Mitsuki curled his lips in disgust.

So powerful was the blast that it erased stone and forest alike, scouring the land in an instant. But it stopped, no more than a few tens of feet from them, held at bay by some invisible, inviolable force that would not allow its passage. Mitsuki was forced to lay Kagari on the ground, tilting her face away from the blinding light, his own eyes resting upon Sarada as her features were locked in a rigor of focus and consternation. She thrust her arms forward, her Susano'o mirroring her action, the spear projecting its force forward and pushing back against the scouring lightning.

For a moment Mitsuki believed that that would be the end of it. That Sarada would simply overpower his Sun and they would emerge victorious.

He was wrong.

"Ha!" Bolt roared, thunderous even above the crackle of fiery lightning. The blast doubled in intensity, a wall of superheated air slamming into him and nearly hurling him backwards.

"Ah!" Chōchō squeaked, tumbling backwards before finding her footing and righting herself. She dug her heels into the ground, anchoring her two smaller teammates with her arms.

Mitsuki kneeled and secured himself and Kagari to the ground as the tug-of-war between Bolt and Sarada intensified. Sarada whimpered and growled, her Susano'o and its armored boots digging into the stone. The scouring lightning drew closer as it overpowered her. Sarada thrust her spear forward, pushing against Bolt, slowing its advance.

"No way," Shikadai hissed, shielding his eyes with a hand. The beam of blinding light inched closer to them. "He's too strong!"

Thunderous laughter clapped over the din of battle. "Yes! I can feel you slipping!" Bolt roared.

Mitsuki hadn't thought his Sun could bring any more power to bear. He had been wrong. The crackle of fire increased until it was a dull, rolling thunder, the air so hot now that it scorched his skin and left it burnt and angry red. He grunted and hunkered down, knowing that there was nothing he could do save for trust in Sarada to see them through. Kagari had faded into unconsciousness and Mitsuki shielded her with his body. As he did, his eyes fell to the sparse grass and lichen that clung to the stone of the valley. It withered, darkened, green fading to brown, then to black, as it died. His eyes widened.

"Sarada!" Mitsuki screamed a shrill warning, knowing it was pointless, knowing that she could never understand the gravity of their situation in the heat of battle.

"Ha!" Sarada screamed, shouldering her Susano'o forward, wading into the midst of obliteration and pushing the tide of lightning back.

"She can do it!" Inojin barked, forearm shielding his eyes as he clutched his shortsword tightly in his free hand.

And Sarada could. She pushed back harder, driving Bolt and his attack back even further, until she began to gain on him and turn his attack back upon its wielder. Then Sarada grunted and fell to her knees. Her Susano'o did the same. Still, she held her spear aloft. It was the only thing keeping them from obliteration.

Bolt pushed back, even stronger, a maniacal cackle on the wind. "Don't you realize yet you're up against a god?!"

Sarada raised her head, and from his vantage point, Mitsuki could see that her features had changed. Gone was the rigor of effort. Replaced it was by a feral grin of parted lips that bared teeth. Fire danced in Sarada's blood-red eyes, a thrill burning within that Mitsuki had not seen in anyone else save for his Sun.

They were more alike than either realized.

Orange-red fire danced across spectral steel and muscle, Sarada's Susano'o coming to life as she rose up, legs forming, even more wings burning into existence as she began to levitate. Mitsuki could feel the tangible exertion of chakra and knew Sarada couldn't hold her construct's full form for long. This would be the final clash, one way or the other. The spear she held was let loose from her grasp, but did not fall to the ground. It spun slowly, softly circling overhead. The wall of force Sarada projected gained strength as it slowly but surely began to push back the all-consuming lightning that Bolt brought to bear.

It started slowly, at first, and then gained speed, and as the seconds passed, it became clearer and clearer to Mitsuki that Sarada would emerge victorious barring his Sun performing another miracle.

* * *

 **February 24th, 0025 AIT**

He was losing. He couldn't stop Sarada. She pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and his Spear of the Thunder God was being turned back against him. Bolt refused to accept that. Losing was not an option. If he lost this contest of strength, the battle was lost. The Akatsuki would be forced to retreat. Their first major defeat since the war began. He would return to being that scared, lost failure of a little boy that he had been before bloodying his hands in the Land of Rain.

Death would be preferable.

Bolt stood, astride the eye of the storm of power coursing within and without. His quest to develop another city-killer was finally at an end. It was such a simple concept that he had nearly slapped himself. Bolt had been so preoccupied with building something bigger and better when what he already had was more than any other mortal dared dream of. No one else had the natural resistance to electricity that he had. No one else could survive the sheer voltage. It was simple: all he had to do was pass that voltage to his enemies and watch them burn to charred husks. And didn't he have the perfect delivery method for that voltage? The path of his Thunder God Mode, weaponized, fueled by the infinite power the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva provided him. Bolt was simply the circuit through which it all flowed.

Bolt reached deep within, pulling for more chakra, dominating even more of the lightning that his seal created. His chakra slipped through his fingers like smoke and Bolt grit his teeth, growling in frustration. There simply wasn't enough energy around for the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva to leech from.

Sarada did not have the same problem. She pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and Bolt felt the cold chill of fear crawl up his spine as his own attack slowed and then began to falter. "No!" Bolt screamed.

Sarada overpowered him. His world was painted white as he felt the apocalyptic storm of lightning he had generated slam back into him. He had only a moment to wallow in despair before an unyielding wall slammed into him and drove him back down the valley. Jagged stone dug into his back and Bolt futilely attempted to guard himself against the pain. It last only a mere instant before all sensation of direction ended and he was crushed against something hard but not unbreakable. Cracking stone echoed in his ears and Bolt felt the air rush from his lungs as he was smited against the valley walls. The pressure mounted, growing stronger, and Bolt heard the vibrations of his bones groaning in protest echo in his skull. For one long, terrifying moment, he feared that Sarada would kill him. Kill him before his dream of a world made peaceful could be realized.

Then, mercifully, the pressure ceased, and Bolt fell. Stone and bubbling water rushed up to meet him, his body too ragged and broken to guard himself or break his fall and his mind to overcome by embarrassment at the fear he felt at the hands of Sarada, his lesser.

When he could finally draw breath without feeling like his lungs would explode, Bolt rose. Standing was a task fit for the gods. Every muscle and bone ached and he could feel his very chakra shrieking in agony from the abuse he had submitted it to under the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva. His eyes found his enemies, rallying behind Sarada who had fallen to her knees after their clash. Many of them were headed for him. His heart fluttered in his chest as he found Hikari some hundreds of feet behind him, healing her obviously broken right leg. Tetsu was worse for wear, watching over her, obviously battered but otherwise unharmed. Tsuchigumo had summoned a barrel-chested armored puppet for himself and Kagami to take shelter in. Hidan was... alive, of course, but buried under a mountain of rubble and screaming furiously and fearfully. And Kagari...

Kagari was with Mitsuki, unconscious. Dread welled within Bolt. He knew, immediately, that it was likely they would be unable to rescue her. He would have leave behind a friend, again, all because he hadn't been strong enough. Hadn't been perfect. Bolt wasn't sure if he felt more angry, ashamed, or fearful.

So distracted was he that he never saw the pink-haired woman until she was right next to him and grabbing him by the forearm so tightly that the bones snapped like twigs. Bolt grunted, instinct forcing his body to jerk away and making the pain twice as worse. He stared up into the angry jade eyes of Sarada's mother. The Strength of a Hundred seal on her forehead, a pleasant purple color, grew fiery, spreading across her body and limbs.

"You killed my teacher," Sakura growled. "And you tried to kill my daughter. Now grit... your... teeth!"

"Mom, no!" Sarada screamed.

Bolt reeled as Sakura drew his fist back. His free arm came up and lashed out. Bolt raised his hand, pressing his index finger to the pink-haired woman's forehead and scrambling her brain like an egg with the Gentle Fist. Then his hand fell, resting above the swell of her breasts and pressing against her sternum as he burst her heart.

Still, the fist came.

His eyes widened. Bolt twisted, agony lancing through him as his broken arm was mangled even more, forcing his shoulder into a crude guard between his body and Sakura's fist.

The punch he received was something the monks of the Wind Temple would have recorded in scripture. It was an instant of sheer agony that lasted an eternity, pain blossoming in every fiber of his being, before it mercifully ended as darkness claimed him.

"Bolt!" he heard Hikari scream.

* * *

 **February 24th, 0025 AIT**

Sarada watched as her mother's wrath sent Bolt careening into the mountainside like a rocket. Time frayed and weaved as fate was decided. She had already hurt Bolt more than she had planned on and now her mother was compounding the failure in the script she had planned for this battle. Bolt was supposed to have exhausted himself in their contest of wills, been wounded, seen that he and his Akatsuki had been at a disadvantage, and fled whilst leaving behind Kagari.

Now Bolt was a mangled carcass of pulped flesh, weeping blood, and crushed bone. Instead of bowing out gracefully, Bolt would be ferried from the Valley of the End clinging to life. Tetsu unleashed a colossal, fiery Flash that drove her mother back and Hikari hobbled towards him, broken leg hindering her, before sliding to a knee next to him. Her trembling hands glowed green as she ran them over his body before bending down to place a kiss on his lips. Sarada felt something acidic in her belly at the display.

"Retreat!" Hikari barked harshly, voice hoarse but commanding and echoing through the valley.

"Wait! My sister!" Kagami screamed in protest.

"We don't have time!" Hikari snarled.

"Fuck you! She's my sister and I'm not leaving here alive without her!" Kagami screamed as she stepped forward threateningly with her fingers contorted in a snapping position.

She got only a few steps before a needle pierced her neck and she collapsed. Tetsu scooped the blonde woman up and the Akatsuki rallied around their fallen leader. Then, in the blink of an eye, the entire group disappeared in a wisp of acrid smoke.

Sarada breathed a sigh of relief. She eyed the surrounding landscape, saddened at the destruction she and Bolt had wrought. The riverbed had been widened further, the sparse forests uprooted, and swathes of stone scarred or shattered. Still, it was nothing compared to what their parents had done. Bolt and her may be able to destroy a city, but their fathers could alter landscapes and change maps.

Sarada rubbed at her eyes as she allowed her Mangekyō to fade. Her vision clouded immediately, the world becoming a blur of indistinct color and shape. The blindness nearly overwhelmed Sarada and drove her into a fit of panic. The fear she felt at the mortality of her eyes was a sword that would forever loom over her head and Sarada could hardly stand to be alone with her thoughts most days.

They set up camp under the shadow of the statues of Hashirama and Madara. The Six-Tails was content to swim amongst the large lake that the two founders of the Leaf held at bay. Her friends nursed their wounds and wore grim but victorious faces. None of them seemed eager to talk or plot their next move. They were content to bask in a feeling they had not experienced before: victory. Sarada couldn't fault them for that. For now, she would allow them to feel as they did. Kagari woke an hour later and Sarada ceremoniously dubbed Mitsuki as her watcher. The youngest Akiyama sister appeared visibly confused, then scared, before her features hardened and became stoney, just like her surname.

It was an hour after that when Himawari finally reached them. Her skin was flushed and damp with sweat as she heaved for breath, clearly having sprinted from wherever the Seven-Tails had dropped her off to the Valley of the End.

It was time. Sarada took a deep breath. "Inojin," she called, gently brushing away her mother's hands that glowed green with chakra as she saw to her eyes. "I want you to enter her mind and find a means to follow the Akatsuki to their hidden base," Sarada commanded, inclining her head towards Kagari.

The blonde prisoner stiffened, her eyes growing angry. "Fuck you," Kagari growled. "I'd die before I gave you the location of my sister, even if I didn't consider the others my friends."

Sarada nodded, knowing the exact words beforehand that left her lips, and gestured for Inojin to step forward. He paused, looking to Shikadai, who looked indecisive as he stood next to Himawari. Eventually, he nodded.

Inojin shrugged and stepped towards their prisoner. "Alright," he shrugged.

Sarada stilled as Inojin placed a hand on the blonde's forehead. She jerked forward, teeth snapping as she tried to bite his hand. Mitsuki restrained her with a firm grip on her shoulders. Kagari fought him for but a moment before she froze and her eyes lidded in concentration.

She knew she wouldn't have to wait long.

Half a minute passed before Inojin gasped and reeled away from a now smirking Kagari. "Inojin!" Shikadai cried in alarm, steadying his friend. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Inojin nodded, rubbing at his forehead. "Yes, I am fine," he murmured. "Her mental defenses are well developed, but not something that a Yamanaka with sufficient training could not overcome."

"But...?" Shikadai pressed.

"But," Kagari grinned wolfishly. "My oh so glorious leader learned his lesson the last time one of us got captured."

"Bolt seems to have sealed some small part of his chakra into her mind," Inojin explained to the rest of them. "His chakra acts as a sort of guardian, forcing whoever seeks to enter her mind to fight and overcome him."

"Damn," Shikadai swore.

Sarada paused, letting the weight of their failure to gain information to settle onto the shoulders of her team. "That defense requires Kagari's chakra to house Bolt's chakra, though," she hummed in thought, resting a hand on her chin in false thought, as if she had suddenly thought of the idea.

Shikadai frowned in thought. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"If she didn't have chakra, then Bolt's chakra wouldn't be there to interfere..." Sarada drawled.

Shikadai's eyes widened as his gaze drifted to Himawari at his side. "Absolutely not," he said.

"What?" Inojin and Chōchō asked at the same time.

Himawari looked between her and Shikadai as if unsure who to obey. "We can put an end to this, Himawari," Sarada murmured softly.

"What are you guys talking about?" Mitsuki asked.

"It's too dangerous," Shikadai growled. "You weren't even there when she explained the risks."

Sarada smiled coyly. "Then it's a good thing we have the greatest medic alive with us, don't we?" she said.

Shikadai looked over her shoulder at her mother and Sarada saw the fire in his eyes dwindle. "Alright," he said.

Sarada looked to Himawari. "I'll do it," she agreed.

Kagari seemed to realize that something was amiss. "Hey!" she barked. "Keep her the fuck away from me! You guys have laws, right? Standards for treatment of prisoners of war!"

"The Akatsuki is not a nation nor is it recognized as sovereign by any of the other Great Five," Shikadai informed her grimly. "And even if you were, well, those laws only really matter on paper. No one actually follows them."

Mitsuki looked hesitant but still restrained Kagari as Himawari kneeled over her. Sarada let chakra well in her eyes as she activated her Sharingan. Truthfully, she didn't know how this would end. Himawari closed her eyes, the veins in her temples writhing as her Byakugan manifested. She placed a hand on Kagari's forehead, causing the blonde woman to struggle furiously against her captors. Chōchō moved to help Mitsuki when she saw that he was struggling.

Sarada braced herself as she watched Himawari's chakra flow through her fingertips and into Kagari's chakra pathways. It was like watching molten steel be poured into a mould. It must have felt like it, too, because Kagari began screaming. Himawari's chakra mingled with Kagari's, subsuming it, filling the blonde woman to the brim. Kagari screamed so loudly that Sarada's ears rang, spasming in the now limp grip of a horrified Mitsuki and Chōchō. Himawari continued, pushing past Kagari's limits, and Sarada averted her eyes as she saw the woman's chakra pathways expand beyond their breaking point and shatter.

Oh, did Kagari scream. Shrill and bloodcurdling, a noise that Sarada had never heard in her life. It set the hair on end and made the skin itch. Something primal whispered to her from her hindbrain, telling her that what she had just heard was the death throes of a dying animal.

Himawari drew back, afraid, and Kagari laid perfectly still on the ground before her. The blonde woman's chest did not rise and her face was frozen in an expression of agony. Himawari gasped, hands flying to her mouth as tears welled unshed in her eyes.

Sarada frowned to herself. "Damn," she swore. She had hoped Kagari would have survived the treatment and led her to Bolt. Omoikane had given her a fifty-fifty chance of survival.

"Oh, God," Himawari gasped, turning and fleeing into the shadowy forest as the sun set.

"Hima, wait!" Shikadai called, running after her.

Inojin kneeled and closed Kagari's eyes before covering her body with his cloak.

"You knew," Mitsuki appeared by her side.

Sarada could tell by the look in his eyes that he did not agree with her decision to push forward. She nodded.

Mitsuki said nothing as he walked away.

* * *

 **February 28th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt was going to murder her, Sarada's mother or not. His own heart couldn't even beat without sending a pulse of pain echoing through his body. Sakura had shattered every bone in his arm, shoulder, ribs, and sternum. It was a miracle he was alive— a miracle Bolt chalked up to his Uzumaki blood and Hikari's nigh religious care.

He hobbled through the castle halls, refusing to stay in bed another day. He was the leader of the Akatsuki, the One Shadow, last hope of the peaceful world. Bolt couldn't afford to "take a day off." He had work to do. Countries and armies to manage, people to inspire, enemies to kill, governments to cast down, and allies to rally.

One ally more than any other.

Bolt grunted as he finally reached the door to Kagami's room. He knocked politely, despite having the authority to go wherever he wanted and do whatever he please. In anyone else he would have expected silence. This, however, was Kagami, and she was anything but quiet when displeased. "Fuck off!" she screamed hoarsely through the door.

Bolt sighed. With a thought, he released the electric lock that kept the door secure. He opened it gingerly with one arm and nudged it open with the toe of his boot. Kagami hurled something at him— a vase, full of blooming flowers— and Bolt narrowly dodged it before it shattered against the wall and wet his hair with water. Bolt took a deep breath and sighed. If that had hit him where his still-healing bones had been broken, he probably would have lost his shit.

"Kagami," he chided her.

Her room was dark, cast in shadow. Bolt saw Kagami, sitting on the floor, curled into a defensive ball, near a end table at the far side of the room. Bolt sighed and resigned himself to a long march across the room. Mercifully, Kagami did not throw anything else at him. It seemed like it took him a full minute to cross the distance. When he did, Bolt rested his back against the wall and slid to the floor to join her.

The two of them sat in silence. His ears twitched as he heard soft, muffled cries next to him. Bolt sighed. "We'll get her back, Kagami," he swore. "I promise."

"How can you say that?" she growled, head buried in her hands to mask the tears that no doubt fell from her eyes.

"We got Hibiki back, didn't we?" Bolt said.

Kagami scoffed. "Hibiki was important. He lets us talk to each other from anywhere on the continent and rapes the mind of any prisoner you put in front of him. Me and Kagari just destroy shit," she hissed.

"You are members of the Akatsuki," Bolt reminded her. "One of the perks of being a member, if you'll recall, was that we take care of our own. Just because Hibiki is more useful than you or your sister doesn't mean I'm not going to try to get Kagari back."

Kagami laughed darkly. "What did you say to pineapple head? 'Chess is about sacrificing your own pieces, Shikadai.'" she parroted in his voice. "That's all Kagari and I ever were to you. Pawns. Sacrificial pawns."

Bolt sighed. "Honestly?" he began. Kagami tilted her head to look at him. "At first, you were. You were dangerous rogues that needed a direction before you killed yourselves. And I gave you that direction. But you've helped me walk the path of my dream, and I've watched you and Kagari grow to become more than warriors born in the wrong era. Perhaps I'm overstepping my bounds, but I do like to consider us friends. I know what you're going through. What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer?"

Kagami sniffled and shook her head. "How could you possibly know what I feel like?" she demanded.

Bolt swallowed. "You're not the only one with a younger sister, remember?" he asked. Kagami deflated. "I know precisely what it feels like to lose that. So I'll make you a promise, Kagami. From one older sibling to another. I swear I will rescue Kagari."

Kagami was quiet for a few moments before she gently leaned into his shoulder. Bolt smiled, wincing as he raised his arm and set it around her shoulders. "Besides," he drawled. "You and Kagari were never 'pawns.' You're much too strong for that. No, you would be something like... a Rook— straightforward, overwhelming power."

Kagami choked on her laughter, light and crystalline. "Thanks, Sparky," she said softly.

Bolt groaned at the new nickname. Though, he supposed, it was better than "blondie."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Alas, I am still alive! Thank you for the kind inquiries to my health.

This chapter was late for a number of reasons: my laptop died, which is my usual writing machine and where much of my work gets done; summer classes still demand much of my time; other hobbies (reading and gaming) have occupied my time; and this heat really kills any motivation to write for long periods of time. This chapter was also quite long and intended to be part of a double release alongside the Akiyama prelude. I'm still working on that, and it will most likely be the next chapter.

We saw a few things this chapter:

More Ōtsutsuki lore, including putting a name to a face of one of the terrible duo that gave Sasuke such trouble.

Backstory on Omoikane and a brief synopsis of how his and Sarada's Mangekyō functions.

The Heavenly Jeweled Spear, essentially, gives it wielder telekinesis. For readers of the source material from which the inspiration for Sarada's winged Susano'o comes from, this should be the last clue you need to piece together its identity.

The completed "Spear of the Thunder God." Inspiration for the attack was drawn from episode 7 of the One Punch Man anime (Genos' attempted destruction of the meteor).

The "teams" from the Boruto anime will be, I believe: Metal, Iwabe, and Denki, and Sumire (best girl), Wasabi (cat girl), and Namida (explosive tag girl).

I... I think that was it. I hate taking such a long time to write a chapter because I forget the minutia of what I've written. Overall I was feeling pretty "meh" about this chapter. Let me know what you think!

Also, who's watching Game of Thrones? This season is fucking lit.


	96. Chapter 96

**February 25th, 0025 AIT**

Sarada sat, angry and sullen, as she read the scroll that a hawk had delivered that afternoon. The words were blurry, indistinct, her vision not having recovered from the strain. Bolt may have lost the battle, but it felt like he had won the war. Because Bolt had been right, again, his gloating harking back to the day she had sprung him from his prison cell: she was so caught up with what she could see, she didn't stop to think of the things she couldn't.

Yesterday, even as the Akatsuki had been attempting to acquire the Six-Tails, Bolt had launched a multi-pronged assault, led by Yasuo— whom she had known wouldn't be at the fight— on the nobility of every nation on the continent resulting in the deaths of every single of the elemental Lords.

The continent was in absolute chaos. Capital cities and private retreats of the nobility had been sacked by an elite force of the Revolution, led by overwhelmingly powerful soldiers wreathed in a noxious dark green chakra. They slaughtered every man, woman, and child with noble blood in their veins, down to the very last one.

The petty squabbling for power that had miraculously escaped with their lives was distinctly absent. No one wished to rise to power when a sword loomed above the throne. Law and order had broken down. The Fire Lord and his son and heir, Tentō, were dead. Bolt had crippled every national politically, economically, and martially in a single blow. The Lords decided alliances, set budgets, dictated privilege of the ninja, enforced law and order among the country, and set and collected taxes.

What were they going to do now, Sarada wondered? Would the tattered remnants of the nobility step up to claim their thrones, or would they fade into obscurity? If that was the case, who would take over the day-to-day duties of running the Land of Fire? The Hokage? The Seventh had his hands full simply running their city.

For once, Sarada blinked away bloody tears, her Mangekyō offered her no answers.

* * *

 **February 25th, 0025 AIT**

Shikadai found Himawari after a day's long trek into the rolling hills of rice paddies of the Land of Sound. It was dusk, the sky a dark blue-purple as the sun set and the moon rose. She had her knees tucked beneath her chin as she cried, stalks of rice swaying in a gentle breeze. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hima," Shikadai called softly.

When Himawari made no move to flee or speak, save for a quiet sob, Shikadai moved to sit next to her atop the thin strip of ground between one paddy and the next. Never had he cursed himself more for not knowing how to make the situation better. Perhaps, Shikadai thought, there was nothing he could do at all. He didn't know which was worse.

It was a long time before she stopped crying. The night was cold and the moon was high and Shikadai was pretty sure his ass was soaked from the paddy water. It was quiet, almost eerily so, when Himawari finally spoke.

"I killed her," she whispered, so softly that Shikadai wouldn't have caught it had he not been waiting hours for that very moment. "I'm a monster."

Shikadai sucked in a breath, holding it until his mind had enough time to formulate a response. He exhaled as he began to speak. "Yeah, you did," he said. "But you're not a monster. You're a soldier. Good soldiers follow orders. Sarada and I told you to do it. If you have to blame someone, blame us. You did nothing wrong."

"I—" Himawari hiccuped. "—I... I killed her. I wanted to do the same thing to Bolt. What if Sarada didn't stop me? What if I killed him? What if I killed my brother? I— I couldn't live with myself."

Shikadai rested a hand on her shoulder. "Bolt is strong, Hima," he said. "Stronger than Kagari was. Sarada said you would have succeeded, remember? He would have lived. It... it would have been painful, but he wouldn't have died. Don't put that evil on yourself."

"No!" Himawari screamed, violently pulling away. "No! You don't understand! I should have known better! The Great Toad Sage warned me about this! I can't— I shouldn't have—"

"Calm down," Shikadai exhaled forcefully, pulling Himawari towards him. "It's going to be alright. What did you mean about the Great Toad Sage? What did he warn you about?"

Himawari sobbed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. When she answered, it was with a whisper. "He said— he said," she hiccupped. "He said I would have to choose. That— that my path was forking, with choices, and that I would have to choose. And that my choices would lead to the deaths of thousands. I— I knew I had to be more careful. I knew I had to be wiser. But I still— I still just killed her because Sarada asked me to."

Shikadai frowned. "What do you mean, Hima?" he pressed.

Himawari laughed sadly. "The Great Toad Sage. He... he can see a person's destiny, according to legend. He had a prophecy for my father, and for Jiraiya of the Sannin. He told me mine. He said I would— I would be a sword or a shield. That no matter what I did people would die in my name, but that I— but that I had to choose whether to save them or to destroy them," she sobbed.

"You think this was one of those choices?" Shikadai asked.

Himawari nodded. "It could be," she admitted. "Kagari was a member of the Akatsuki. She served Bolt. What happens when he finds out she's dead? What happens when he finds out his sister is a murderer?"

"He won't," Shikadai swore, and he meant it. It wasn't Himawari's fault Kagari died. It was his, his and Sarada's. He would take the blame. "And you're not a murderer, Hima. People die in war. That's just the way of life. It just... happens."

Himawari shook her head. "That... that was the first time I killed someone, Shika," she whispered. "I heard her screams echo in my ears as I killed her."

Shikadai sucked in a breath as he ran a hand through her hair. "We're ninja, Himawari. Heart under blade, remember? It's what we do," he said.

Himawari shook her head. She was very quiet and still. "Have you ever killed someone, Shika?" she asked.

Shikadai swallowed. "To be honest, I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe. It was during a border patrol a few years ago. Some guys from the Revolution stumbled across us. They outnumbered us and caught us by surprise so we retreated. I used a Wind Release technique on the center of their formation. I'd be surprised if no one died. More than a few were probably crippled. So... I don't know."

Himawari nodded into his neck. "How did Bolt deal with this?" she asked softly, so quiet that he didn't think she meant to say the words aloud.

Shikadai shrugged. "I don't know," he said, and it seemed like lately he didn't know much of anything. "Your brother was forged in fire. He was a mercenary by age twelve."

Himawari nodded slowly and her breathing evened out. It took a few moments for Shikadai to realize she had fallen asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief. As Shikadai looked upon the rising moon, he had to wonder if being forged in the fire, like Bolt had, was such a good thing after all. Bolt was young, too young, and he had been beaten into shape, hardened, and sharpened until he was the weapon he was today. And what had he become? A warrior, a killer, someone to whom the value of human life was worth little in the face of personal gain.

There was an old saying among the veterans of the Third War. Shikadai had heard it from some of the chūnin he had served with. "Great men are forged in fire," he whispered. "It is the privilege of lesser men to light the flame."

For some reason, Shikadai didn't think the countless dead that had lit Bolt's flame would agree.

* * *

 **March 1st, 0025 AIT**

Naruto blinked away unshed tears that had pooled in the corners of his eyes as he watched the footage. Shikamaru shuffled back and forth awkwardly a few steps behind him. Bolt really had made a nation, hadn't he? Just like his son had told him in that dark cave before he had been arrested. They weren't so different, after all. Two sides of the same coin, each striving for the same thing, each going about it differently, yet each arriving at the same destination. Looking at the pride and hope in the eyes of the citizens of the Land of Frost, the reverence in their voices when they spoke of their esteemed "One Shadow," Naruto couldn't help the sense of pride that welled in his chest for his son. That Bolt had succeeded in providing for the people that he himself had failed.

Of course, that pride was tempered by atrocity. Even Naruto, admittedly not the sharpest kunai, could realize the brilliance in his son's plot. By killing the nobility, he created a vacuum of power. If no one took control, the country would descend into anarchy. If Naruto, the Hokage, took control, he would only be proving the point, however false, Bolt had been trying to make all along: the ninja were taking power and oppressing the people.

The only light in the darkness was Shikamaru, ever cunning, already coming to him with a counter-strategy, and Sentoki, ready and willing to pledge himself and the monks to the cause. Both men lingered in his office and Naruto was forced to draw his eyes from the footage of the Land of Frost that Shikamaru had shot.

That left only one question: what to do with the body. The task force had reported that one of the Akatsuki had been killed in action. Normally, Naruto would have sent the corpse back to its homeland for proper burial. Kagari Akiyama was different. She was a rogue, and the Hidden Stone was their enemy. Naruto doubted he could even arrange a meeting, given the Original's current predicament in the Land of Earth. That left two options. He could have the body disposed of, in secret, or... or he could try to make a deal with Bolt and the Akatsuki. Naruto was wracked with indecisiveness. On one hand, he may be able to win some favor with the Akatsuki by returning their deceased. On the other... on the other, it might enrage them. Naruto was well aware the temper his children had and he was loathe to stoke it given Bolt's predilection for wanton destruction.

Deep within his mind, Kurama stirred and rumbled in protest. "I know, I know," Naruto mumbled under his breath. The furball had been most cross after seeing the "enhanced" soldiers that Bolt had used to slay the nobility. They reeked of something foul, according to the fox.

Naruto breathed a long, ragged sigh. "What do you think I should do, Shikamaru?" he asked.

For once, Shikamaru looked just as lost as Naruto felt. He shrugged. "It's impossible to know," he drawled. "It's going to be troublesome either way."

Naruto nodded idly. "When can you have this footage ready to broadcast?" he asked instead.

Shikamaru shrugged. "I'm having the guys in Intelligence work on it," he said. "We'll hopefully have something in a week or two."

The office grew quiet as Shikamaru's thoughts turned inward. Naruto wilted, knowing he had to make a decision and that it would greatly affect the outcome of the battles to come. "There's... there's nothing we can learn from the body, correct?" he asked for clarification.

Shikamaru nodded. "Nothing that Inojin or Sarada has been able to discover," he said.

Naruto breathed a long, ragged sigh. In the end, he lead with his heart. "We return the body, then," he decided. "Hopefully the gesture will buy us some good will. A ceasefire, maybe, for a time?"

Shikamaru looked like he disagreed but nodded. "Alright," he said. "I think it would be best if I were there to oversee the exchange. I'll deliver the message personally."

Sentoki cleared his throat. "I will go with you, if you don't mind, Shikamaru," he said. "The Fire Temple is nearby, anyway."

Shikamaru nodded in agreement and thanks.

"I'll send a messenger to the Land of Steam," Naruto said. "Hopefully that will reach Bolt and we can arrange a meeting."

Shikamaru nodded, paused, opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. "Right," he settled for, turning and leaving. Sentoki followed him.

Alone, Naruto stood and stared out across the city from the window of the tower. He really wished the Original would hurry back.

* * *

 **March 4th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt felt the weight of the world on his shoulders more keenly than ever before. It was soul-crushing, heavier than one mortal man could bear alone. He had failed. It felt like a regression of years, back to when he was a boy, lost and confused and wandering the land in search of purpose. Bolt could feel his movement's momentum slowing, stilling. His life's work wouldn't wither and die, but neither would it grow and spread to the vision he dreamt of. It would be a half-death, a nation incomplete and unstable. More of the same, doomed to a slow death by centuries of rot.

What was even the point? Why come so far only to fail now? He should have fought harder, pushed himself more, been crueler, been more cunning. Bolt should have killed Sarada a long time ago. He knew the threat a fully awakened Uchiha presented. Nagato had been wary of Itachi from the very beginning. Bolt should have learned from his predecessor's mistakes: never let an Uchiha live.

More than that, he shouldn't have been so sickeningly naive. He had thought he could forge a new, peaceful world for the people he cared about, the people he didn't believe could rally the world against him. People like his sister, like his friends. That's why he allowed them their lives during the attack on the Leaf. Bolt had been wrong. His new world would not be born so long as the people from his old life dug their heels in and kicked and scream in the face of progress. He should have killed them. He should have given himself wholly to the cause in mind, body, and spirit. Instead he was this malformed, mangled thing, desperately trying to do what his mind knew to be right but his heart loathed to hurt those he yet loved.

What kind of "god" did he proclaim to be if he couldn't even bring himself to kill his sister and childhood friend in the name of peace for hundreds of thousands of unborn children? He wasn't one, not at all. Or, at least, not a very good one, Bolt thought.

The worst part? He couldn't even do anything about his failure. It would take weeks for him to heal from the damage done by Sarada and her mother. It frustrated Bolt to no end, set his teeth on edge. It was made doubly worse by the lingering high caused by using the second level of the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva. He had, perhaps, drawn inspiration from Orochimaru more than was wise. The altered mental state was not something that contributed to victory on the battlefield. He was not some mad beast to be set upon his enemies like a rabid dog.

Cold, deft fingers pressed into his neck soothingly. "Are you alright?" Hikari whispered.

Bolt nodded numbly. "Fine," he said.

Hikari, unlike himself, was not a failure. She had been able to hold her own against Kohaku, perhaps owed to her experience with his clan's chains due to their spars, but still. She hadn't lost. She wasn't crippled. There was no reason for her to be here, with him, when she could be elsewhere. Bolt reached out, his chakra finding Hibiki's, and instantly coursing through their astral web until he found the fiery signature of his champion. _"Tetsu,"_ Bolt spoke. _"Come to my quarters. I have a mission for you."_

" _Yes, my Lord,"_ Tetsu answered, instantly and with burning conviction.

"What was that about?" Hikari asked.

"Just because I'm wounded doesn't mean I can't do anything," Bolt said, anger seeping into his words. "If I can't defeat my enemies on the field of battle, I'll bleed them dry elsewhere. Death by a thousand cuts. A slow, agonizing death, inglorious and without honor, but a death nonetheless."

Tetsu was quick to answer his summons. He stood at attention before the island desk of the workshop that made up the fore of his and Hikari's quarters. "I want you to accompany Tetsu to the Land of Iron," Bolt told Hikari. He nodded to Tetsu, who was visibly pleased to have a task. "While he answers his master's challenge, I want you to deal with Mifune. Take Kagami with you. She could use the distraction."

Hikari nodded slowly. "Alright," she agreed.

Bolt could tell she was loathe to leave him, wounded and brooding as he was. But Bolt wanted— needed— solitude. He needed time to organize his thoughts, wrestle his emotions into submission. He couldn't do that if he was focussed on the others. "I'll be fine," he reassured her.

Hikari and Tetsu, with a sullen Kagami in tow, left not long after that, whisked away by one of Tsuchigumo's puppet spies.

If there was one thing he never got accustomed to about the Eye of the Storm, it was the silence. There was no wind, no settling foundation or creaking stone, no moaning trees. The castle was expansive, sprawling, its sparse inhabitants so far away from each other that Bolt could not even hear their spars. Now, the silence came to him as a boon rather than a bane.

The Uzukage had told him he had to be perfect and by the Sage of the Six Paths, Bolt had tried. It was a slowly dawning truth. Perfection was not achievable by mere mortals. But so too did another truth occur to Bolt: that perfection was not obtainable was not an excuse not to strive for it. Strive he had and failed he did.

Bolt stood, head hung, and walked the halls of the Eye. A warm, artificial light filtered through the ornamental rice paper walls, painting the polished pine floors in a myriad of colors. Through the windows overlooking the courtyard, Bolt could count the red tiles of the roof. It hadn't been too long ago that he had been perched among the tiles as he greeted his army of false jinchūriki. Now the survivors had been scattered to the wind, led into their first battle and had slain the nobility that had grown fat on the suffering of their people. They had been largely successful and now Bolt waited for his enemies to make their moves.

Some small part of him begged that he would not fail in the arena of politics as he had against the Tailed Beasts.

Bolt blinked, realizing he had been staring at the tiles for so long that his feet had begun to ache. He took his ability to feel such an inconsequential pain as a good omen. It meant his battered body was recovering well. His chakra had recovered, stoking itself until it grew from simmering charcoals into a raging fire. He felt restless, full of energy, despite— or perhaps in spite of— refining much of his chakra back into Yang energy. It aided the recovery process, kept his mind occupied, and restored the vast reserves he had spent pushing the Uzumaki clan's chakra chains to their utmost limits.

Bolt blamed his inability to rest on the combination of the lingering high caused by the second level of the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva and his dour mood. Therefore it was only natural for his feet to lead him to one of the many training grounds in the bowels of the dimension, hidden away and reinforced to protect the stability of the Eye from the clashing powers within. His anger, his helplessness, all the excess chakra he had at hand, Bolt vented it the only way he knew how: training.

Perhaps he had neglected himself, Bolt thought. He found himself plotting over maps or his nose buried in a scroll more often than putting himself through his paces against his friends. He had delegated, relegating their training amongst themselves. Bolt went through the forms of the Gentle Fist, beginning with the lowliest of thrusted palm strikes and ending with the famed Eight Trigrams One Hundred Twenty-Eight Palms. It left him sticky with sweat, aching with pain, and empty with exhaustion, but his mind was distracted for a brief moment. It gave him time to think, time to understand, time to accept. And in the end, he did.

Bolt remembered a proverb. He couldn't remember the man's face, or his name, but he remembered that it was one of the monks from the Wind Temple. One of the accountants, perhaps, that he had worked with? "There is always a bigger fish," he had said. Bolt couldn't even remember what they had been speaking about, but the proverb stuck with him.

Sarada was that bigger fish. His father and Master Sasuke, too, to a lesser extent. But Bolt could swallow being weaker than his father. Loathe as he was to admit, there was no shame in being weaker than the man blessed with the power of the Nine-Tails. But Sarada? Bolt hated being her lesser. And yet, her lesser he was. She had proven that, time and time again. The truth left a sour taste on his tongue. Even Raijin was not all powerful, nor peerless.

Still, that perfection was unattainable was not an excuse not to strive for it. Bolt had been in such a position before, and likely would again. He had overcome the challenge then, as he would come to overcome this challenge, and all challenges that he had yet to encounter. But he would go about it as he had in the past: fight smarter, not harder. It wouldn't be a glorious war, but it would be a victorious one. That was all that mattered.

So he would bide his time, wait until the perfect instant to strike. There were other targets his blossoming empire could attack. Enemies to be destroyed if his vision was to become reality. The Hidden Cloud lingered on, crippled and a shadow of its former self. Two great treasures were hidden there: the Eight-Tails, and rumored to be in his possession, the Greatsword, heralded as the greatest of the Seven, Samehada. Yes, Bolt thought, his mind's eye focussing on the land to the north of his empire. The Land of Lightning was ready to fall.

So preoccupied with his training and his thoughts, Bolt didn't hear the distinct chatter of the puppet until it was almost within striking distance of him. "Tsuchigumo," Bolt greeted.

The puppet bobbed its head. "Problem," it chattered, a skeletal fist outstretched with a scroll clutched within.

Bolt unfurled the scroll, surprised to see the official seal of the Hokage emblazoned across the top. The handwriting was his father's, he could tell, inelegant and forced, as if he wished to get through the task as quick as possible but paid heed to the message all the same.

When he got to the bottom, Bolt screamed. Lightning blossomed all around him, reducing the stone floor of the training grounds to molten slag.

Kagari was dead and they had the nerve to ask for peace? Bolt would show them "peace." The peace of a caged, rabid dog that couldn't be trusted to snap at its betters. He had promised Kagami he would get her sister back. He had swore it, as an older brother, he had swore it, and now he would have to tell her that Kagari was dead and he had failed. He could imagine the look on her face, the heartbreak, the sheer weight on her shoulders knowing she had failed to protect her sister and he had failed to rescue her.

Bolt imagined their positions reversed. That it was him, the grieving older sibling, and Himawari was taken from him before her time. The mere thought ignited the embers of rage in his belly.

"That's not all, Bolt," the puppet chattered.

Bolt rounded on it, breathing heavily through his nose. He tried to calm himself— and probably failed. "What?" he ground out. Nothing could possibly make this instant worse.

" _I'm sorry,"_ a soft, boyish voice echoed through his mind.

"Yasuo," Bolt greeted aloud.

" _I suppose, given recent events, that my grievances fail to concern you,"_ Yasuo said, and Bolt could hear the echo of a bite in his words. _"I said I would work for the Akatsuki if you helped me kill Orochimaru."_

Bolt closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath.

" _Orochimaru is not dead and yet I still act as Yukage, under your orders, keeping Hidan on a leash,"_ Yasuo continued.

"I am working on a solution, Yasuo, I promise," Bolt said. "Orochimaru is as much my enemy as he is yours. He and his abominations have no place in the future I am building."

" _And yet the snake yet lives,"_ Yasuo said.

Bolt sucked in a hissed breath. He looked down, at the crumpled scroll he held in his hands and the missive contained within. "Not for long, that I can assure you," he swore.

* * *

 **March 5th, 0025 AIT**

They were at the fucking gates of her city. The foreign savages that lived in huts of mud and sand, who barely survived in that wasteland they called home, weakest of the Great Five, and they were at the fucking gates of her city!

Kurotsuchi was furious. That Sand dared to raise its hand against Stone, all because the damned Hokage was there to fight their enemy on their behalf. Cowards! Weaklings! They should have been wiped from the face of the Earth a long time ago. Kurotsuchi slammed her fist on her desk. "Where is the Akatsuki?!" she demanded. "They said they would support us in the war!"

One of her aides cowered before her. "O-Our spies saw two of them moving west through our borders, ma'am," she stuttered. "T-They were heading to the Land of Iron."

Kurotsuchi howled in anger and pulled at her hair with her hands. The aid that had spoken up squeaked and stepped away. Suddenly, the door to her office slammed open as a red-faced, out of breath scout saluted her. "Tsuchikage, ma'am!" he bowed. "The enemy has broken through and is moving to encircle this location."

Kurotsuchi hissed in anger. It was only her father's hand resting on her shoulder that stayed her anger. "You must go into hiding," he pressed.

Kurotsuchi saw red. "Absolutely not!" she screamed. "I am the Tsuchikage! I won't run from these savages!"

She could see the way they pitied her in their eyes. They didn't believe. Not as she did. The Hidden Stone was the most powerful of the ninja villages. They just had to prove it. "We fight! To the last if we—" a body wreathed in golden fire tumbled through the window with a crack.

Kurotsuchi hurdled over her desk, Dust Release chakra visibly filling the room with its glow. She obliterated half the tower, sure, but she wasn't foolish enough to let the Hokage go unchecked. He weathered her attack, clad in the shield of black chakra as he had been during all their clashes, face grim but determined and hopeful. Kurotsuchi knew she couldn't hold back. She had run out of volunteers for her possessed clones and she hadn't had the time to set up more. She was exposed, vulnerable, and the Hokage was taking advantage of that while their forces fought.

Kurotsuchi held nothing back as she pushed all her chakra into her attack. The pulsing geometric sphere-cube-pyramid of Dust Release chakra was so powerful that there was no difference in the strength of its glow whether she had her eyes closed or opened. She heard the crack of the Hokage as he darted forward, lightning fast, and she righted on him and unleashed her attack. A hum filled the air, deafening, and Kurotsuchi felt the beam stop short as it connected with the Hokage.

The glow dimmed and a chill crawled up her spine as the Hokage emerged, unscathed, a conical shield of black chakra swallowing and negating her Dust Release beam. The beam dimmed and dissipated and the Hokage disappeared in a blur of golden chakra before something hard slammed into her back and Kurotsuchi crashed into the wall. Her skull bounced off something hard, her vision going white and a ringing filling her ears.

Her world went dark and Kurotsuchi panicked as she was swallowed whole by that black chakra. She screamed, lashing out, fists striking against chakra that was harder than stone. Kurotsuchi reached for her chakra, what little there was left, and was unable to even generate a visible glow.

Kurotsuchi screamed and slammed her fists against her prison of black chakra.

* * *

 **March 5th, 0025 AIT**

Naruto breathed a long, ragged sigh. The war was over. It had been many long, trying months, but finally, the Hidden Stone had been defeated— and with minimal casualties on both sides, thanks to his clones. Inside the sphere of one of his Truth-seeking Orbs, Kurotsuchi raged. Naruto gestured with his hand, the orb trailing behind him, and descended the tower. The ANBU that had followed his charge had the Tsuchikage's advisors under arrest. Now, all that remained was to decide what to do with them. Hōzuki Castle had been destroyed and its jailors slaughtered— by his own son, no less— and with the Union defunct there was no international prison for which to imprison them. There was also the matter of choosing a successor, a new Tsuchikage that would not make the same mistakes as his or her predecessor, and hammering out what reparations Stone would be paying Sand and Leaf.

In short: paperwork. Naruto hated paperwork. Despite winning the war, his time in the Land of Earth was far from over. He couldn't just withdraw and leave the country in chaos, doubly so now after the assassination of the nobility. _Someone_ had to be left in charge, preferably someone sympathetic to the remnants of the Union. Naruto had no interest in occupying or conquering the country.

There were few choices for a Fifth Tsuchikage. Suzumebachi, once a prominent member of the Kamizuru clan and the only surviving grandchild of the First Tsuchikage, had the strongest claim. Of course, she also hated the Leaf passionately considering her clan's rivalry with the Aburame clan, and Naruto himself had almost killed her with a Rasengan when he was a child, and she _did_ try to murder Hinata...

Maybe not the best choice, he mused. The jōnin commander, Ittan, who had been in charge of the defense of the city, was another strong choice. He had been invaluable during the war, helping to seal Sasori and saving entire squadrons from Deidara with his mastery of Earth Release. In addition, he was able to work well with foreign ninja— both from the Leaf and the Sand. If the man was willing, Naruto would see him wear the Hat.

The fighting had mostly ended by the time he found the two armies. Angry, grim-faced Stone ninja had been disarmed and rounded up into easily guarded groups. They were scarred and bloodied, exhausted, as they all were, but the men and women of the Hidden Stone held themselves with a rigid dignity and pride that was as unyielding as the stone they stood upon. All eyes turned to find him as he descended with the imprisoned Tsuchikage in tow. Their expressions hardened with anger.

As he passed, one of the captured ninja spat at him. Naruto deftly dodged it and frowned. "A stone is a stone," the man said. "One can be replaced by another, but the spirit of the stone inside us will endure."

Naruto just nodded and continued on. He didn't expect these people's respect. He could understand their beliefs, their philosophy, but her preferred to believe in the Will of Fire. He made his way deeper into his own army, away from the prison camps, and found the temporary prison of the Tsuchikage until it could be decided what would be done with her. A cell with chakra suppression seals had been prepared, much like the one that had once held Bolt.

Kurotsuchi spilled from the orb and into the cell, screaming her fury. She tried to create a beam of Dust Release but the technique sputtered and died before it could be unleashed as the suppression seals dampened her chakra.

The Fourth Tsuchikage growled at him. "You might have beaten me, but you haven't changed our way of life," she spat. "War is the blood of the shinobi. You can try to stop it all you want, but it won't change anything in the end."

Naruto smiled sadly and shook his head. He paused, blinked, and realized that the chakra suppression field had suddenly fallen. Kurotsuchi, too, was just as surprised. Before either of them could react, a man had lunged for the Tsuchikage.

Fire burned in his veins as Naruto felt his body surge forward. He yelped, the burn of Kurama's chakra filling him. **"Pay more attention, human brat,"** the fox rumbled as he held the assassin's arm by the wrist. A hidden blade extended from a bracer that was concealed by a tattered length of crimson fabric that the Stone ninja were fond of wearing. **"This one..."** Kurama _sniffed_ , like he could scent the wind even from within. **"He's not right."**

"Not right?" Naruto questioned. "What do you—"

The feeling of pure, concentrated _loathing_ slammed into him. So powerful was the overwhelming hate that Naruto shied away from it. He hadn't felt such a strong feeling since... since Kurama, before the two of them had made peace. But it wasn't a hate of the world, like Kurama's hatred had been, but a hate of itself so keen that it felt as if Naruto had turned a kunai on his belly.

Black chakra, cloying and dense like tar or oil, poured from the assassin in waves. Skin visibly crawled as something bulged and move beneath flesh and both Naruto and Kurama were in agreement as they released the man to avoid touching the foul chakra. The would-be assassin grunted in barely suppressed agony, the sound of bones cracking echoing in his ears. Horrible fleshy protrusions grew from the man's lower back, long and black-red with spindly prehensile appendages sprouting from them. The creature— for any semblance of the man had long since been warped— grew only larger. Armored shells, red-brown and ruddy, covered its body, a bulbous head with two antennae sprouting from its skull.

Naruto gaped in horror, as did many that had rushed to his aid. He understood the full depth of the creature's hatred, its hatred for itself. Naruto could feel it as keenly as if the emotion came from himself. The creature hated the monstrosity that it was, the mockery of life that it imitated. It wanted death, it wanted to die, to be released from its torment.

With a snarl, Kurama was only too happy to do so. Naruto had very little say in the matter, nor could he fault his friend for feeling so, connected as they were. Kurama probably saw such a creature as the greatest insult to the Tailed Beasts. The Sage had created them with love, but this creature had been created— for it had to have been— with evil in its creator's heart.

Kurama made quick work of the creature that resembled a bipedal centipede. The killing blow had been quick, merciless, with no hesitation, putting the creature out of its misery. As it died, the transformation ended, and Naruto was left with a corpse with dead, unseeing eyes staring up at him.

" **Your brat,"** Kurama growled, barely restrained rage coursing through both of their bodies. **"Has committed a crime against nature itself."**

* * *

 **March 6th, 0025 AIT**

Of course it had to be storming the day they were to meet with Bolt— hopefully peacefully, Shikamaru prayed. The sky was dark, heavy with angry gray storm clouds. The wind howled and blew so fiercely that the rain came down sideways. Every half a minute, the world was lit by lightning that heralded a clap of thunder.

Shikamaru glanced sideways where his son was comforting Himawari. It had become fairly clear to him over the last year that neither of them were seeing each other casually. Shikamaru dreaded the day he and Naruto became brothers-in-law. There would be no escaping his duty to that man and his sloth by retirement if they became family. It would spell a lifetime of troublesome work. It made Shikamaru break into a cold sweat.

Farther away, the rest of the team sat around fires under tents of wood courtesy of Captain Yamato. The Six-Tails was lounging languidly in the turbulent waters of the lake above the Valley of the End, happy as can be. The Tailed Beast had its own guard— and their own tents— consisting of Lee, his son and team, their ambassador from the Uzumaki clan, and Sarada. Sasuke's daughter had been quite terse with him after Shikamaru ordered her away. He couldn't risk her and Bolt being together without another battle breaking out. In place of Sarada, Sentoki had come as his guard in case negotiations broke down. Of course, if negotiations broke down, Naruto's son would be facing the full might of the task force and the Six-Tails. Given that they had already failed once, Shikamaru didn't think he would try anything.

Lightning flashed and then Shikamaru was face-to-face with angry blue eyes and scarred cheeks. He didn't yelp— he didn't— but he took a quick step back to put some distance between himself and the most wanted man on the planet. The rest of the team were quick to leap to his defense. Shikamaru swallowed, unsure how to begin negotiations.

"Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" Bolt asked, as lightning flashed overhead. Shikamaru swore he could have seen the light reflected in his blue eyes.

"Yeah," Shikamaru nodded, even though he hated anything that wasn't clear blue skies and white clouds. But there was no way he was going to admit weakness or vulnerability in front of the leader of the Akatsuki.

"Where is she?" Bolt demanded.

Ah, straight to the point then. Shikamaru could do that. He reached into one of the pouches he kept at the small of his back and withdrew a furled scroll drawn in a black ribbon. As he held it out, Bolt snatched it from his hand tersely. He stalked away briskly and Shikamaru blinked as the rain parted around him. Bolt kneeled, unfurling the scroll, and unsealed the body. Shikamaru averted his eyes in respect but kept a watchful eye on Bolt in his peripheral. He saw Bolt reach for the dead girl's hand, inspect it, before sealing her body back into the scroll and striding over to them.

"The ring," Bolt intoned. "Where is the ring?"

Shikamaru swore under his breath. He knew Bolt and the new Akatsuki had recovered the rings of the old Akatsuki, he just didn't know why. No one did. They must have been important, Shikamaru reasoned, if the rings warranted an assault on the Leaf to recover them.

Bolt must have taken his silence as a refusal. "I suggest you think long and hard about what denying me what is mine will cost you," he said darkly. "Do not give me a reason to pay a visit to the Leaf and you will have your armistice."

Sentoki stepped forward to defend him and Shikamaru shook his head. He slowly and reached into the pouch at his back once more before withdrawing another scroll and handing it over. Bolt quickly divested it of its contents, the yellow topaz glinting in the flashing lightning. Shikamaru had only a moment to spy the character for "South" etched into the face of the gem before it winked out of existence. Unbidden, his eyes travelled to Bolt's right thumb where the dark amythest of "Zero" stared back at him. Shikamaru knew they were important, he just couldn't figure out why. They were more than just a fashion statement, that much he was sure of.

"What would be an agreeable length of time for a ceasefire?" Shikamaru asked, instead.

"I assume you have terms already dictated?" Bolt drawled.

He did. Shikamaru and Naruto— his clone, rather— had spent quite a lot of time planning out the next stages of the war. They needed time to prepare, time to plan, and then time to act. "One month. One month of no attacks by the Akatsuki or the Revolution. One month of peace," Shikamaru said firmly. It would delay the release of the propaganda they had planned to release, but it would be all the more damning if they were prepared to act on that propaganda with the benefit of time.

Bolt nodded once, a quick bird-like motion. "I find these terms to be..." he trailed off, eyes sliding past Shikamaru and finding Sentoki.

Shikamaru went absolutely still, frozen, as Bolt got a dazed, faraway look in his eyes as he and Sentoki's gazes met. He chanced a panicked glance at Sentoki to find that the monk was as equally shocked.

Bolt snapped out of his daze quickly, shaking his head. He gave Sentoki a hard look. "Sorry about the arm," he smirked.

The monk, bless him, Shikamaru thought, had the good graces to ignore the barb. Sentoki simply smiled, eyes lidded.

"You'll have your armistice, Shikamaru," Bolt said, turning to leave. "Starting tomorrow at midnight."

Shikamaru watched as he strode into the rain, the drops parting around him and damn it Shikamaru hated how awe-inspiring it made him look. He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when Bolt paused, mid-step, and turned. "Who did it?" he asked, and there was something dark and sinister in the question that Shikamaru didn't dare acknowledge. He simply shook his head and prayed that would be the end of it. Soldiers died in war. That was just how life was. Bolt should understand that.

As if cursed, Shikadai spoke up from behind him. Shikamaru closed his eyes and winced. "I ordered it," he said, voice hoarse but not quivering.

"I see," Bolt said, low, under his breath. "I did make a promise, didn't I?" he said, a bit louder, with a smirk.

Sentoki gasped. Lightning flashed, illuminating the landscape, and then Bolt was gone. Shikamaru rounded on the monk. "What was that about?" he asked.

Sentoki shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Something terrible. I didn't have long enough to figure out what. Bolt is angry. Very, very angry."

Shikamaru didn't like the sound of that. "Troublesome," he swore.

* * *

 **March 6th, 0025 AIT**

Akane awoke with a start as she felt the barrier surrounding the island ping her. She leapt from her bed, dressed in her robes and quickly slipped on her boots. Already she had activated the alarm, alerting the clan, and they would be rousing and arming themselves. Akane refused to sit by and let the Uzumaki clan be wiped from the Earth. Not again. Never again. Intruders were dealt with swiftly and harshly.

She didn't have to look far for the intruder. A great storm had blown in from the east, bringing its fury with it, and none of her people were dumb enough to stand in the rain in the dead of night. But, still, there he was, blond hair and scarred cheeks, standing in the rain, waiting for her. Akane drew upon her chakra, her lifeforce, forging it into chains that coiled within her, ready to be unleashed with but a thought.

Bolt had changed much, that Akane was sure of. He had been a young child, eyes blue and full of wonder and innocence, when he had first stumbled upon his clan. Akane had seen the greatness in him, even then. She had seen a warrior, a scholar, and more than that, a leader. And she had been right by all accounts. Only, Akane believed Bolt would one day inherit the Hat from her and lead their clan into an age of glory not seen since the days before the foundation of the villages. Instead, he had become the antithesis of everything they stood for. Bolt didn't seek to uphold the system, he sought to tear it down.

Had Akane known what sort of monster she had created by sending that child out into the cold, dark world with naught but a scroll and a warning, she would have never even considered not turning him in to the Hokage.

Now, it seemed, that decision had come back to bite her and her clan in the ass. "What are you doing here, Bolt?" Akane demanded as the grim faces of her clanmates began to filter into the darkened city square.

Bolt held his hands aloft. "I didn't come here to fight, Uzukage," he said, bowing respectfully.

"Then what did you come here for?" Akane asked. "You'll have to forgive me, but your actions of late haven't given me the impression that you do much more than fight."

Bolt righted himself and smiled, boyish and lopsided, at her. "What? I can't visit my clan? I thought we were all about our loyalty to our blood," he quipped.

"And I warned you the last time you were here that the Uzumaki clan couldn't afford to harbor such an infamous criminal," Akane reminded him. "And you haven't exactly become any less infamous, either."

Bolt paused, smiled sadly, and shook his head. "Still..." he said. "I'm not here to fight. I'm here to deliver a message. And a proposition, if you will."

Akane grunted. "Fine," she agreed. Word had spread of Bolt's prowess as a warrior and a master of the sealing arts. Akane had every faith in her ability, but she wasn't interested in finding out which of them was the better unless absolutely necessary.

"Good," Bolt smiled. "Good. You see, I actually had question. Rather, that question is the message, if that makes sense?"

Akane quirked a brow at him. She was no longer his teacher and she would rather die than give him information that would help him destroy the clan.

"I assume you are familiar with Orochimaru, given my latest clash with him prior to fleeing here," Bolt drawled. Akane nodded. "Right," he nodded to himself. "Well, you see, I called upon our Dark Father to take the snake's soul—" Akane choked. "—and the most _curious_ thing happened."

Akane steeled herself. "And what was that?" she questioned.

"I watched Death devour Orochimaru's soul with my own eyes," Bolt said, eyes dark and serious. "And yet... imagine my surprise when, a few days later, the snake emerges alive."

Akane froze, mouth agape.

"You see," Bolt continued. "I have a theory. Either there is more to our clan's history than you told me, or there is more to the technique of calling upon Death than you have taught me, or... Orochimaru has devised a way to escape from even the clutches of our Dark Father himself."

Akane swallowed and Bolt smiled at her, baring teeth visible through the falling rain. "But I don't believe you lied to me— that you would have lied to me, not about something as important as the blood. I could sense the power of Death as keenly as if it had been me that had paid the ultimate price. Therefore, I choose to believe in the third option," Bolt said.

"So I thought to myself, how would I escape the authority of a being so powerful that I cannot even comprehend its power or existence?" Bolt continued. "Then, I remembered something. You said Death taught the First Uzumaki the art of fūinjutsu. That she created the first death mask. But, if I remember correctly, and if my sources aren't mistaken, the First's mask isn't among the shrine. It isn't, is it?"

Akane couldn't answer him, even as he pieced the mystery of their clan together bit by bit.

"No, the First's mask... Orochimaru has it, doesn't he? That's how he escaped. The First's mask has some connection with Death, some power over him, or a bargain, that allows its wearer to call souls back from Death's grasp," Bolt concluded.

And, slowly, the embers of righteous anger over her clan's genocide were stoked. They had lost so much, so many people, so much power, so much history, and so much knowledge. And, now, the missing key to their existence was held in the hands of Orochimaru.

"How do we know he's not lying?!" someone in the crowd shouted.

Bolt grinned and held forward his left arm as his right hand drew up the sleeve of his robe. The power of the seal inscribed there called to her, her blood singing. "The Cursed Seal of Honesty," Akane said aloud, for all to hear.

"Temporary, of course," Bolt said. "It will be removed once I leave her. In addition, I've made a few... alterations that will prevent me from being forced to speak where I might otherwise have refrained. But, still, I speak the truth."

The night was quiet save for the patter of rain. Akane drew in a deep, long breath through her nose and exhaled through her mouth as the weight of her people settled on her shoulders. "What do you expect us to do with this information?" she demanded.

"Ah," Bolt raised his hand, index finger extended. "Now comes the proposition—"

"You want us to betray the Leaf," Akane reasoned. "You want us to betray allies we have fought and died with for centuries. You want us to side with you, to help you kill Orochimaru."

"Well, yes," Bolt frowned. "But it sounds bad when you phrase it like that. You see, I prefer to think of it as you choosing who you've always sided with: the blood."

"Oh?" Akane pressed.

"Don't play coy, Uzukage," Bolt chided. "We both know— we all know— that your loyalty is to the blood. You fought for me, defended me, until you no longer could, until the loss of one Uzumaki outweighed the loss of all those here. But until then? You were willing to fight my father on my behalf. And why? Because I am blood. Far more so than my father, I think you and I both agree. I might not have crimson hair nor eyes, but my blood is Uzumaki through and through. My Yang chakra's power cannot be denied and my mastery of fūinjutsu would awe even you, I hope. I am an Uzumaki. More than that, the most important thing in my life is family. Well, my mother and sister, but my family all the same. That includes you, you know?"

Akane's eyes trailed downward, eying the seal on his forearm and the power contained therein. The seal was right and true, she could sense, and she knew Bolt spoke no lies. And, in some small way, it warmed her heart. That the blond brat-turned-war criminal considered her and the rest of their clan family.

"We can't, Bolt," Akane said, finally. "You know this. The world would turn on us, as it already did once, as soon as they knew we stood with you."

Bolt laughed. "They would, wouldn't they? Just as they did before..." he paused. "And just as they will do again. You think the world won't grow to fear the Uzumaki, just as they did a hundred years ago? Maybe it won't be in a hundred years, or even two hundred... but they will come to fear the power of our clan eventually, all the same. And when they do, they'll do the same thing our people have always done."

"And you think you can stop it?" Akane demanded angrily. She would not be swayed by her fear for the future of her clan.

"I _know_ I can," Bolt said, his words burning with the force of conviction, so powerful that Akane couldn't help but believe him even if he had not shown her the seal. "Do you know why I set out on the path I've taken?" he asked.

Akane shook her head.

"It's simple, really," Bolt said. "No one understands. Not my father, not my friends, not my family, not the people. They think I have to have been broken by the things I've done or seen, that I've had to have experienced some great loss or tragedy, or that I am so weak that I snapped because my father didn't love me enough. None of those are true. You want to know why I've done what I've done? Because I saw a wrong that everyone else saw and yet no one stepped up to right it— so I did. No great secret, no grand tale. Just... morality. Duty. That's all."

"So you set out to change the world?" Akane mused.

Bolt nodded. "The future I am building will be one where the Uzumaki clan never has to fear genocide again," he said with conviction. "A future with peace and stability for everyone. You don't have any reason to fear me, Uzukage. You don't have to like me, you don't have to agree with me. Hell, you don't even have to work with me. All that I ask is that you stay out of my way and let me do what is necessary. But..." he paused. "But if you want to help create a world in which sons and daughters of the Uzumaki clan don't have to hide on an island behind a barrier for their entire lives just because they have red hair and eyes, then I would welcome you into the fold with open arms."

Akane didn't know what to do. Looking into the eyes of her clanmates, she saw that they didn't either. It would take time. Time for them to digest the information, consider the offer. Time to come to terms with the world and their place in it.

Akane huffed. "They call you the One Shadow, huh?" she mused.

Bolt smiled at her. "Not to worry, of course, Uzukage. You will retain sovereignty over the Land of Whirlpools and the Uzumaki clan," he assured her.

"But I would answer to you, wouldn't I?" Akane pressed. "As would the other Kage. Your title is apt. One Shadow, looming over all others."

"To ensure peace and stability, of course," Bolt said. "You understand, yes?"

"Should I not be calling you 'Emperor,' Your Majesty?" Akane gested.

Bolt scoffed. "Please," he huffed. "I have no desire to wear such an ostentatious and archaic title."

Akane nodded slowly. "It will take time for us to come to a decision, Bolt," she said. "You must understand that."

"Of course," Bolt agreed, bowing with a flourish. "As I said, I merely came to you with a message and a proposition. Take as much time as you need. How will I know when you've reached a decision?"

Akane smiled grimly. "You'll know, one way or the other," she said.

Bolt paused, inclined his head, and then was gone as lightning flashed overhead. Akane stared up into the night sky, the moon hidden by angry stormclouds, blinking away rain.

The clan had much to discuss.

* * *

 **March 6th, 0025 AIT**

His lord was troubled, that much Tetsu knew. He simply did not know what to do to absolve him of his troubles. It was not a vassal's place to question his lord, only obey. And his lord had bid him to answer the challenge of his former master. Truthfully, deep inside, Tetsu relished the challenge. The sting of failure during the fight for the Six-Tails was fresh in his mind. He was eager to prove himself against an opponent that would not shy away from crossing swords with him. Another part of him desired to overcome his old master, to prove that he was truly the greatest swordsman under the heavens.

Already the cold seeped into his bones as they approached the Land of Iron. Nestled deep to the west, surrounded by mountains, ice, and snow, slept his homeland. It had been many years since he had set foot upon its snowy ground. Not since he had left after completing his training in search for a lord. Tetsu could not say that he had missed his home overly much. There was nothing there for him. Not his mother, whose face he could no longer remember, nor Sagara, who had died protecting him all those years ago, nor could he expect a warm welcome from his former master, who sought to slay him and preserve the honor of the school of the Heavenly Flying Sword.

But none of that mattered to Tetsu. Not anymore. He had found his place in the world, found his purpose. Found a lord worthy of devotion. A kind lord, benevolent, unbowed and unbroken, courageous even against the brunt of the world's hate and fear, yet humble, never thinking of those below him as disposable. He treated Tetsu, his vassal, as if he were a friend, and some small part of Tetsu basked in that radiance, though his pride and honor would never allow him to voice such thoughts.

The sprawling city of Three Wolves sat beneath the triplet mountains, as it always had and as it always would. Few lived outside the walls of Three Wolves, save for the honorless and the old hermits. It was too cold for most to survive without the help of others.

"We should stop here," Hikari said, pausing near the outskirts of the farms, growing what little hardy crops survived the cold. "We'll enter the city in disguise until we find your master."

Tetsu nodded and discarded his Akatsuki robe. He donned a ragged traveller's cloak, tattered and threadbare, drawing the hood over his distinct crimson hair. Hikari did the same, much less suspicious than he due to her smaller size. They kept their heads down, hoods obscuring their faces, the guards only giving them a passing look as they and the farmers and laborers entered and left the city. It had not changed much since his childhood, Tetsu mused. He and Sagara had often snuck in and out of the city gates in much the same way.

Three Wolves hadn't changed much since his childhood. The technological boom had rapidly changed the way his people lived, but not their way of life. The people of the Land of Iron were as hard as their namesake, grim faces and straight backs with raised chins. Tetsu could easily see the difference between the classes. Pompous, fat merchants and terrified, skittish nobles guarded by solemn samurai. Once or twice he even saw the sky-blue sashes of the school of the Heavenly Flying Sword among the guards.

Tetsu traced the footsteps of his younger self, navigating the dirty, icy streets and moving deeper into the city where the school of the Heavenly Flying Sword was located. He walked slowly, with purpose, remaining inconspicuous and allowing Hikari to trail behind him invisibly. There were students, boys and men, in the courtyard, training with wooden swords as they went through the stances under the guidance of one of the senior disciples. It was nostalgic, really, in a way. Tetsu had fonds memories of hiding in the nearby woods practicing with twigs.

Tetsu stepped into the courtyard and removed his hood. A few students glanced his way, alerting the senior instructor, and the man visibly paled before ushering his students to safety and scurrying away to find his master.

It didn't take long for his former master to appear. Garbed in simple but ornamental robes, Master Nishimura had lived to be an old man. His hair, Tetsu noted, was graying, when it had once been a charcoal black color. His beard, thin and wispy, fluttered in the wind. Still, he was strong. The strongest man Tetsu had met in his life until he had met his lord. His body had not decayed with age and he still bore the strength of his youth. The two katana at his hip were utilitarian and well-cared-for.

Tetsu reached for the scroll of challenge and tossed it to his master's feet before summoning the Thunderswords from one of the storage seals on his arms. Hikari, he noticed, had disappeared, and Tetsu focussed on the battle to come knowing that she had her own mission per their lord's orders. They would meet again when the duel was concluded.

"Tetsu," Master Nishimura spoke, voice as cold as ice and as hard as steel, as it had ever been. "You have brought dishonor upon yourself and our most ancient and honorable school of swordsmanship. It is my duty to challenge you to a duel to the death. Do you accept?"

"Yes," Tetsu agreed, brandishing his swords and slipping into a stance. His blood thrummed with the thrill of the challenge.

There was a simple pleasure in dueling an opponent that believed as he did. The ninja, though powerful, adhered to a different system of belief. They valued cunning and intelligence, stealth and traps. Even his lord, great as he was, was prone to bouts of plotting. The samurai were different. Master Nishimura was different. They believed in strength and speed, in honor and courage. To face your opponent on the field of battle and cross swords with them until either they lay dead, or you did. It was the type of fight Tetsu yearned for, and his former master did not disappoint.

Their swords clashed, steel grinding against steel, chakra so powerful that their skin glowed. The Heavenly Flying Sword-style focussed on a series of flowing stances that slashed at an opponent's calves and neck. The alternating, wild attacks overwhelmed and confused their opponents, bleeding them by a thousand cuts, before dispatching them.

Master Nishimura was an artist with a blade. Tetsu remembered vividly what had happened to the thugs that had killed Sagara and nearly killed him. If he made one mistake, left one opening... that would be the end of him. They began with the first Dance— the Dance of the Orange Dragon.

"Left shoulder to right hip!" Master Nishimura barked sharply.

Their swords clashed, steel ringing, wisps of chakra ghosting through the air. Tetsu pushed forward, leveraging his greater height and weight against the smaller swordsman. His master retreated, slipping gracefully back into a readying stance.

"Second Dance," Tetsu answered his former master. "Dance of the Red Dragon. Right shoulder to left hip."

Their blades crossed, again, each vying for supremacy. Tetsu locked guards and pushed Master Nishimura away, sending a small crescent of flaming chakra after the aging swordsman. His former master unleashed a Flash of his own, a crescent of lightning. Tetsu used the Thunderswords to absorb the chakra and add it to his own before sliding into the stance of the Third Dance.

"Dance of the Yellow Dragon!" Master Nishimura snapped harshly. "Right ribs!"

Tetsu caught the tip of the strike with one of the hooked blades of the Thunderswords before attacking with his own Yellow Dragon. Swords wreathed in chakra, they clashed, retreated, smoothly transitioning from one form to the next. The Green Dragon was next, a lateral strike to the left ribs, followed by the Blue Dragon, a horizontal uppercut that slipped beneath the right ribs. His former master, even in his advanced age, kept pace with Tetsu, easily blocking the strikes and countering with his own attacks.

Every form had been branded into Tetsu's mind from a young age. They flowed through the entire sword-style's school, from the simplest stances to the most intricate attacks. It was akin to a test, Tetsu imagined, his master putting him through the paces. He was determined to pass, as much as he had when he had first left the school to find a lord to serve. The two of them stood, robes damp with sweat, chests heaving for breath with trembling hands gripping the hilts of their swords tightly. In the distance, explosions boomed, rocking the city, and he knew that Hikari and Kagami were close to finishing their mission.

Tetsu took a breath and raised both Thunderswords high. His former master eyed him curiously, both knowing what was to come, surprised that Tetsu had adapted the Dance of the Nine Dragons— a single-sword technique— into a dual wield technique. There was a pregnant pause, both swordsmen acknowledging the other, before they surged forward the speed of the gods, for only a god could be in nine places at once. Thus their style was named— the Heavenly Flying Sword. In an instant, they struck, nine slashes in one.

A downward strike upon the head.

A horizontal strike from the left shoulder to right hip.

A horizontal strike from the right shoulder to left hip.

A lateral strike below the right ribs.

A lateral strike below the left ribs.

A horizontal strike from the right hip to left shoulder.

A horizontal strike from the left hip to right shoulder.

A vertical strike from the groin to the belly.

A forward strike, piercing the heart.

Tetsu blinked away the pain that radiated from his side, warm blood streaming from a shallow gash just below his ribs. Master Nishimura was left trembling, but unharmed. Tetsu raised both Thunderswords high, again, and prepared for another clash. Again the two finest swordsmen of the Heavenly Flying Sword-style clashed.

Tetsu retreated, blinking away surprise that he was entirely unscathed. His former master, however, was not. Master Nishimura had two jagged cuts, one cutting through the soft flesh beneath his ribs and another stretching from his right shoulder to sternum. Blood stained his ornate robes as his breaths came short and ragged.

"Well done, Tetsu," the man who taught him everything he knew about swordsmanship said. "You truly were the greatest student I have ever had."

Tetsu raised a brow as his master straightened, spine erect and shoulders squared. He raised his chin, steel in his eyes, as he slipped into an unfamiliar stance. "And now begins your final lesson," Master Nishimura said. "The Dragon that Parts the Heavens," he intoned, raising his sword high. "The Dragon that Rends the Earth," he intoned, drawing his second, shorter sword, holding it low.

Tetsu's eyes widened as his former master's swords became wreathed in chakra, the air humming with power, the chakra growing wild and untamed as it took on a life of its own. Only once before had he seen such a technique, his lord's sister and the chakra of the Hyūga clan, almost akin to that of a lion. This time, the chakra took the form of two dragons.

Master Nishimura tensed and Tetsu surged forward, intending to behead him before the man could launch his no doubt ultimate technique. He only made it three steps before the man did a simple twirl that unleashed both dragons upon him. Spiralling around each other, both great chakra dragons roared. Tetsu raised both Thunderswords, crossing them across his chest, putting up a crude guard. The dragons struck, each biting at his swords, and Tetsu's eyes widened as cracks webbed through the steel even as the stone beneath his feet shattered and the clouds overhead parted.

Tetsu dug the heels of his boots into the ground and pushed back, tongues of fiery chakra licking at the Thunderswords as he attempted to bat the Dragon that Parts the Heavens and the Dragon that Rends the Earth aside.

It didn't work. With a clap of thunder, the Thunderswords shattered and then there was nothing between him and the ultimate attack of the Heavenly Flying Sword-style. Against all training, all discipline, Tetsu cried out in pain, as fangs and claws of chakra tore into him, the dragons dragging him into their tempest of obliteration, carrying him away and into the city as the ground was rent asunder. The world was quiet and still for Tetsu even as his body was ravaged, his eyes finding themselves staring up into an icy blue sky suddenly bereft of its clouds.

When he came to a stop, Tetsu knew only pain. It took him what seemed a lifetime to realize that he had not died. And yet he rose, his honor demanding that he accomplish the task set forth by his lord unto death. The great city of Three Wolves, shining beacon of the Land of Iron, had been parted into two great cities, cut down the middle by his former master's ultimate technique. Tetsu marched forward, legs unfeeling, his feet unsteady as he traversed the wreckage. He summoned forth the Seversword, the blade greedily devouring the blood that flowed freely from every inch of his body. None barred his passage, the few civilians Tetsu spied among the ruins. Once or twice a brave samurai stepped forward only to be driven away in fear or pulled back by his comrades.

Once more, Tetsu entered the grounds of his ancestral school. Master Nishimura kneeled, head bowed, swords lying discarded at his sides. He was spent, Tetsu realized, empty with exertion, while he himself remained ready to continue the battle. He had won, Tetsu realized. Yet he felt no sense of accomplishment. His victory was hollow, for he had not truly defeated his former master. He was simply stronger— that was all.

Master Nishimura raised his head. "Truly, the greatest swordsman I have ever seen," he gasped through ragged breaths. "You have won, my disciple. Go forth, knowing you are now the master of the Heavenly Flying Sword-style."

Tetsu could not have stopped the man even if he had wanted to as he drew an ornate dagger and sank it to the hilt in his belly before disemboweling himself. Tetsu watched, shocked, as his former master committed ritual suicide before him.

Master Nishimura died not long after that.

Tetsu blinked, muscles frozen like stone, forcing himself to move as he found the mangled hilts of the Thunderswords.

"Tetsu!" Hikari hissed.

He turned his head slowly, regarding her and Kagami. Their Akatsuki robes were worse for wear, but otherwise unharmed. Hikari came to him, hands glowing a crystalline green.

"Holy shit! What the fuck happened?" Kagami asked, in equal parts awe and horror.

"My mission has been accomplished, my lady," Tetsu informed Hikari as she saw to his wounds.

"Tsuchigumo, get us out of here," Hikari hissed under her breath.

"Well, shit," Kagami shrugged. "We offed Mifune but we didn't destroy half the city and almost die."

Tetsu looked over the blonde woman's shoulder, eying the portion of the city where he had heard the explosions before. It was ruined. Kagami must have seen something in his expression for she burst into laughter.

He was whisked away, back to the Eye, and Tetsu blissfully allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

 **March 7th, 0025 AIT**

He was on the back foot, yes, but Bolt was pleasantly pleased with his machinations. Tetsu had defeated his master, a man that was powerful enough to prove a thorn in his side, and Hikari had slain Mifune, crippling the Land of Iron. Kagami was... not better, perhaps she would never be better, but she was improving. She emerged from the isolation of her room, she ate with the team, and though she was quiet and sullen most times, Bolt could tell she was listening to the others when they spoke. Once or twice, she had even caught her smiling softly. Progress, he supposed.

Progress that would likely stall when he told her that her sister was dead. That ruinable task fell to him and Bolt didn't cherish it. Like removing a bandage, Bolt supposed it was better to do the deed quickly and in one fell swoop than to draw it out over the days to come. He stood, the scroll he had been reading forgotten, as he began to search the castle for Kagami. He found her quite easily, still in her room, eyes unseeing as she played some kind of racing game. The ghosts of other players rushed by and Bolt realized she was following one specific ghost in particular. He sucked in a hissed breath.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Kagami asked quietly, following the ghost of— no doubt— her sister. The race ended as she and the ghost passed the finish line, the ghost fourth and her fifth. Bolt couldn't bring himself to answer her. "We couldn't beat this track," Kagami explained solemnly. "And now I never can because it will erase her."

Bolt swallowed thickly. He didn't know what to say. "Come with me," he settled for.

Kagami discarded the controller and stood. She followed him, head lolled and eyes lidded. Bolt could have led her to her death and Kagami wouldn't have noticed a thing. Bolt traversed a corridor of the Eye he had never before had need to walk. It led deep into the bowels of the dimension, reinforced with its own seals to exist on its own even in the event of a total collapse of the castle and the land around it.

It was a solemn room, heavy with death, built in the style of the old era. Gray and lifeless, it was decorated with hard stone. Erected rectangular graves and statues dotted the walls while an eternal fire burned atop a dias in the center of the room.

Bolt dubbed it the Mausoleum, where all great heroes of his movement would eventually come to rest— himself included. It was the least he could do to honor their sacrifice. Bolt led Kagami over to the only occupied tomb. There her sister was laid to rest, an open grave that was sealed outside of time so that the body was never ravaged. Kagari looked peaceful, eyes closed and hands folded across her chest, garbed in pure white robes.

Kagami made a low, pained sound.

"The graves here are created with a special seal," Bolt explained. "Time doesn't pass inside. Kagari will remain as she is from now until the heat death of our universe. It was... the least I could do."

Kagami's shoulders shook with silent sobs as she fell to her knees.

"I... am sorry, Kagami," Bolt tried. "Your sister, she... died before I had even awoken from my wounds. There was nothing I could do."

Kagami said nothing. Her cries only grew louder. Bolt left her to her grieving and returned to the Eye proper. The acidic taste of failure was heavy on his tongue. He returned to his quarters, quiet so as to let Hikari rest from her recent mission, returning to the scrolls he had been reading. Ancient things, recovered from tombs and ruins of clans long forgotten. They were theoretical, detailing the author's theory on techniques that could alter probability. An unlikely glimpse into the realm that Sarada commanded.

Bolt blinked as a knock sounded at the door. He had nearly fallen asleep and wasn't sure how much time had passed. "Kagami," he said he opened the door. Her blonde hair fell over her eyes, obscuring them. When she looked up, Bolt saw a _fire_ in them that he had only seen in his reflection before.

"You said my sister and I had potential," Kagami said. "I know you didn't push us as hard as you could have because you knew we weren't ready. I know we could have been better. I know _I_ can be better. I'm ready now, Bolt."

She stared into his very soul with the strength of her conviction. Bolt's lips twitched and he suppressed a grin. Kagari might have perished, but new life had been born in her sister that he might yet forge into an even greater weapon.

"I want revenge, Sparky. Push me," Kagami hissed, fist grabbing the collar of his shirt and dragging him face-to-face.

Bolt smiled. "I thought you'd never ask," he said.

He found himself giddy in a way that he hadn't been in a long time. Bolt had been brooding over the though of an apprentice, a successor. And while Kagami would not be either, the process of moulding her in his image would be good practice for when he finally did find a disciple.

Bolt was looking forward to it.

* * *

 **March 23rd, 0025 AIT**

Orochimaru tirelessly browsed another report. The Ōtsutsuki were coming and he had a quota of clones to reach. At the rate they were going, they would never have a suitably powerful army of natural chakra users. The base was quiet, save for Suigetsu's incessant prattling. Log was dead. Karin was dead. Jūgo was dead. Mitsuki was away, chasing his ever growing Sun. The Hokage's brat had proven to be a serious threat over the years and Orochimaru was thrilled with the boy's progress. If he could turn the brat to his side, turn him into a weapon against the Ōtsutsuki, they would be that much closer to defeating the threat.

Of course, the royal family would need to be dealt with by the Hokage and Sasuke, but...

"Hey, boss—" Orochimaru hissed at the casual term of addressment. Suigetsu corrected himself. "—er, Lord Orochimaru, sir, are you, uh, throwing a festival?"

Orochimaru blinked at the little white-haired idiot. "What are you babbling about?" he hissed. Honestly, sometimes he didn't know why he didn't just slip something in Suigetsu's food and dissect the fool for a method of transferring his clan's bloodline to other subjects.

"There's a bunch of civilians outside the mountain wearing those masks everybody wears at festivals?" Suigetsu tried.

Orochimaru leapt to his feet and dashed over to where Suigetsu sat, overlooking a security console. Indeed, outside the mountain, a mass of men and women mulled, each wearing a white mask with different features and colors.

A woman stepped forward, faded crimson hair trailing behind her. She clapped her hands together and the others mirrored her.

Orochimaru's eyes widened and he felt genuine panic blossom in his chest.

The world glowed white as the entire mountain around him was transmuted into fire.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Shit goes _down_ next chapter. I'm pretty hyped.

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. So, I have this document where I brainstorm the ending of this story, and whenever I get writer's block, I tend to spend a day or two adding to it. It's pretty long at this point. I'm on my third distinct ending and I've found I quite like it, so we'll see how that changes things, though the overall ending has already been decided.

Also hyped for the Mayweather-McGregor fight and the Game of Thrones finale. This weekend is going to be awesome!


	97. Chapter 97

**March 23rd, 0025 AIT**

"This is not to be a battle," Akane intoned as the roaring explosion of fire withered and died without the chakra of her clan to fuel it. "This is to be a slaughter. The last of the Sannin has stolen what belongs to the blood, and we will have blood for his transgression."

"Yes, Uzukage!" her clansmen shouted sharply.

The progenitor's mask would be recovered and the Uzumaki clan would be one step closer to returning to its former glory. The fire died, great plumes of thick, oily smoke billowing skyward in a titanic pillar that was no doubt visible for tens of miles around. In the wreckage of the mountain Akane saw a great serpent, thick scaled armor and a royal crest upon its brow. It reared up, the fire having tainted its purple coloring until it was black and charred, hissing its fury. And from its maw crawled the Sannin, a horrible grin baring his fangs to the world.

Orochimaru fell, sliding along the sinuous body of his pet, carrying with him a white-haired man slung over his shoulder. He chuckled, something low and dark and sinister that only reinforced Akane's opinion of the monster. Like Bolt had said, brash brat that he was, Orochimaru had no place in the world of men.

"Uzukage!" Orochimaru hissed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Akane raised her head proudly. "You have something of ours, snake," she spat. "Return it and your suffering will only be immense. Do not, and it will be _eternal_."

She knew when to drive a hard bargain. As Akane had learned with Cloud and Mist, never could you trust an enemy once they had bared their fangs once. To do so would only open the clan to future atrocity. Orochimaru had committed his sins and now he must pay for them. Only the manner of his penance had yet to be decided.

Orochimaru chuckled. "Whatever could you possibly mean?" he drawled.

Akane frowned thunderously. "Chains!" she barked.

"Manda!" Orochimaru hissed.

Golden chains speared skyward, entwining and encircling, forming a dome that sealed off the ruined mountain from the rest of the world. The great purple serpent, Manda, hissed furiously as it charged forward. Akane stepped forward to meet it, a serpentine white mask appearing in her right hand. She gripped it by the face, baring the fūinjutsu script within to the world. Akane leapt to the side, dodging the snake, and slammed the mask to its armored scales. Manda reared back, crying in fear, and Akane retreated as the snake flailed. The creature began to shrink, collapsing under its own weight, and the Uzukage continued to channel chakra into the technique as the mask sealed the familiar away. Orochimaru hissed menacingly as Manda winked out of existence.

"You have made an enemy of we who the blood of Death itself flows through, Sannin," Akane chided him. "Surely you did not truly believe you could escape the clutches of mortality forever?"

Something angry and warped glared at her through Orochimaru's eyes. "I'm going to enjoy taking you and your clansmen apart, one by one, finding out what _exactly_ makes you tick," he hissed.

Akane frowned thunderously and raised a cupped hand to her face. She donned the mask of the fifteenth clan head, a master of spatial techniques. Orochimaru lunged forward and Akane blurred through hand signs. She raised a hand and brought it down in a chop, sundering the space before it and cleaving the Sannin in half. Orochimaru began to heal, fleshy tendrils seeking each other out and bringing the two halves of the body together. Akane struck again, slashing savagely at the downed snake, chopping him into as many cubes.

Still, Orochimaru healed. His hissing voice echoed on the wind. "Foolish Uzukage! You cannot kill me! I am immortal!" he cried.

Akane slipped her hand beneath the mask and removed it before summoning another, the mask of the twenty-fifth clan head, the greatest master of Fire Release that had drawn breath. "We shall see," she said, simply. Her hands flashed through the hand signs, the foreign chakra of her long-dead ancestors welling within her. Fire Release, at its most basic, was simply the manipulation of heat. The twenty-fifth head had realized that. Akane turned that knowledge on Orochimaru, the air glowing white with heat. "Burn," the Uzukage growled.

Orochimaru weaved hand signs, just as she did. The glow permeating the air grew in brightness until Akane was forced to avert her eyes lest she go blind. The air hummed as stone bubbled and sizzled, belching gas as it was warped and melted. Over the din of the humming air, Orochimaru laughed. "I have mastered every technique under the heavens, Uzukage," he hissed. "Even this!" Akane frowned as the glow dimmed and faded as the Sannin countered the twenty-fifth's technique.

The Uzukage removed the mask and leapt away as the molten stone coiled upon itself and snapped at her with a life of its own. It rose up, a mass of raging orange-red fire and stone, taking the form of a long, sinuous serpent. Akane took a breath, inhaling deeply, before spitting a wave of water forth that filled the air with voluminous clouds of steam as the two techniques met.

The mask of the forty-second clan head, a master of Wind Release, winked into existence in her hand and Akane donned it. The Uzukage cupped her hands, raising them, her chakra and her ancestor's combining and seeping into the air. Akane dispelled it, all of it, the air and the steam, creating a void, save for a small bubble reserved for herself. Orochimaru raised an arm to shield himself as he backed away before he began to weave signs. Gusts of air spilled from his body, filling the void, allowing him to breathe. He grinned at her, baring fangs, and sent a cascading wall of bladed wind at her.

Akane frowned and drew upon the mask of the twelfth clan head, the second eldest of the surviving masks. An aching, itching burn blossomed behind her eyes. Of all the masks, Akane disliked the twelfth the most. A half-breed between an Uzumaki and an Uchiha, he was powerful, yes, but there was a dark undertone to his chakra that left a bad taste on her tongue. The twelfth clan head laughed in the back of her mind as he granted her his power and, for but an instant, Akane's world became as red as blood.

"A Sharingan!" Orochimaru howled in fascination and surprise in equal measure.

Akane acted quickly before the power left her. She plucked Orochimaru and swapped their locations. The snake squealed as his own technique slammed into him, shredding him. Akane gasped sharply, knees bowing, as the power left her drained.

Still, the last Sannin rose. Even cleaved into so many pieces, he healed from even the most grievous of wounds. Orochimaru laughed. "How fascinating!" he hissed.

Akane's chest heaved for breath. She gazed beyond the barrier of golden chains, keeping the snake from being whisked away by a summoning. She could not risk calling her clansmen to her aid without allowing Orochimaru a chance to escape. Instead, she called upon the mask of the thirty-first clan head and quickly bit her thumb before slamming the palm of her hand to the ground. Vertigo assaulted Akane violently as she was thrust skyward several hundred feet. The Uzukage grinned thinly as Orochimaru gazed upon the great eight-armed sea beast with wonder that the thirty-first clan head had tamed: the Ikuchi.

The Ikuchi was an ancient beast that haunted the seas off the coast of the Land of Whirlpools. An ancestor of the common octopus, perhaps, so old that it likely existed since before man had even walked the Earth. It had been a plague on the fishermen, devouring their boats whole, until the thirty-first clan head had defeated it and sealed it away. Now Akane unleashed it on Orochimaru with pleasure. The Ikuchi squawked a roar, its eight limbs flailing and smashing into the ground as they upturned stone and tree alike in great waves of debris. Ink and seawater spilled from its beak at the apex of its eight limbs and Orochimaru cackled in delight as he surfed the waves, barely staying above the churning waters.

The last Sannin dodged lances of water and crashing waves as he made his way to higher ground up the mountainside. The barrier filled with seawater, creating a small lake held at bay by the golden chains of her clansmen. "What a fascinating creature!" Orochimaru hissed. "It seems only fitting that I answer your summons with one of my own!"

The snake slammed his palm to the ground and Akane's eyes widened as two wooden caskets rose from the stone, bereft of their lids, baring the visages of two men she knew very well. "Have you no shame?!" Akane demanded angrily as the slack faces of Hashirama and Tobirama Senju gazed unseeingly at her.

Orochimaru laughed, low and gravelly. "You have me at a disadvantage, Uzukage," he hissed. "It only seems fitting I even the score."

Akane frowned thunderously at the snake's audacity, at the casual disrespect for the sanctity of the dead. The corpses began to stir and Akane weaved the signs, praying the vile serpent had not altered the technique since her last correspondence with Mito. Rat— Ox— Monkey— Tiger— Dragon— Boar. The Uzukage clasped her hands together as if in prayer and cast her chakra outward. She was rewarded as the corpses took a single step forward before falling to their knees and turning to dust.

Orochimaru gaped in open surprise and Akane smirked wickedly. "Tell me, brat, who was it do you think that helped Tobirama create such a technique, hmm?" she hummed. "There was a reason Hashirama wed our Mito. When one wishes to delve into the domain of Death, it would behoove them to have a daughter of the blood to assist them."

Orochimaru reared back and laughed maniacally. Akane frowned slightly at the madness in the last Sannin's eyes. A wild dog on the leash of the Leaf he was, but a wild dog all the same. "You are _truly_ fascinating, Uzukage!" he hissed, low and menacing.

Akane heard a gasp from below and glanced down. One of the men she had assigned to search the facility had surfaced, gasping for breath, his crimson hair wet and clinging to his death mask. He raised a fist with an unfamiliar mask clutched within and Akane grinned in victory. Orochimaru roared and dove at her clansman but Akane conjured golden chains to shield him and she was in turn joined by the others that had been on the search team. Orochimaru attacked violently with fists and chakra but all attacks were turned aside by the combined might of their barrier technique.

Akane stowed the mask of the thirty-first clan head away, and with it, the Ikuchi, and smiled thinly as she drew upon the oldest death mask that had survived the genocide: the mask of the eighth clan head. A woman so ancient she could recall gazing upon the progenitor herself in the flesh. It was she, greatest and most venerated of clan heads, that rose the Land of Whirlpools from the depths of the ocean with her mastery of Earth Release when the people of the continent began to fear the Uzumaki. And it was with her power that Akane would undo Orochimaru— permanently.

Akane waited until the search team had melded with the outward barrier before turning her gaze to the last Sannin. Truly, it was a terrible fate that it would be she, once an ally of the Leaf, to be the one to lay claim to the last of the Legendary Three.

Orochimaru laughed, prowling languidly toward her as he clapped. "Well done, Uzukage. Well done," he praised. "Unfortunately, this is where your plan ends. What are you going to do when I'm free of this gilded cage? The Leaf will know of your betrayal and the Uzumaki clan will be hunted once more as they were in ages past."

Akane smiled feebly. "The Uzumaki clan will endure, as we always have. None will know what I have done here, Orochimaru, for you will not live to tell of it," she said, calling upon the mask's summoning contract. An ancient, furled scroll appeared in the palm of her hand. From it, she withdrew a sphere of glass with but a spark of energy contained within.

"Oh?" Orochimaru grinned, baring fangs. "And how do you plan to accomplish that? With a Rasengan in a bottle?"

The snake laughed at her as she hefted the glass sphere. "The Eighth was a great master of Earth Release," Akane said, slowly walking backwards towards the gilded barrier. "She had a great understanding of the Earth itself. She was a hard woman, as hard as the stone she manipulated as easily as her own body. Her power was so great she discovered that stone even had a great and terrible foe. A foe so powerful that upon meeting both the stone and it was reduced to the void itself."

Orochimaru paused, mouth agape, and Akane saw real fear shine in his bestial eyes for but a moment as her back pressed against the barrier and chains began to circle her and carry her to safety. "I had hoped not to waste what little the Eighth left us on you," Akane intoned. "But, alas, I must. She called it..."

Orochimaru screamed, lunging at her.

"Anti-matter."

Akane hurled the glass sphere, saw it crack, before the heavens trembled.

* * *

 **March 23rd, 0025 AIT**

Naruto smiled fondly as Shikamaru rattled on about some logistics or another of the tensions in the east. It was good to be home, he thought. The mental strain from absorbing the memories from a clone that was, for all intents and purposes, autonomous, for nearly seven months made his head throb with pain, but it was worth it. Naruto hadn't quite realized how taxing war was on the heart, outside of the killing. He was away from his home and his family for long periods of time under great stress. It was hard to believe that Gaara had died and the war begun on October sixth. In comparison, it made the Fourth Great War seem childish would it not have been for Madara trying to enslave the world in his illusion. What he wouldn't do for a war that lasted only two days now...

"Hello? Naruto?" Shikamaru waved his hand back and forth before his eyes. "Are you listening to me or are you dreaming of ramen?"

"I'm listening," Naruto pouted.

Shikamaru sighed. "I miss the clone already," he huffed. "At least it had the drive of the technique fueling it."

Naruto smiled wryly and took a sip of water. "So, as I was saying," Shikamaru continued. "On the sixth the armistice will end and we will be free to release our propaganda. Bolt has appeared to have held the peace, as promised. It's given us time to shore up our defenses and secure the Hidden Stone. How is that going, by the way?"

"Ah, fine," Naruto nodded. "Jōnin commander Ittan accepted the Hat temporarily until a more suitable candidate could be found. Between you and me, I think he'd be a fine Tsuchikage on his own... but, well, politics."

"Politics," Shikamaru nodded. "So, when the film hits, my hope is that some of the people in the Land of Steam and Frost will defect. The closest country with open borders is us, so we'll have our ninja stationed at the border ready to defend them if the Akatsuki tries to keep them from leaving. If Bolt loses the power of the people, we can move more openly against him and much of the popular support that he uses to his advantage will be gone."

Naruto nodded. "Any sign of him?" he asked.

Shikamaru shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Nah," he drawled. "No one has seen so much as a single traveller with a black cloak, let alone an Akatsuki one. They've gone to ground."

Naruto frowned. "And you—"

"—And we still don't know where they are hiding, yes," Shikamaru continued. "We have people working on it, but if you can't sense Bolt or Hibiki with your empath sensing, then your guess is as good as mine as to where they are hiding out."

Naruto sighed and hung his head as he idly stared at his reflection in the pitcher of water sitting on his desk. His reflection was comically warped, making him appear wide-faced and bug-eyed, like a fish.

The water began to pulse and vibrate, as if his desk was being shook. Naruto frowned.

"What the..." Shikamaru kneeled, looking at the pitcher of water as it continued to tremble until a shrill ringing filled the air as the glass vibrated audibly as it struck the other glasses and the metal tray.

Naruto's eyes widened as his desk, then the whole office, shook.

"What the fuck is going on?!" Shikamaru demanded, resting both hands on the desk to steady himself.

Naruto cast a quick glance out the window, surveying the city, ensuring that the Leaf wasn't under attack. They weren't, but...

"Shikamaru, look," Naruto gaped, pointing to the horizon.

A pillar of smoke rose skyward, reaching for the heavens.

* * *

 **March 24th, 0025 AIT**

Something was amiss.

Bolt hated when things were amiss. It was made doubly worse because he didn't know precisely what was amiss, only that something was. It was something incorporeal, something intangible, something immaterial. Bolt couldn't touch it with his fingers, or see it with his eyes, or hear it with his ears, or smell it with his nose, or taste it on his tongue, but he could sense it all the same. It was rather like an imitation of a famous painting, Bolt thought. He couldn't tell the difference between the real and the fake, but he could sense that one differed from the other.

It was exceedingly irritating.

"Ugh! I can't fucking do it!" Kagami howled in frustration.

Much like his new "student." Bolt sighed. "Again," he commanded.

"Fuck you! Your eyes aren't even open, Sparky! Pay the fuck attention!" Kagami screeched.

Bolt took a deep breath through his nose and cracked open his eyes. "I was _thinking_ ," he chided her. "And I don't need my eyes open to tell that you're too impatient."

Kagami crossed her arms under her breasts and pouted. Bolt rolled his eyes. "I don't see why I have to learn the stupid Gentle Fist anyway," she grumbled.

"Because," Bolt sighed. "It is the style in which I am most accustomed. I could teach you the Uzumaki style, but it would do you little good since it was built upon the premise of using it in tandem with chakra chains. I could teach you the Cloud style of fighting, but neither of us have the build for the type of strength-based moves they utilize. The Gentle Fist is the best, most powerful style, and will work well with your skill set."

"You don't even know if it's going to fucking work!" Kagami snapped.

Bolt massaged the bridge of his nose. "My use of the Lightning Armor altered the Gentle Fist such that it causes a subtle but permanent damage to the subject," he lectured. "I am more than certain that, when combined with your Explosion Release, it will achieve more than expected results. In addition, our builds are similar, designed for quick, agile hits, which the Gentle Fist excels in."

Kagami grit her teeth, one eye visibly twitching. Bolt sighed, rolled his eyes, and stood. "Come here," he beckoned.

Kagami stomped over and came to a stop a foot away. Bolt took her hands in his, temples writhing as he activated his Byakugan, deftly stretching delicate feminine fingers as he examined her chakra points. His index finger trailed over the first of the chakra points in the hand, starting at the wrist. Bolt looked up. "This is going to sting a bit," he warned. Kagami, cheeks flushed, nodded. Bolt pried open her first chakra point.

"Ow! Fuck!" Kagami hissed, tearing her hand free and shaking it in pain as she swore. "That was more than a sting, fucker!"

Bolt smiled wryly. "Sorry," he said, reaching for her hand again. Kagami grumbled but obediently obeyed and placed her hand back in his grip. "This... is going to hurt."

"No shit, Spar—" Kagami squeaked as he pried open the next chakra point.

She hissed in pain, muscles trembling, and Bolt felt sympathy for her. "I'm sorry," he said. "If it's any consolation, it hurt when I first had mine opened, too. Usually when a Hyūga is first learning the Gentle Fist their teacher will forcibly open their chakra points to help the process along. My grandfather taught me and my sister and so he was the one to do it to us. We were young and both tried not to cry because we didn't want our grandfather to think that we were weak."

Bolt glanced up to see that Kagami was listening to him rather than focusing on the pain. "There we go," he said, releasing her hands as he opened the last chakra point.

Kagami blinked, looked down, and clenched her fists. "Huh," she hummed.

"Now, you'll have to be careful because—" Bolt ducked as Kagami thrust a fist forward and forced a plume of chakra from her hands. He sighed. "—you have to be careful because it is very easy to use more chakra than necessary. The goal is to insert your chakra into your opponent, not blast them with it."

Kagami giggled. "Sorry," she shrugged.

Bolt sighed. "Now, try it again," he commanded. He returned to his seat outside the training grounds, closing his eyes after he made sure Kagami wasn't using the wrong forms. Practicing a technique incorrectly was worse than not practicing at all.

Bolt took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and cleared his mind. He returned to cataloguing every operation his movement conducted, going through them one-by-one, looking for the one misstep he had made that continued to nag at him. If he didn't figure it out soon, it would drive him insane. Or more insane than he already was. More insane than when Kagami and Kagari started moving his furniture slowly but surely every week. Sometimes Bolt wondered why he put up with the Akiyama sisters for so long.

He asked himself that question again as he dodged a poorly performed palm thrust that sizzled and crackled as it soared over his shoulder. Bolt frowned and opened his eyes.

Kagami laughed weakly. "Oops?" she said.

Bolt sighed. "Let's spar, then," he said. Kagami, unlike him, learned by doing. She was incapable of theoretical work put into practice and testing.

Kagami looked excited by the prospect. Her form was correct, but rigid and inflexible, against what everything the Gentle Fist exemplified. "You need to relax," Bolt chided. "You need to go with the flow. Be loose and limber, quick and precise. The Gentle Fist is pointless if you're going to use it like a brawler."

Kagami frowned, took a deep breath, and forcibly exhaled as her body relaxed. "Lower your center of gravity," Bolt said as he approached her. He slipped a foot between her feet and pressed it against the heel of her shoes, forcing her to spread her legs. "Your footwork has to be quick and dynamic. The Gentle Fist has no blocks. We dodge or deflect. Slap away an opponent's punch or evade and circle behind them."

"Got it," Kagami nodded.

"An exercise my grandfather had my sister and I do is circle-walking," Bolt explained. He thrust a finger at the ground, an arc of crackling electricity scorching the stone. Bolt created a vague circular shape. "Don't move outside the circle," he instructed, gesturing for Kagami to mirror him. "The goal is to stay inside the circle while still moving and avoiding being struck by your opponent. Like so."

Bolt lashed out with a quick thrust of his fingers and stung Kagami in the forearm. Not enough to block a chakra point, but enough to hurt. "Ow!" she yelped, glaring at him.

Bolt smiled thinly and began to circle her. Kagami mirrored him awkwardly, unused to the shifting stances and circular footwork. She lunged at him, abandoning the footwork of the Gentle Fist, and Bolt rewarded her with several aching bruises that marred her pale skin. "Wrong," he chided her. "If you fight like a brawler and insert your explosive chakra in your opponent, they will explode before you can withdraw and you'll be caught in the blast."

"Alright," Kagami gritted out.

Bolt lost himself in the rhythm of the spar. It had been a long, long time since he had done such basic work on the Gentle Fist. It was pleasant, he thought, taking him back to a happier time. Before his father had donned the Hat. Kagami improved, slowly but surely, her form becoming closer and closer to that of the true Gentle Fist as her body grew accustomed to the new fighting style.

"Now add chakra," Bolt said, when both of their arms and legs were trembling from long hours of training. "Nothing explosive, please."

Kagami nodded shakily as she began to expel chakra chaotically from her hands. "Can't— control— it," she gasped between breaths.

"Think of it like a sieve," Bolt said. "You're not expelling the chakra, not exactly. You're just opening your body long enough to let some escape before clamping back down on your control. We'll work on adding force to the technique later."

Kagami nodded and seemed to take his advice to heart, for her more controlled bursts of the Gentle Fist resulted in something that could at least be used in combat to some effectiveness. Bolt pushed Kagami for another hour, until it became clear that his years of training in the style had made him more accustomed to its rigor. "You can't show any weakness," Bolt said, striking quickly and forcing Kagami to correct her form. "You have to be more than just a man in the eyes of your enemy. You have to be a monster, a demon, a god. Once they've thought they can't beat you, that you're untouchable, the battle is over and you've already won without having to throw a single punch."

"Easier— said— than— done," Kagami gasped.

Mercifully, Bolt allowed her to fall to her knees. "Straighten your back and rest your hands on your head. It'll help you breathe easier," he told her.

"This is torture," Kagami groused.

Bolt smiled wryly. "This is the path to power," he corrected her. Kagami grumbled lowly under her breath. When she had regained her breath, he spoke again. "We'll continue where we left off tomorrow," Bolt said. "Once you've got a handle on the Gentle Fist, we'll move on to opening more of your chakra points on your arms, legs, and body."

"I hate you," Kagami snapped.

Bolt just smiled. "Get some rest, Kagami," he said, sitting and closing his eyes as she limped from the training grounds.

He had felt something during their spar, some sad, dark thing that left a cold pit in his stomach. It was some unspeakable sorrow and Bolt didn't know what it was or why he felt it, but he did, and it worried him. The feeling of sorrow resonated with the feeling of wrongness that he had felt earlier and Bolt knew there was a connection between the two, he just didn't know why or how he could feel it. It was but another question in a long series of questions that he asked himself.

The longer Bolt sat, the more the feeling of sorrow faded away, and the more he could feel the void it left within. It clicked, then, as if he had finally had something to compare the real and the fake to. Bolt laughed under his breath, eyes still closed, both amazed and frustrated with himself that he had been blind for so long when it seemed so obvious to him now. New light shed, Bolt dove deep into the feeling of wrongness, following it, letting his mind wander where it may. The pervasive feeling was deep-seated, more like a wispy memory of a dream between sleeping and waking.

And there, between salvation and damnation, light and darkness, Bolt found what he was looking for. A sudden, unseen clarity dawned in his mind, and Bolt felt a weight be removed from his shoulders that hadn't even known he had been carrying. All his aches and pains and worries fled his mind and for the first time in a very long time he knew who he was. He was Bolt Uzumaki— not the son of the Hokage, not the leader of the Akatsuki, not a rogue ninja, not a criminal, just...

"Young Master!"

Bolt groaned as he cracked an eye open. Katasuke stood before him, a gleam in his eyes, square jaw sporting a wide, pleased grin. "Yes, Katasuke?" Bolt asked, nodding for the man to continue.

"I've done it, Young Master!" Katasuke crowed. "After numerous experiments, I have succeeded in creating the perfect artificial Tailed Beast!"

Bolt quirked a brow. "Oh?" he pressed.

Katasuke bobbed his head. "Yes! Behold..." he said, stepping back.

Bolt leapt to his feet as wisps of black chakra licked at the scientist's skin. In seconds, Katasuke was wreathed in the cloak of the Tailed Beasts, an oppressive malevolent presence filling the training ground. Bolt's eyes widened, Byakugan coming to the fore, as Katasuke brought the full might of his Tailed Beast to bear. More than the oppressive chakra, Bolt could practically see within the scientist, into the cage, where the creature lurked within.

It was a creature born from a nightmare, of that Bolt was certain. The deformed offspring of a union between a shark and a ray, it was a monster who loomed above him for several tens of feet and whose fins covered an area so large it seemed to smother the world below in shadow. Its hide was a scaly, dark blue from above and a soft, pale blue from below. A shark's tail, long and serpentine, trailed from its back. It lacked a head, or a neck, and instead a void of swirling darkness stared back at him, something sinuous writhing in the dark waiting to devour him.

Bolt looked away and banished the vision from his mind as his instincts took over and he readied himself for a fight. The false Tailed Beast was strong, yes, but it was not something that Bolt need fear. It was, however, far stronger than any of the experiments that came before it. "Katasuke," Bolt said gravely. "You were not to carry one of these creatures yourself. You are too valuable to lose. If the Tailed Beasts overpowers you, or you lose control, then—"

"I assure you, Young Master, I took every precaution!" Katasuke assured him. "But I could entrust this to no one else! As a man of science, I must continue to study it and test the limits of its powers! For this reason, I am asking your permission to participate in low-level battles in which I may safely put the false Tailed Beast through its paces!"

Bolt took a deep breath and sighed. Letting Katasuke run free would put his organization at great risk. He was what gave them a fighting chance against the superior numbers and training of the ninja. If Katasuke died, all development of the Gauntlet would stall. "Do you have the knowledge needed to continue with the Sword of Muramasa?" Bolt asked instead.

Katasuke bobbed his head. "Yes, of course," the man said. "I will continue with it at once!"

Bolt paused for a moment and Katasuke waited on bated breath. If nothing else, Katasuke had unwittingly handed him another pawn with which he could wage war. A powerful one, at that. Perhaps he wouldn't pose much threat to a Kage— Bolt doubted any ninja who had the strength to be recognized as a Kage-class ninja would be more than slightly inconvenienced by Katasuke— but he would make an excellent weapon against battalions of jōnin or the rare ninja trying to break into the S-class.

"Very well," Bolt agreed.

"Thank you, Young—" Katasuke began to bow.

"—But," Bolt silenced him. "But you will be accompanied by no less than a full squadron of the best soldiers we have at hand. Under no circumstances are you to put yourself at risk or knowingly enter a battle of which the outcome is uncertain. Do you agree?"

"Of course, Young Master," Katasuke bowed.

Bolt nodded. "Good," he said, gesturing with his hand as he withdrew something from the storage seal tattooed on his forearm. "Your first test will be one of endurance, then," Bolt said, handing the ring over.

Katasuke stood and blinked at the shiny silvery metal and the glinting emerald. "Boar?" Katasuke asked, reading the inscription, as he reverently accepted the ring.

He was sufficiently grave at accepting the ring, knowing what its meaning was. Bolt nodded. "Worn by Zetsu," he said. Nagato had written painfully little about the strange creature. Either he hadn't known much about it, or he had died before transcribing the information in his ramblings.

"A test of endurance?" Katasuke asked, frowning. "But we have no Tailed Beast to seal, Young Master."

Bolt smiled.

"Not yet."

* * *

 **March 26th, 0025 AIT**

"What... what the hell happened here?" Shikadai muttered in awe, gazing upon the razed landscape.

He and his team had been minding their business, ever ready to fight Bolt should he attempt to gain another Tailed Beast, when the ground had shook violently and the sun was obscured from the sky by a thick cloud of smoke and dust. Shikadai had thought they were under attack, caught by surprise, and even Sarada had been caught unawares by the sudden and violent earthquake that ravaged the Land of Sound.

That was what had alarmed him the most. How did one catch a precog by surprise with such a devastating explosion? It demanded an explanation. Thus he began his trek north, dread pooling in his stomach as he drew closer and closer to the cloud of debris and realized where, exactly, it was located: Orochimaru's lair.

And now he stood before the once mountainous hideout and beheld... nothing.

It was simply gone. The mountain, the surrounding forest, the rolling hills, the rice paddies, everything. Just a wasteland of smooth, cooled molten stone and a crater that lazily sloped down into a pit of endless darkness that Shikadai could neither measure with a dropped rock or sense with his clan's shadow techniques.

And it scared the shit out of him.

"We have to go, Himawari," Shikadai said, pulling her away from the crater. "The Leaf needs to know about this."

Himawari nodded, as shocked as he was, and the two of them raced back through the destroyed countryside.

For some reason, Shikadai didn't think they would be seeing much of Orochimaru anytime soon.

They made it back to their camp in record time. Shikadai was gasping for breath but Himawari looked like she could have gone on for several more miles. Shikadai noticed they were short one member. "Where's Kohaku?" he asked.

Inojin looked between their teammates. It seemed it fell to him to give the message. "He's not with you?" he asked.

Shikadai shook his head, brow furrowing.

"Huh," Inojin mused. "We got a hawk shortly after you left. The scroll was blank but Kohaku seemed to be able to read it. He took off not long after, saying he was going after you two."

Shikadai frowned. "He's not with us," he said. "We didn't even see him coming back here."

"... Then where is he?" Inojin wondered aloud.

That, Shikadai thought... was a good question.

* * *

 **April 7th, 0025 AIT**

Naruto watched the footage intently, Shikamaru at his side.

" _Fuck the Leaf!"_ one man shouted angrily into the camera, fist raised.

" _Lies! It's all lies!"_ another screamed.

" _The One Shadow is a benevolent leader!"_ a woman yelled passionately. _"Don't be swayed by the lies of the ninja dogs!"_

"Well," Naruto drawled, slumping in his chair. "That didn't go according to plan."

"Yeah," Shikamaru nodded.

The footage continued much in the same vein, nervous reporters and cameramen having braved the dangers of venturing into the Land of Frost to get interviews with the people living there. It had only been a single day since they release their propaganda film intending to smear the Akatsuki and destabilize the region. Instead, it seemed the people were more united in their hatred of the Leaf than they were before.

The interviews ended and the news returned to the anchor, sweating but safely seated behind his desk in the capital of the Land of Fire. _"As you can see, there has been great turmoil over the video that surfaced online yesterday afternoon. The publisher remained anonymous, but painted the now defunct Shinobi Union in a positive light and denounced the now publicly known Akatsuki-controlled Lands of Frost and Steam."_

"What a fucking mess," Shikamaru drawled, lighting a cigarette.

" _The Akatsuki has responded by giving our studio a message to broadcast. We are under strict instructions to wait until five tonight before releasing the message. Given the gravity of the parties involved, Channel Four is dedicated to upholding the instructions even against recommendations by the Great Five and the public at large."_

The camera panned outside the studio where a crowd of people, ninja and civilian alike, were gathered, some demanding the studio broadcast the message immediately while others protested the studio bowing to the wishes of terrorists.

"What do you think he has to say?" Naruto asked.

Shikamaru shrugged. "Who knows," he drawled. "Nothing good for us, I'm sure."

Naruto nodded idly, watching the minutes tick by as it drew ever closer to five. Shikamaru paced and Naruto bounced his leg up and down, much to the annoyance of Kurama. Eventually, a bell rang out over the Leaf signifying the passing of the hour. He and Shikamaru came to rest before the television and waited along with the whole world on bated breath.

" _And now,"_ the anchor said, nervously tugging at his robes. _"The message you've all been waiting for."_

The screen went dark for a moment and Naruto held his breath. The video cleared and he leaned forward, eyes focussed on his son. Naruto's heart leapt into his throat at what Bolt was wearing. It was the ceremonial cream-colored robe of the Kage with a hat— the Hat— trimmed in black with the character for "one" emblazoned on the front. Bolt wore it like a crown. Behind him stood the Akatsuki, garbed in their own terrifying robes, standing at attention.

"New member," Shikamaru groaned, nodding at Katasuke who had made his first public appearance since he had gone missing many years ago.

Bolt leaned forward, removing the Hat and placing it on the podium before him. He smiled wolfishly. _"People of the world, I— we— are not your enemy,"_ he began, voice loud and ringing and powerful. _"There are powers that be that would have us poised against one another. But the Akatsuki is not your enemy. We have taken up arms to defend not only ourselves, but the entire world!"_

"This oughta be good," Shikamaru grumbled.

" _We stand upon the precipice of change. The world teeters on the edge of chaos and war and our leaders do nothing to stop it. Rather, they leap head-first into the abyss, determined to destroy us— their enemies— whose goal is simply to provide for and defend those that the system has failed and forgotten!"_

The camera withdrew— ever so slightly— baring a dense crowd assembled before his son. Naruto saw ninja, he saw civilians, and he saw revolutionaries, all standing together in attendance of the speech. They raised their fists high, cheering and clapping.

" _Therefore, in order to ensure our society's continued security and survival, I hereby declare the formation of the United Shinobi Empire! An empire where the weak are not ruled over by the strong! An empire not plagued by ceaseless, unending war where the unwilling are led by the unqualified to kill the unfortunate and die for the ungrateful!"_

Naruto couldn't find the words to speak. Shikamaru let his cigarette fall from his lips. Neither men noticed. The crowd in attendance roared in approval.

" _By bringing our people under one law and the wise guidance of a single leader, the era of war and death that had plagued our society since time immemorial shall come to an end! Regional governors will be selected that will ensure that the bureaucracy and nepotism that allowed our leaders to wage their wars unchecked will never rise again!"_

The crowd cheered and stomped, thunderous in their applause.

" _The growing and powerful army of the Empire will ensure the rule of law, order, and stability. We will defend our ideals by force of arms! We will show no mercy, give no quarter, to those that call themselves our enemies! Together, we shall stand united against the attacks of those that cling to the status quo! Those that stand should never outnumber those that kneel! To the enemies of the Empire, I give you this warning: you will be destroyed!"_

The raucous cheering was earth-shaking. The camera's picture vibrated.

" _But the path to peace is a long and arduous one. It will not be easy and we cannot do it alone. If we are to succeed, we must band together as one people! Join our army, as a soldier or as supporting personnel! Be the eyes and ears of the Empire, passing intelligence to the authorities as the Great Five wage their war against us! Spread the ideals and principles of the Empire to those that have yet to join us!"_

" _Our course is clear: I will lead the Empire as your One Shadow and herald in a new era of global peace, order, and stability! Together, we move into the future as one people! I will not fail you, my people. We will prevail. This... I swear."_

The crowd began a thunderous chant that threatened to blow out the speakers. _"Ichiei! Ichiei! Ichiei! Ichiei! Ichiei!"_

The picture faded to black and revealed the nervous news anchor, clearly looking for some kind of prompt as to how he should handle what had just been revealed.

"He actually did it," Shikamaru mumbled. "Shit. This is bad. This is really, really bad. This isn't just about us versus some terrorists anymore. This is us versus a fledgling nation. If the other countries recognize their sovereignty, this will be an _actual_ world war."

Nothing Naruto had trained for had prepared him for this. The war between Stone and Sand had been one thing. A war between an empire and the Leaf was quite another. There hadn't been a world war since the time of his father. Naruto swallowed. "What do we do, Shikamaru?" he asked.

For once, Shikamaru didn't have an answer.

* * *

 **April 7th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt strode forward, a northern wind licking at his billowing Kage robes, the harsh staccato of marching boots sounding behind him. The ground trembled beneath his feet even as alarms rang out, piercing the calm of the noon day. The gates and looming walls of New Cloud stood before him, terrified and wide-eyed guards screaming orders as they scampered atop the ramparts. His army marched at his back, the rhythmic sound of marching boots and clanging weapons heralding their arrival.

Bolt Uzumaki the Conqueror. Bolt quite liked the sound of that. Finally, the Land of Lightning was his for the taking.

"Form up!" Bolt barked and his men hastened to obey. Across the battlefield, the three prongs of his new empire's army began to press forward. "Kagami, with me!"

"I know, I know," the eldest Akiyama sister grumbled, obediently following him.

Then there was only the war.

* * *

 **April 7th, 0025 AIT**

"By the Sage," Dodai swore, gazing down at the approaching army. "There has to be thousands of them."

"Ten thousand, sir, by Intelligence's estimation," Akeno, his aid, informed him. "Three thousand per arm of the army."

"What are your orders, sir?" Yurui asked.

Dodai had hoped and prayed he would not live to see yet another war. Alas, old age had gifted him three wars. A weight settled on his shoulders. Like the Third, Fourth, and Fifth before him, it now fell to him to defend the Hidden Cloud as the Sixth Raikage.

"What are your orders, sir?" Yurui asked, again, impatient.

Dodai blinked and shook his head. "Yurui, go to Bee and ready yourselves. You are our last line of defense. If the Akatsuki wants the Eight-Tails, they will have to claim him over my corpse. Akeno, instruct the vanguard to take position outside the gates but beneath the shade of the walls. Have men take up positions on the ramparts. Insure that they do not fire upon our own men. Go, quickly!" he barked.

The gates of the newly constructed city groaned under their weight as they opened and men— the bravest and strongest sons and daughters of Cloud— rushed forward and formed into ranks to defend their home. They had all lived through both horrors the Akatsuki had unleashed upon them and they all knew the cost of failure here: the Akatsuki would destroy them, once and for all.

Dodai swallowed and moved to a more direct vantage point on the wall. He knew that he would be required to go forth and find his opposite among the number of their enemies. For a moment, Dodai felt true fear. Then, it passed. If he was to die, then he would die a good, honorable death in service of his home, just as the Fourth and Fifth did. Once the Hokage's son revealed himself, Dodai would engage him in battle.

In his heart, Dodai did not believe he would survive the battle. But if he was to die, he was determined to take the leader of the Akatsuki with him to greet Death.

* * *

 **April 7th, 0025 AIT**

"Get into formation!" Akinobu screamed over the din of panic and marching boots. His men scrambled to ready themselves as they assembled before the walls of their new home. It fell to him to organize the vanguard's defense of the city and Akinobu would either succeed or die trying.

Their enemy's army, garbed in black armor, advanced steadily, their march echoing in his ears. They were close now and his men had little time to organize themselves. Akinobu could not allow the army to assault the walls or the gate, for Bolt Uzumaki was a renowned master of fūinjutsu. Given time and access to their defenses, he could bring them down around their ears. Akinobu prayed the men atop the wall would fight with all their hearts, for he and his men would desperately need their assistance if they were all to survive the day.

Akinobu could hear the chanting now. Low hums and growls of men eager for bloodshed. Distantly, barely over the din, he could hear orders being barked. "Ready!" Akinobu called, drawing and raising his sword high above his head.

The approaching ninja had drawn shields, strange discs of folding metal that glowed with a barely visible blue-white shimmer, forming interlocking walls. "Steady! Hold!" Akinobu shouted. Gouts of flame and bolts of lightning shot forward from overhead as the men on the walls began firing at the encroaching army. Their attacks slammed into the shields, a shimmering barrier of blue chakra preventing them from passing, as their enemies continued to march forward, chanting ever louder.

A boulder slammed into a large squadron of men, shattering into fragments. The barrier dimmed. A lance of water tore through the shields and gored several ninja before a current of lightning tore through them, killing them. Other such attacks were met with similar success, but there were simply too many attackers to kill them all before their armies met.

"Fire!" an enemy commander bellowed.

"Dodge!" Akinobu commanded.

One of the shield walls parted, revealing a row of men on their knees and another standing behind them. Both ranks had their arms raised, armored fists aimed at Akinobu and his men. They unleashed their techniques, glowing, whirring spheres of chakra that shot forward and slammed into the men that were too slow to dodge. They were torn to pieces, crushed to a bloody pulp, and sent hurtling back into their comrades. The shield wall reformed, covering their attackers before Akinobu could order an attack.

The screams of the dying filled the air and the iron scent of blood filled his nose. Akinobu found his hands trembling and forced his body to still. "Walls!" he shouted as he heard enemy commanders bark orders.

A line of Earth Release users stepped forward, hands weaving signs, before they slammed their palms to the ground and erected earthen barriers between themselves and the approaching army. More whirring spheres of chakra slammed into the walls, pulverizing them, a few of the techniques managing to hit his own men. Other squadrons unleashed Fire and Lightning Release techniques that hissed as they sailed through the air. Some were intercepted by techniques by the men manning the walls, other breaking against the barriers.

Still, the enemy drew closer. Akinobu could see the demarcation between his men and the enemy: the shadow casted by the wall behind them. They drew closer and closer, until row upon row of shields crossed that threshold.

"Break formation!" echoed from somewhere within the mass of writhing shields.

That was when everything went wrong. A man, perhaps five or six lines ahead of him, was suddenly cleaved in two from chin to groin by a man clad in Lightning Armor. The dead man's comrades rushed to avenge him and were quickly sent on their way to the Pure Lands as the killer kicked one of his men in the belly, causing his spine and guts to explode from his back, and sent a spear of lightning tearing through another's chest.

"Attack!" Akinobu shouted, his command lost to the terrified cries of his men and the moans of the dying as the two armies clashed violently. No one ever told him how chaotic war was. Discipline broke down, men killing men violently and messily. It was hot, and carried with it its own unique smell— blood and voided bowels. And beneath it all an undercurrent of fear.

Akinobu advanced slowly, the mass of bodies struggling for survival between him and his enemies preventing him from entering the fray. He saw a flash of blond hair and a billowing white robe that trailed behind the man clad in Lightning Armor and Akinobu knew he was not going to live to see the next day as the leader of the Akatsuki cut down his men like a farmer reaping grain; lopping off arms, legs, and heads, popping skulls and bursting chests. Bolt Uzumaki was every bit the unstoppable monster the rumors made him out to be.

And he was not alone.

Trailing behind him, slower but no less deadly, a pale imitation of his grace, was a blonde woman. She would dart in, prod at one of his men that had gotten too close to been left behind by his fellows, then retreat, and there was a pregnant pause followed by a concussive boom and a spray of misty blood as her enemy exploded.

Akinobu dodged a thrusted sword that nearly caught him in the neck. He dispatched his attacker with a quick flourish of his own sword, cutting the man's belly open before finishing him with a quick slash across the neck. One of his men, no more than fifteen feet away, screamed and stumbled back into his squadron as he furiously scratched at his belly. A moment later he erupted into a fiery explosion and took his comrades with him as they futilely tried to save him. Akinobu swallowed bile as he continued to fight against the enemy ninja clad in black armor.

The fighting lulled as a towering mass of blue-white chakra erupted skyward some several hundred feet away. It consumed the defending army, crashing against the fortified walls of New Cloud before breaking. Akinobu swore under his breath as he killed another two attackers. They didn't have the men to defend the wall and they certainly didn't have a match for the S-class threats that the Akatsuki were fielding.

Akinobu heard and unbridled scream of terror before it caught in its owner's throat and became a gurgling death rattle. Bolt jogged forward languidly, six men surrounding him. He slapped away a slash of a sword only to lop his attacker's head clean off with his free hand as he twirled and raised a leg to block another slash with the greaves of his boots. He lunged forward, fist finding a man's skull and it burst like a cherry. Bolt grabbed the corpse by the collar of his jōnin jacket, hurling the dead man over his shoulder and using him as a shield to block a roaring fireball. Another swordsman lunged forward and was disarmed— in the literal sense, his arms jerking on the ground as their owner stumbled back, screaming— and commandeered the sword used to attack him. He turned, hurling the sword like a spear, and it hurtled into another man's skull before he could take more than two steps forward. The ninja that had used the Fire Release technique was left utterly alone, suddenly bereft of his comrades. Akinobu watched as he roared a desperate battle cry and lunged forward only to be viciously cut down with ease.

His men chanted his name like a prayer. It echoed over the battlefield, heralded by marching boots and banging shields.

He had to have been a god, Akinobu thought, or blessed by a god of war. The leader of the Akatsuki was born to end lives, of that much he was sure. "Bunta! Gaku! With me!" Akinobu barked at his lieutenants. He swallowed thickly as he and his two closest friends marched forward to face the unstoppable force.

Bolt finished slaughtering another squadron of Cloud ninja. The last man fell to his knees, eyes glassy, before slumping to the ground and breathing his last breath. The fighting lulled and the two clashing armies gave him a wide berth, neither wanting to be caught in the battle. Truthfully, Akinobu didn't want to either. But he was a loyal and proud son of Cloud and he would die for his home if that was what was required of him.

Bolt turned to face them, ceremonial cream-colored robe billowing behind him. Miraculously, Akinobu noted, there wasn't a single stain of blood marring the white fabric. Akinobu brandished his sword and drew upon his chakra, his Lightning Armor sparking to life. He channeled it into the blade, becoming one with the weapon he had trained all his life in its use. The leader of the Akatsuki smiled at him, lopsided and boyish, almost patronizing in a way. Akinobu surged forward with a roared battle cry, his lieutenants following behind him.

Bunta and Gaku hurled shuriken and kunai at Bolt, covering his charge. Akinobu blinked at how fast the blond man responded, darting forward and grabbing one kunai that he used to deflect another and catch a third by using the first's pommel. He hurled the caught kunai at him and Akinobu deflected it with a flourish of his sword. The shuriken were deftly avoided and Akinobu swung at Bolt as he threw an open fist forward. His sword was violently wrenched from his hands, the blade warped and mangled as the Gentle Fist tore into it.

Akinobu could only blink as his own mastery of the Lightning Armor paled in comparison to the paragon he saw before him. Bunta leapt at Bolt, arms open wide in a telegraphed but powerful clothesline. He got about for steps forward and a half swing of his arms before his spine and most of his heart and lungs erupted from his back. Akinobu had seen the famed Hyūga of the Leaf use the Gentle Fist before and it had always been just that— gentle. Bolt Uzumaki used the Gentle Fist like either a honed knife or a battering ram. There was no inbetween.

Gaku roared an angry battle cry and leapt forward to avenge their friend and Akinobu followed after him, even trying to get ahead so that he might better defend his last living brother-in-arms. Perhaps he had lingered too long after seeing the death of Bunta, or perhaps Gaku was too enraged, too fast, but Gaku got there first, and that was the last thing he ever did. Gaku got one good punch in before he was systematically and methodically put down.

Akinobu skidded to a halt, eyes wide as they darted between the glassy, unseeing eyes of Gaku and his killer. He swallowed thickly as the battle raged all around him, towering masses of chakra erasing swathes of the army and continuous explosions heralded and followed by screams of terror. A few of the Akatsuki's forces managed to get to the wall, massive ladders being erected as they bore into the stone and men scaled them.

By the Sage, it was a slaughter and they had already lost.

Bolt took two steps forward towards him before a wave of bubbling, steaming mud threatened to swallow him whole.

* * *

 **April 7th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt smiled as the Sixth Raikage finally made his appearance. Dodai was an old man, a seasoned veteran of many wars, and had been personally trained by the Third Raikage. He was a master of Lava Release and, according to rumor, was one of only two people to have been taught the secrets of the Black Lightning— the other, of course, being the now deceased Fifth Raikage, Darui.

Bolt was looking forward to the battle. Dodai would be the third Raikage had had slain by either word or deed. It was beginning to be a bit of a pattern.

Dodai frowned, stern eyes locking on the robe he wore. Bolt grinned thinly. The Kage were a prideful bunch of bureaucrats, that much was true. Bolt had chosen his garb to twist the knife, so to speak, salting the wound. It was modeled after his father's robes, a cream-colored cloak that fell to his thighs. Whilst the Hokage's robe was embroidered with fire, harking back to its namesake, Bolt had elected to honor his clans. Between his shoulderblades sat the crest of the Hyūga clan, a "V" connected by a semicircle. Where the flame of the Hidden Leaf normally sat within, it had been replaced by the whirlpool crest of the Uzumaki clan. Below the combined sigil the characters for "one" and "shadow" were embroidered in black.

Bolt glanced down at the dwindling river of quicklime that separated him from his prey. Dodai, too, knew that their time was running out. "Retreat, Akinobu," the Sixth Raikage commanded. "Rally the men. Tetsu Uzumaki attacks from the west, Hikari Yagami from the east. See to their defeat."

"Yes, sir," the jōnin commander— Akinobu— replied before sprinting away.

Personally, Bolt hadn't thought much of him or his subordinates. But, then again, few posed a serious challenge to him these days. He was hoping the Sixth Raikage would give him a bit of sport before he conquered the Land of Lightning.

Dodai slipped into a defensive stance, raising his fists, and Bolt lunged forward and crossed the distance between the space of one heartbeat and the next. He thrust his fist forward, palm open, and it sank deep into a rapidly growing orb of vulcanized rubber. Bolt frowned as the ball swelled to new heights and he was forced to rip his arm free of its prison. He saw Dodai slip beneath the rock, feigning that he was inside the sphere, but nothing could hide from his Byakugan. Bolt leapt back and thrust two fingers at the spot where the Raikage had hidden himself. A spear of lightning crossed the distance and impaled the old man through the belly.

It was a clone, Bolt realized, as the false Raikage crumbled to dust before his Byakugan. Dodai rose up behind him, emerging from the stone like a ghost, and spat a wave of bubbling lava at him. Bolt made himself small, exhaling a blade of water that bisected the wave of lava, and then darted through the gap with blinding speed.

It was boring, in a way, because Dodai could not use the Lightning Armor. Bolt was simply too fast for a fair contest of strengths. The world was slow, so slow, and to him, Dodai appeared to move at a glacial pace. Every particle of dust, every wisp of noxious gas, every bead of sweat, all taking minutes— from his perspective— to fall.

Dodai had prepared another feint, again staying his death as he defended himself with another bubble of vulcanized rubber. Bolt growled in annoyance at the thing's durability. "This technique held up to the Third's strongest spear," Dodai spoke over the din of war chattering all around them. "It will certainly hold against your Gentle Fist."

Ah, yes. Bolt did recall such a technique. Darui had used it and Kakashi, long ago, had explained he had created the Chidori by imitating the Third's unique style of hand-to-hand combat. Bolt withdrew, eying the cord of rubber that connected Dodai to his ball. The old Raikage twirled, hurling it like a flail. Bolt dodged easily, no doubt playing into Dodai's strategy as the old man exhaled and spat innumerable small rubber projectiles at him. Bolt recovered and dodged or blocked the attacks to the best of his ability and speed but a few still flew true.

Bolt panicked as the few that had hit him began to swell in size and a weight far beyond what something so small should weigh. Bolt flung his arms and danced awkwardly as he attempted to dislodge the annoyances. They held fast and Bolt was determined to end the life of their creator and cease the technique the old fashioned way. He got five steps forward, nearly reaching Dodai, before the weights caught the ground and held fast. Bolt growled in annoyance. Dodai leapt backwards and settled into a wide stance as his free hand rose to cup his eyepatch.

Bolt swore as the old Raikage removed the eyepatch and bared the eye beneath. It was pitch black— no iris, no sclera, just darkness, a hungry void. And from the void came a tidal wave of screaming lightning as dark as the night sky itself.

Bolt shed his mortal skin, becoming chakra and lightning, slipping out of his bonds. He was in a bad position for the shift with no pre-built path for his electrical body to follow. Bolt quickly shifted back to his physical form before Thunder God Mode could fully take. His feet hit the ground running and an instant later the wave of black lightning slammed into him before he could get out of the way. Black lightning bit hard, far harder than normal lightning, and Bolt found it penetrating his armor and overwhelming his body's preternatural electrical resistance. When the first burns began turning his skin a bright red, Bolt forced the Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva to activate.

The seal leached some of the natural energy from the attack, making it easier to whether, and Bolt felt his mind cloud with the built-in high that came with Orochimaru's unique brand of jūinjutsu. It gave him the strength and the foolishness to charge forward into the sea of black lightning and attack the elderly Raikage.

Dodai looked upon him with surprise and some small hint of fear. Bolt could only imagine how inhuman he appeared with his skin marred and mottled by the cursed seal. Dodai settled into another wide stance and Bolt activated the second level of his Lightning Armor as he lunged forward. The second wave came, as dark and powerful as the first, and Bolt dodged only to find himself struck in the chest with a thunderous clap of thunder that sent him careening into a wall of New Cloud.

Bolt groaned as he pulled himself from the wrecked stonework. "Impossible," he grunted. Not unfamiliar with ocular-based ninjutsu, Dodai's technique strongly reminded him of another. "Faster than Master Sasuke's Amaterasu?" It was well-known that the Fourth Raikage lost his arm to a much younger, more troubled Sarada's father and his Amaterasu. The black flames of Amaterasu were said to burn anything the user laid eyes on to dust in an instant.

Bolt picked himself up as his chakra latched onto the air and bent it to his will. He aligned a multitude of paths, each aiming for the Raikage. Dodai had turned and settled into another wide stance as he prepared to use his dōjutsu again.

A burning sensation at his ribs interrupted Bolt before he could attack. He swore under his breath, retreating and attacking a few stray Cloud ninja that were paying more attention to his fight than the attacking army. Dodai, fearful of hitting his own men, stayed his hand, and it gave Bolt the time he needed to let the Cursed Seal of Zamin suppress his emotions. Bolt hated working on a time limit. He couldn't fight for very long on the planet without using the seal at least for a few minutes at a time for fear of drawing the wrath of his father down upon him. Carefully— very carefully— Bolt began to construct a set of parameters for his addled logical mind to follow lest he have another incident like the Five-Tails on his hands. He was here to conquer these people, not obliterate them.

Cold clarity welled in his mind as the seal took effect. Bolt took a deep breath and dove back into the fight as he shed his skin and became the Thunder God once more. He struck hard and fast and Dodai balked and futilely tried to block with his arms even as forked tongues of black electricity spilled from his mangled eye socket.

Before the attack could land, however, a colossal tentacle of pink-red flesh slammed down in front of the Raikage and shielded him. Bolt tore into it savagely and the meat charred and burned as he bored through. On the other side, Dodai was being hauled to safety by the very man Bolt had attacked New Cloud for: the jinchūriki of the Eight-Tails, Bee. Standing next to him was a face he hadn't seen in quite some time: Yurui.

"Bee! Yurui! I ordered the two of you to stay in reserve!" Dodai barked.

Yurui snorted. "Face it, old man. You're not a match for that monster. Let us handle this," he said.

Bolt smiled thinly. Yes, arrogant little jinchūriki, rage against the Thunder God. Bee deposited Dodai back on the ground and the old man gasped for breath as his hand shot to his eye. It seemed, Bolt noted, that there was a limit to how often the old Raikage could use the dōjutsu. The jinchūriki of the Eight-Tails hefted the last of the Seven not in Tetsu's possession— Samehada, the Greatsword— and pointed its serrated blade at him.

Bolt was intimately familiar with the weapon thanks to Nagato's mad ramblings. Pound-for-pound, Kisame had more chakra than any other member of the Akatsuki. Hell, more than several of them combined. He and Tetsu were much alike in that regard. Bolt knew his best option was to avoid being cut. He could not count on the sentient sword growing addicted to his chakra like Hibiki nor did he have a Fire-natured chakra that would repulse the sword from feasting upon his chakra. He would have to fight hard, fast, decisively, and— more importantly— smarter.

Bolt grinned. "Let's take this elsewhere, shall we?" he asked. "A fight between the two of us would wreak chaos. Neither of us want to damage the city or kill our own men."

Bee froze, considered, and then nodded. Bolt's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. "Yurui, stay here," Bee commanded.

"But—" Yurui protested.

"Stay here," Bee reiterated. "Help the Raikage end the battle. Gyūki and I will be fine on our own."

Yurui looked like he had swallowed something sour but nodded and assisted the Raikage in rejoining the fray. Bolt wasn't worried. Everything was going according to plan. Tetsu or Hikari would have no doubt already been informed by one of Tsuchigumo's puppets of the current development. They would be on their way to deal with the last bastions of resistance while he dealt with the Eight-Tails.

Bolt activated his Lightning Armor and dashed off. Bee followed behind, disturbingly quick for a man without augmentation.

And, like a fool, the jinchūriki played right into his hand.

* * *

 **April 7th, 0025 AIT**

Bee was so very, very tired of fighting. He hadn't ever thought he would tire of battle, but he did. The Third War, the Fourth War, the chaotic revolution gripping the entire continent... it was too much war for one man to swallow. He wanted peace. He wanted to retreat into the mountains with Gyūki and write bad rhymes for the rest of his days.

It seemed like Naruto's son had other plans. Now, chasing him, staring at his back and seeing the same robe that the Hokage wore... it was a hard truth to swallow. The world was changing. Things were in motion that couldn't be undone. Unrest in the streets, ideology shifting, technology advancing. The world was moving beyond the ninja and the ninja were desperately trying to keep ahold of their power and way of life.

And all of it could be traced back to Naruto's son.

Bolt led him to a plateau some miles from New Cloud. The sky was dark with angry gray clouds that cried tears and moaned thunder, as his country was wont to do. Bolt came to a stop, Kage robe billowing as the storm licked at it. Bee hefted Samehada, the shark-sword slavering as it devoured more and more of his chakra. He didn't relish what was to come. He had hoped by taking Bolt to the Falls of Truth that he would be swayed from his path. But, if anything, it seemed as if Naruto's son had gotten even more lost. And now, like a stray dog, he would have to be put down. For peace, in the Land of Lightning and beyond, Bolt would have to die.

"And now it ends," Bee said, taking a measured step forward.

Bolt's face twitched once, twice, and then broke into a wide, wolfish grin that bared teeth. "Yes," he said. "Now it ends."

And in that moment, Bee would swear that Naruto's son looked more monster than man.

The stone beneath his feet writhed and glowed red-orange as a pattern spread across the entire plateau. Too late, Bee realized, that it was a trap. He couldn't read the volumes of text that accompanied the swirling patterns of the seal, but he knew it could be nothing good. Instead, Bee abandoned his defenses and dashed forward to attack Bolt.

He never made it.

"Uzumaki Sealing Technique!" Bolt cried to the heavens, clasping his hands before him as if in prayer. "Pillar of the Caged God!"

The Earth itself rebelled against him as the entire plateau reared its head and began to swallow him whole as rock-by-rock was drawn to his body as if by a magnet. In an instant, Bee was buried under a veritable mountain of rubble— and it continued to grow.

" **Bee! Switch with me!"** Gyūki roared.

Bee would have mumbled a sarcastic reply, but his mouth was filled with dirt and pebbles. Instead, he left the shift happen, letting Gyūki take over his body and change it to fit the form of the Eight-Tails. Gyūki, larger and stronger and much for fit to fight such an attack, raged and struggled against the stone, dislodging or crushing large swathes of the would-be prison. The Eight-Tails made quick work of the sealing technique, cephalopod limbs escaping and lashing out as he attempted to crush Bolt and end the technique.

Then things began to go wrong as more and more stone was uprooted and dumped upon them. The rocks reordered themselves, strengthened themselves, forming not a ball, but a cylinder— a pillar, Bee realized, as the name suggested. Naruto's son screamed his fury as the technique no doubt strained his chakra to its limits. Still, Bee had every faith in his friend. The Eight-Tails had never failed him before and he wasn't about to start now. They had survived Sasuke Uchiha, the Akatsuki, the Third and Fourth Wars, Madara Uchiha, and a being even worse than him according to Naruto. They would not be defeated now by the son of a man Bee called a brother.

" **Bee!"** Gyūki gasped. Bee could sense the strain through their bond. **"I'm... I'm losing!"**

"... What?" Bee asked.

" **He's— too strong!"** the Eight-Tails grunted. Through his eyes, Bee saw the tentacled limbs be swallowed by stone. **"He... this can't be! He has more chakra than me!"**

"That's impossible!" Bee exclaimed, lending his own chakra to Gyūki. They would work together, as they always had, as they always would, and escape, just as they had every attempt on their lives.

" **This— this is more like— fighting Kurama!"** the Eight-Tails roared.

The last stone settled into place and Bee couldn't feel movement. "We're trapped," he noted unhelpfully.

" **But not beaten,"** Gyūki remarked. **"He sealed us in here but he has no way of defeating us or capturing us."**

Bee heard a clap of thunder rumble overhead and felt his chakra sing in his veins. Understanding dawned too late to save them. "Not a pillar!" he yelled in panic. "A lightning—"

The wrath of the heavens tore through their body and brought them low. It continued, lasting long after Bee's mind had gone white with agony, until there was nothing left but the pain and until there was nothing left to do but to surrender to it.

Distantly, seeing through eyes that did not feel his own, the last thing Bee saw was a large amber-colored pot that was nearly as tall as Bolt himself.

Then, he knew nothing.

* * *

 **April 7th, 0025 AIT**

It would be a minute or two before Dodai could use his dōjutsu again. A tall order considering his opponents. He was and had been on the defensive for quite some time. Hikari Yagami and Kagami Akiyama were formidable opponents by themselves to say nothing of when they worked in tandem. Dodai couldn't approach them for fear of being crushed in a single blow by Hikari or blasted to smithereens by Kagami. He was forced to stay at ranged, hurling shuriken and Lava Release techniques at them. Yurui was faring little better. Enraged, he had drawn upon the power of the Eight-Tails and was engaged in a furious duel with Tetsu Uzumaki. The two swordsmen were titans among ants on the battlefield as they fought to the death.

That all came to an end as a familiar figure crested a nearby hill and loomed over the battlefield. Men on both sides took note. Only half of them cheered— and they weren't the sons and daughters of Cloud.

Bolt Uzumaki had returned and that could only mean one thing: Bee had lost.

Dodai could feel the men's morale break as keenly as if it had been a pane of glass. By unspoken agreement by all, the battle was over.

Just like that.

Just like that, men dropped their swords and raised their hands above their heads in surrender. Duels and skirmishes finished as the victors cut the throats of the losers and the Akatsuki's army swept forward, disarming and capturing his people.

Dodai swallowed thickly as he was surrounded by Hikari and Kagami. Yurui, however, seemed content to continue fighting to the last. He hastened to get to the boy before the Akatsuki could decide to execute him instead of find him a nice damp, dark cell to spend his days in. Yurui was brash, true, but he was the future of Cloud. He was next in line to be Raikage. And, judging by the outcome of the battle, that time was sooner rather than later.

"Give it up, boy!" Dodai hissed, grabbing Yurui by the collar of his shirt. "We've lost. Surrender and live to fight another day."

"But—" Yurui protested.

"Do it!" Dodai commanded. Yurui, reluctantly, obeyed, much to the Raikage's thanks.

Bolt approached them, a smile on his lips and a spring in his step. Dodai was led by several soldiers and corralled with the rest of the survivors of the army. He looked up and saw men scaling the walls and climbing great ladders as they invaded the city. A moment later, the great doors of New Cloud swung open and what remained of the army save for the guards overseeing them rushed in.

Bolt stood atop a literal mountain of corpses and rubble and behind him stood his Akatsuki. A new member joined their ranks, one Dodai hadn't seen before but knew nonetheless: Katasuke, the Leaf's missing chief of science.

"I apologize," Bolt began. "I imagine few of you caught the broadcast. It was planned that way, so I do not hold your lack of knowledge against you. I am Bolt Uzumaki, the One Shadow, ruler of the United Shinobi Empire."

Murmurs of outrage and fear echoed through the prisoners.

"I am, however, not your enemy," Bolt continued. "I am a champion of the people. I am not a monster. I am not cruel. Kneel and serve me and you will live. Do not... and you will die."

Dodai narrowed his eyes and straightened his back, as did, he noted, many other men that had fought valiantly beside him. A few, no more than a handful, immediately kneeled. A few moments passed and one or two more men joined them before silence reigned.

"I see," Bolt intoned. "Very well. Sixth Raikage, step forward."

Dodai closed his eyes and took a breath before doing so. He was accosted by several soldiers and Dodai allowed himself to be pulled forward. He had accepted his fate. As the defeated, he knew what would happen to him should Cloud lose the war. It was their people's way.

"Hey! Wait!"

Panic blossomed in Dodai's chest as Yurui spoke up in protested and muscled forward. "If you're going to kill him then you're going to have to kill me too!" he bellowed.

Dodai rounded on him. "Foolish brat!" he hissed. "Kneel and live to fight another day! You're the only hope Cloud has left! If you die, Cloud dies with you!"

Yurui looked taken aback by his anger and for once Dodai hoped he would get through to the stubborn boy. "You are the Raikage now, Yurui. I pray that you will have better luck than I, Lord Seventh," he prayed.

Dodai watched as the soldiers dragged him away and Yurui thankfully, mercifully, sank to his knees. Following his example, a few more men kneeled. Dodai breathed a sigh of relief and was brought before Bolt.

"As One Shadow, ruler over all other Kage, for your crimes against the Empire, I sentence you to die, Raikage," he intoned with the finality of Death himself.

Dodai swallowed and raised his chin in defiance.

Bolt nodded and looked to the side. "Katasuke, show them your pet monster," he remarked casually.

Katasuke was a short and pudgy man garbed in an ill-fitting Akatsuki robe wearing a pair of old glasses. His hairline was receding and his chakra wasn't anything that couldn't be found amongst your standard chūnin. That was, until, his skin rippled and unfolded, undergoing a transformation not unlike that of Bee himself, and Dodai was left staring down the maw of some unspeakable horror of the depths of the sea.

Dodai screamed as tentacles dragged him into the gaping abyss of the creature's mass where gnashing teeth tore him to pieces.

All kneeled following his death.

* * *

 **April 10th, 0025 AIT**

Naruto watched helplessly as the news broadcast yet another terrible display of his son's cruelty. He had thought he sensed him briefly three days ago but ignored the feeling after it had quickly passed. Now, Naruto wished dearly that he hadn't.

Row upon row of Cloud ninja were on their knees. They were beaten, bloodied, and bruised, their spirits broken.

And, among them, was Bee.

" _As enemies of the Empire, these men shall be executed,"_ Bolt intoned. _"To deter future resistance, their deaths shall be broadcasted live to the entire world."_

"Naruto!" Shikamaru exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulder and leaning forward.

"What? What?!" Naruto demanded as Shikamaru wordlessly pointed at the screen.

"Look! Look!" Shikamaru said, pointing to a random mountain in the background of the footage.

"I don't... Shikamaru, I don't understand," Naruto said.

Shikamaru grinned victoriously. "That mountain! Don't you recognize it! Look at the cap!" he exclaimed.

Naruto did and he had to admit it looked a little strange. "And?" he asked.

Shikamaru squeezed his shoulder. "That's the rear face of Mount Akiyama! It was damaged during the eruption!" he exclaimed. "That's where the prisoners are being kept!"

Naruto blinked and then smiled broadly.

* * *

 **April 14th, 0025 AIT**

Natsuki yawned as she stumbled back to her family's home. It had been a long shift. The shifts were always long when the Hokage left the village. Natsuki didn't know what he and the other high-ranking officers of the Leaf were doing that was so important they had to up and leave so quickly that that incompetent heir of the Sarutobi clan had been left in charge again.

But, then again, she guessed that was why she was just an ANBU agent and not the Hokage. That was just fine by her. She was Octopus, senior operative of the most elite force of spies and assassins on the continent and on the fast track of becoming the next head of the department now that Sarada had more or less "retired."

Natsuki opened the door to her family's home and stepped inside before shedding her boots. "Mom? Dad? I'm home," she called out.

"Natsuki!" she heard her younger sister cry as she flew inside.

Natsuki laughed as Izumi wrapped herself around her legs and refused to let go. "What have you been up to, little one?" she asked fondly.

"Oh, oh!" Izumi yelled excitedly, releasing her and jumping up and down. "You have to come, big sis! I made a new friend!"

Natsuki laughed fondly. "Oh? Who?" she asked.

"Come on, come on! I'll show you!" Izumi exclaimed, dragging her along.

Natsuki giggled as her little sister led her outside and back through the Nara district. The children were swarming the streets, having been released from school, the Academy, or their clan's tutelage. Izumi led her to a playground where several of her friends were playing.

And, among them, were people that Natsuki knew should never have set foot in the Leaf ever again and it struck dread into her heart.

Bolt Uzumaki stood, laughing, helping her sister and one of her friends build a sandcastle. He noticed her arrival, smiled, and stood to dust the sand from his pants. With him, trailing behind him, looking sullen and angry and sad all at once, was Kagami Akiyama.

Natsuki trembled as the two of them approached.

"I did make you a promise, didn't I?"

* * *

 **A/N:**

It feels like so much happened this chapter! Lots of plot lines that have been in play for several tens of chapters now are finally wrapping up. Papa Sasuke comes home in ~9 or so months and he's going to return to a very different Earth than the one he left. Fun times!

I guess I should have been more specific: the ending is decided and has been for some time, the 3 distinct "endings" (incorrect word) I've made should rather be called epilogues. So the ending is decided, the epilogue, and thus the future of the storyverse, is undecided. The different epilogues change what possible future content in the storyverse I could write if I felt so inclined. One-shots, blank periods, etc. There is not going to be a sequel of epic length, like TND, but I may write several chapters showing who ended up where doing what after the end of the story. My current planned future stories are one-shots in the Boruto universe, possibly a short story about a Bolt who is the apprentice to Orochimaru, and I've been thinking about attempting my first foray into original fiction.

I've been eager to showcase what exactly the Uzumaki clan can do and why they were so feared that genocide was considered the go-to option. A large number of masks were destroyed in the genocide and those that survived are a closely guarded secret of the clan. As a rule, the older the mask, the older the spirit within, and the more powerful it is due to the waning of chakra as the bloodlines become more and more diluted. The spirits within are usually clan heads, but can also be paragons that the Uzumaki clan wanted to preserve for future generations. Each one, however, can be considered a Kage-tier ninja in either knowledge or power. Bolt's death masks are comparatively young compared to those that Akane and the Uzumaki clan have.

There had been some interest in the 12th clan head, way back when I introduced him. His Mangekyō was the ability to swap the position of two objects provided their mass or volume was approximately equal. This is similar to Sasuke's Rinnegan ability, Amenotejikara, albeit much weaker, whereas Sasuke has almost total spatial manipulation within a great (for all intents and purposes, unlimited) range. I was initially hesitant to allow bloodlines to be conferred with a death mask, especially dōjutsu, however I believe it is balanced in that: 1) Only ever could an Uzumaki fully attune themselves to the death masks and use their abilities to their true potential. 2) As such, only Uzumaki clansmen are sealed in masks. Their similar chakras allow them to combine much more easily. 3) With dōjutsu especially, all the normal limitations apply, chiefly that a non-Uchiha or Hyūga will never be able to use the Sharingan or Byakugan with the same ease that they are able to achieve. In addition, it costs great chakra to use even a single time. 4) Loathe as I am to consider anything written in the latter fourth of the series "good writing," Kishimoto did canonically include the ability for dōjutsu to be conferred strictly through chakra as when Obito temporarily gave Kakashi both Mangekyō.


	98. Chapter 98

**April 14th, 0025 AIT**

Naruto hit the fūinjutsu-reinforced blast door entrance to the mountain with cataclysmic force. The seals flashed brightly for a moment before his strength overwhelmed them and the stone shattered. His ninja rushed in behind them as they assaulted the Akatsuki base of operations. It had taken some days and much secrecy to locate the base after learning of its proximity to the scarred Mount Akiyama. The temporary Fifth Tsuchikage was all too happy to grant Naruto and his allies free access to the country, eager to repent for the Hidden Stone's sins in the previous war.

The first guards, garbed in featureless white masks and futuristic black armor, looked up in surprise and squawked in alarm. Naruto knocked the first out and the second froze before he could call out as Shikamaru's shadow ensnared him. From there, it was relatively simple wetwork— what his ANBU had been trained to do. They swept through the base, killing or disabling the guards, making their way deeper into the complex. Naruto kept a wary eye out for Bolt and his group of revolutionaries. He saw no trace of their presence nor did he or Kurama sense the known negative emotions of either Bolt or Hibiki.

In short... it was too easy. It made Naruto's skin crawl.

"Something is wrong," Shikamaru voiced Naruto's thoughts aloud. "This is too easy for a base of operations. A prison, maybe, or a safe house, but not a base."

Naruto nodded idly as they continued deeper and deeper into the bowels of the mountain. Eventually, they found the prison. A long hall dotted with cells that were eerily reminiscent of the cell Bolt himself had been held in during his imprisonment. Some held several bruised and bloodied Cloud ninja. Others had pompous, terrified nobles, still dressed in their fineries. The one cell Naruto was interested in, however, was at the very end of the hall. Inside, old man Dodai, Bee, and Yurui were kept. Gagged and bound in manacles that glowed orange-red with flowing, whirling script, Eyepatch and Bee were unconscious while Yurui stared at him with wide eyes that were both relieved and terrified.

Naruto cupped a hand and formed a Rasengan that compressed a considerable amount of his power into a whirring sphere no larger than his fist. Yurui closed his eyes and glanced away at Naruto's heeding. He slammed the Rasengan into the barrier. It held for the briefest of moments, ballooning inward as it struggled feebly against the overwhelming power of the combined might of the Nine-Tails and the Six Paths, before it shattered. Naruto rushed in, quickly going to Yurui.

"You shouldn't have come!" Yurui rushed to speak as the gag was removed. "It's a trap!"

"What?!" Naruto demanded harshly.

"Naruto," Shikamaru said softly, a hand resting on his shoulder.

Naruto looked up into Shikamaru's sad, shadowed eyes. His friend and advisor inclined his head toward the other prisoners. A strange man who Naruto had never met now sat in Dodai's place, his face locked in the rigor of death, while Bee sat slumped.

"They're... dead, Naruto," Shikamaru informed him sadly.

Naruto rushed forward, kneeling before Bee, the man who had taught him and Kurama what it meant to be a jinchūriki. His hand flew to the dark-skinned ninja's neck, the skin cold and waxy, and Naruto knew he wouldn't find a pulse even as he desperately searched for it.

Something cold gripped his heart in a vice. "Shikamaru," Naruto spoke gravely. "We... I didn't leave a clone in the Leaf."

He had just seen Bee, one of his oldest friends, someone he admired, captured by his son and slated for execution and... blind panic had overtaken him. He just rushed off, again, ignoring the dangers and consequences of his actions.

"But why, though?" Shikamaru thought aloud, speaking softly and respectfully. "What was the point of luring us here? There's no reason. Our spies checked the base for explosives before we invaded and Bolt has no reason to lure us away from the Leaf. There's nothing there for him. Maybe another target of opportunity? One of the Tailed Beasts? The Six and Seven-Tails are well guarded. What else could he..."

Shikamaru grew silent and Naruto looked away from Bee. Shikamaru had paled, his skin a milky white, and his eyes were wide and lips parted in a gasp of horror. "Revenge," he whispered. "Bolt wants revenge. For the death of Kagari Akiyama..."

"And?" Naruto pressed. "And, Shikamaru?"

"And..." Shikamaru swallowed thickly. "Shikadai took the blame."

* * *

 **April 14th, 0025 AIT**

"Octopus" quaked in her boots at the sight of him and Bolt wanted to laugh. For an ANBU, she didn't have much spine. Not like his operatives. Truthfully, he had forgotten all about the woman. It was a spark of poetic justice that he recalled an angry, rageful oath sworn in the heat of the moment when he had been at his most vulnerable emotionally. He could kill two birds with one stone, as the saying went.

Now Kagami would have her vengeance and Bolt could remove the constant thorn in his ass that was the Nara clan— and, at the same time, see just how far he could push his "apprentice."

Octopus parted her lips— to scream a warning, Bolt thought— and he shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Now, now, Natsuki," he chided. "It wouldn't do you any good even if you did scream. You see, we have a very strict window of opportunity. I've arranged for the guards patrolling this sector of the city to be conveniently indisposed of while a barrier prevents anyone from entering or leaving. Really, security should be a higher priority. There was a time when this city was a tenth of the size and you couldn't get in or out without being searched by three different organizations. That's industrialization and globalization for you."

Honestly, it was less of a case of security and more of a case of luck. If his father fought with his brain and not his heart then Bolt would never have been able to sneak into the Leaf, spies and security flaws or no.

Her teeth clicked as she shut her mouth and she seemed to find her spine as her brows narrowed and her eyes hardened. "I don't see how Sarada could love a monster like you," Natsuki spat scornfully.

Bolt smiled wryly and Octopus' little sister began to realize that something was amiss. "Natsuki?" she tugged on her sister's sleeve. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Izumi," Octopus choked. "Just... just go home, okay? For me? See if mom and dad are back yet? And take your friends with you, okay?"

"Okay," Izumi agreed, looking happy to be useful. She dashed off, dragging her horde of friends with her, and Bolt watched them go.

"I must admit," Bolt said. "I sympathize with you. As an older sibling myself, what is about to happen to you and your clan will hurt me just as much as it is going to hurt you."

Natsuki blinked back tears this time. "You'll never get away with this!" she snapped harshly.

Bolt smirked. "I already have," he said. "Kagami, begin," he commanded.

When there wasn't a resounding explosion, Bolt frowned. Kagami looked torn and indecisive. That simply would not do. "Come now, Kagami," he chided. "This is what you wanted, wasn't it? Revenge? Here it is. This is what you've been training for!"

"I'm not going to kill kids, Bolt," Kagami said through gritted teeth. "Especially not ones with sisters. This isn't what I came here for."

Bolt sighed. Of all the times to grow a conscience. "Ignore the children," he instructed. "Focus on the adults, then. A dead Nara is as good as any other."

"Don't!" Natsuki cried passionately. "You don't have to do this! Don't listen to him!"

Bolt rolled his eyes at Octopus, extending his hand and unleashing a cloud of screeching electricity that had the woman spasming on the ground in pain as her porcelain skin slowly darkened and charred.

"These people didn't kill my sister, Bolt," Kagami said evenly.

"Of course they didn't," Bolt sighed. "But that's not important. What's important is that these people are important to the man who did kill Kagari. We can't get to Shikadai. Not, at least, while he is with Sarada and my sister. He's too well guarded. That's why we need to procure suitable bait. One above all, in particular."

"No!" Natsuki screamed through gritted teeth. Bolt ignored her and continued the torture.

"That doesn't explain why you want me to kill the others," Kagami pointed out.

"Because," Bolt huffed. Honestly, it was as if some people were incapable of waging world-wide war. "The Nara are dangerous. Their genetic intelligence and clan techniques breed a superior ninja. A dangerous ninja. One that threatens the Empire. Their deaths will ensure that none rise to challenge it. And, in order to draw out the bait we need for Shikadai, we'll have to get our hands a little dirty. The wife of a clan head is a very valuable thing, yes?"

Realization seemed to dawn on Kagami as a fire was lit in her eyes. Bolt grinned. "Destroy the Nara clan," he ordered. "Capture Temari Nara and we're done here."

Kagami flashed him a grin as she turned to the nearest house and snapped her fingers. It exploded, raining splinters down upon them, a roaring fire devouring the crater where it had been standing. Screams rang out in alarm and a man stumbled from the wreckage of the house. He held his clearly broken arm as he shambled forward, bleeding profusely from the head, before Kagami spotted him and ended him.

Natsuki gurgled beneath his torment and Bolt mercifully ended the stream of electricity. He left her scarred, broken, half mad with agony, and then kneeled so that he could stare into her eyes. "Now," he said. "I believe we had a pact, you and I. Care to honor it?"

Octopus groaned in pain and feebly lunged at him. "Your sister, I take it?" Bolt continued. The hate in her eyes told him he was right. "I see," he nodded, pasting a sealing tag on her belly. "I wouldn't remove that if I were you. Quite the boom. And since you are, well, incapable of walking at the moment, I will have to insist you stay here while I uphold my end of the bargain."

Natsuki rasped something unintelligible at him that was lost between her condition and the sounds of booming explosions and echoing screams. Bolt frowned, looking up and gazing at the barrier surrounding the Nara district. Given that he hadn't been overrun by guards and whatever old guard his father had kept within the Leaf, he assumed it was performing its purpose adamantly. Still, best to be quick. Bolt wasn't looking for a fight— he was looking for a slaughter. "I'll be back," he said, looking down at Natsuki. He smirked. "Don't go anywhere."

Bolt meandered through the flaming streets of the Nara clan. He met the first signs of resistance, a group of grizzled old Nara clansmen garbed in the older style of jōnin jacket. They spotted him, blinking owlishly in disbelief and then terror as he cut them down. As he walked, he pasted explosive tags on the walls of houses and shops. They were low yield, quiet, focussed on demolition rather than clouds of fire. Perfect for stealthily destroying an entire clan.

The next group he met were a pack of Nara, roving the streets like wild dogs, a few men— some ninja, others not— leading a train of their wives and children. They fought as only a cornered, wounded animal could, futilely, as Bolt swiftly and mercifully cut their lives short. The children sobbed as their parents lay dead before him. They didn't even run. They didn't even fight. They just stood there and cried. Bolt raised a hand to end them and hesitated.

A rock— barely a pebble, really— bounced off his skull. Bolt frowned as he felt blood stream down his temple as he glared at a little Nara brat who had thrown the stone at him. In his eyes Bolt could see defiance, he could see hate, and he could see the burning desire for vengeance that was shadowed by a keen, malevolent intelligence. This, Bolt reminded himself, is why the Nara clan was dangerous.

And that was why he ended those children's lives in the blink of an eye before turning and making his way deeper into the compound.

Bolt paused as he saw a group of Nara clansmen assembled before the invisible wall of his barrier. They were pounding on it with their fists. Futilely trying to bring it down through brawn alone. A few, even, were knelt before the barrier, scrawling a fūinjutsu script that reminded Bolt of animal tracks. He could now allow their escape to pass. They, too, fought futilely. Bravely, even.

And they, too, died.

Bolt found what he was looking for at last as he came upon Octopus' family's home. Izumi, her little sister, and her friends, were huddled inside, terrified out of their little minds as they hid from the explosions destroying their clan and their homes. Bolt took a breath and hurled a kunai between their group. The tag trailing behind it exploded in a cloud of sleeping gas that rendered the children unconscious. Bolt slung Izumi over his shoulder and pasted an explosive tag on a wall before leaving and making his way back to the main square.

Kagami, he was pleased to see, had fully lost herself in the chaos and embraced her vengeance. The Nara forest was burning, thick black smoke drifting skyward. Bolt frowned, hoping once more that his barrier would keep anyone outside from noticing the commotion before the mission had ended. Panicked deer and birds fled from the forest and into the streets only to find themselves trampled underfoot by screaming Nara clansmen and roaring fires.

Bolt killed one or ten people as he made his way back to the square where he had left Natsuki. She had moved only several feet— crawling, really, trying to go after him. Bolt smiled wryly and shook his head. He could admire that spirit, in a way. Octopus made a choked, dreadful noise as she saw his approach. Placing the sleeping girl on the ground, Natsuki quickly took her sister into her arms and held her close.

"So, Natsuki, have you decided how we are going to end our little game?" Bolt asked her. Octopus looked up at him, a wordless plea on her lips. "Words carry weight, you know? Mine far more so than yours, but still. Perhaps you'll think before you speak in your next life."

Natsuki sobbed and held her sister close. "I'm sorry," she croaked, cradling the girl's head to her chest. "So sorry, Izumi. I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Bolt smiled. "Well," he drawled. "I can honestly say I didn't expect you to be cruel enough to kill your own sister. Still, I suppose you are an ANBU and you were cruel enough to taunt a son about sparing his mother some pain, so—"

Bolt twitched as a hand wrapped itself around his boot. Natsuki glared up at him with fire in her eyes and hatred in her heart. "Die, you fucking heartless monster!" she screamed.

Then she did something very, very stupid. She tore the explosive tag on her stomach free.

The world was painted a blinding white for but an instant before an explosion rocked the square. Bolt coughed as his body reformed. Arcing electricity danced all around him as blood spattered on his hand and poured from his lips. An imperfect transition between matter and energy, Bolt thought tersely. Some part of him had been lost in translation. The spiteful bitch had acted too quickly for him to properly begin and end Thunder God Mode. His hands glowed a crystalline green as Bolt ran a quick check on his vitals. Nothing important seemed damaged, he thought, but a more skilled healer would need to verify that he hadn't lost something important. Hikari, probably, he mused, already imagining the dour look she would sport when he came to her injured.

"Well played, Octopus. Well played," Bolt bowed mockingly.

A sudden gust of wind powerful enough to force Bolt to brace himself buffered the square. He squinted, looking for the source. He found it in short order: Kagami, roaring fire and dessicated corpses all around her, facing off against Shikadai's mother, wielding a fierce scowl and a large war fan common to the Land of Wind. He lazily strolled over to where the two women were staring each other down, spearing a man hiding amongst the rubble who thought he would escape notice.

Temari heard him coming and adjusted her position so that she had both Kagami and himself within eyesight. Bolt smiled. "No need," he assured her. "I'm here to watch. On my honor as the One Shadow."

Shikadai's mother growled at him and brandished her war fan as he leapt and took a seat atop a miraculously still standing vermillion gate. Temari hurled her fan forward, the fabric glowing white-blue with chakra, and unleashed a gale of razor-sharp blades of wind that tumbled forward and eviscerated everything in their path. Kagami sprinted away, snapping her fingers and unleashing concussive explosions that stole some of the thunder from the wind. Her path adjusted, bringing her closer and closer to Temari, trying to get in close so she could use her explosive Gentle Fist that he had taught her.

Temari wasn't having it, however. She slammed a foot against the street and pikes of stone erupted from the ground in a makeshift barrier. Kagami charged, leaping over the wall, and got caught by a blast of wind as she cleared the top. Bolt sighed at the obvious mistake. He would have to instruct her on how to properly contain and channel her bloodlust later.

Kagami got back up, her Akatsuki robe sporting numerous cuts, but was otherwise unharmed save for a few weeping gashes. Bolt watched, eager to see how much his training had advanced her. Kagami thrust her hands forward. Rapid snaps of her fingers unleashed a barrage of explosions that slammed against a barrier of whirling winds surrounding Temari. All the while, Kagami advanced, drawing ever closer to her prey.

The explosions increased in destructiveness and Kagami leapt forward, through licking tongues of fire and blades of wind, diving through the barrier and rolling to a kneeling stop. She held her arm aloft, fingers poised to snap, blinking as the fire cleared from her vision. Bolt watched as a small white-furred creature— a weasel, perhaps, he thought— leapt forward and cut Kagami's middle and index fingers clean off with a small, handheld farmer's scythe.

Kagami screamed and collapsed, holding the bloody stumps of her fingers to her chest. The wind shifted, the barrier drawing back and increasing in intensity as Temari waved her war fan back and forth. It collapsed in on itself, like a maelstrom of wind, and converged on Kagami. Bolt stood, prepared to brave his weakness and rescue her, when Kagami stood and roared a bloodcurdling battle cry that gave even him pause. The air shimmered as if heated and glowed white with power with Kagami at its epicenter.

An explosion ripped through the wind as if it was nothing more than wet parchment. Shikadai's mother blocked the brunt of the explosion with her fan but the sheer force behind it sent her careening into a slab of concrete rubble. Bolt heard her bones audibly snap. Where she fell, she did not rise. Kagami, on the other hand, was gasping for breath as her chest rose and fell sharply. The same white glow permeated the air around her, bleeding from her skin.

Bolt left his perch and approached her, a small but proud smile on his lips. "You finally got it to work, Kagami," he praised her.

Explosion Release Armor. An armor wrought of explosive chakra with its wielder at the epicenter, ever awaiting but a thought for it to activate and unleash devastation upon everything around them.

Kagami was still grasping at the bloody stumps of her fingers. Bolt knelt and recovered the severed digits. "Hikari will be able to reattach them," he said.

"This had better have been worth it, Sparky," Kagami said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, it was," Bolt said, turning to peer at their prize... who was limping away from the battlefield with a limp right arm and a dragging left leg.

Bolt appeared before her faster than the speed of human thought using Thunder God Mode. In the time it had taken Temari to realize he was in front of her, Bolt had already pasted a sealing tag on her that prevented her from moving.

Kagami walked over to join them gingerly. "This is her, huh?" she mused. "You're sure this will get me Shikadai?"

Bolt saw Temari's eyes widen in horror. He smiled. "Yes," he assured her.

Kagami was quiet for a moment before perking up. "Hey," she said. "Look," Kagami nodded some distance to the left.

Bolt turned and saw, just beyond the barrier, that there were ninja slamming against the barrier in an attempt to break it. "Shit," he swore. "I didn't think it would fail so quickly. One of the explosions must've been too powerful to hide sufficiently. We need to leave. Now."

" _Hibiki, extraction. Now,"_ Bolt commanded.

" _Of course, Bolt,"_ Hibiki sing-songed, all too happy to please him.

" _Wait,"_ Bolt said. He approached Kagami, deftly removing the tattered Akatsuki robe. She glared at him, the skin-tight tank top she wore beneath doing little to conceal her decency after being sliced by Temari. Bolt ignored her, striding over to a collapsed building that sported a large crest of the Nara clan that was almost as tall as he was. Grinning, he used a kunai to nail the robe to the crest. A calling card, of sorts. As he walked back to join Kagami and their prisoner, he kicked Temari's war fan over to rest beneath the Akatsuki robe. Satisfied, Bolt gave the order for Hibiki to summon them back to the Eye.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

" _The Second Coming of Itachi Uchiha?"_

" _The Leaf's Nara Clan Slaughtered in Last Night's Attack!"_

" _The Akatsuki— agents of the newly formed United Shinobi Empire— have claimed responsibility for the attack."_

" _An official statement by the One Shadow, Bolt Uzumaki, defends his actions, stating: 'The Nara clan were a known threat to the security of the Empire. Some of their best and brightest members actively oppose us and seek to destroy all that we have built. For that, we retaliated. Make no mistake, this was not a mindless act of slaughter. The Nara clan were a clan of shinobi. You will think me heartless for killing women and children, but those same women and children were trained from birth to be killers. We are shinobi— heart under blade— and death is the risk of our profession.'"_

" _Many on both sides condemn and praise the One Shadow for his actions, arguing that all is fair in war and that the Leaf has, in its past, performed much greater atrocities than the one inflicted upon them on the 14th of April. Opponents of the One Shadow have taken to dubbing him 'Clankiller Bolt,' of the same notoriety as the infamous kinslayer Itachi Uchiha."_

" _Matriarch of the Nara Clan, Temari Nara, Missing in Action? One Shadow Remains Silent. Kazekage Reportedly 'Furious'. "_

" _Confidence in the Seventh Hokage, Naruto Uzumaki, Hero of the Fourth War, at an All Time Low!"_

" _Amid the crisis, many Hidden Villages are now facing an even greater threat: desertion. Following the destruction of the Nara clan, faith in the system wanes as shinobi no longer believe their leaders are able to defend their families and win the war. Deserters flee to the Land of Frost to join the United Shinobi Empire."_

" _Tension Mounts as Demands for the Seventh's Resignation Increase!"_

* * *

 **April 15th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt was making his way into the bowels of the Eye to find Hibiki when he stumbled across Tetsu. The mountain of a man stood out like a sore thumb in the comparatively small laboratory that Katasuke and Tsuchigumo shared. Tetsu loomed over a small glass case, intently watching something within. Curious, Bolt made a brief detour to see what held the swordsman's attention.

It was the broken, mangled corpses of the Thunderswords, Bolt recognized, resting between two prongs from which lightning danced across their blades. "What are we watching?" Bolt asked.

Tetsu straightened and bowed respectfully in greetings. "I am attempting to repair the Thunderswords, my lord," he answered dutifully. "They were shattered beyond repair during my duel with my former master. It was a theory of mine, given the Seversword's ability to repair itself with blood, that each of the Seven are capable of a similar feat. Naturally, the Thunderswords would be repaired by—"

"Electricity, yes," Bolt nodded. Pressure mounted behind his eyes as he used his Byakugan to gain a better view of the Thunderswords. And, slowly, he noted, the Thunderswords were repairing themselves, shards of the blade growing and reaching for their siblings.

And it gave him an idea.

"Good thinking, Tetsu," Bolt praised, patting Tetsu on the shoulder before dashing out of the lab and deeper beneath the castle.

The prison was a relatively new addition to the Eye. Space, as it were, was hard to come by, but with the capture of the Eight-Tails, they had room to spare. The Eye was becoming less of a hideout and more of a city unto itself, just as Bolt had envisioned it. Far into the future, perhaps, it would be populated with an expanded Akatsuki, their families, and their children. A Will of Fire that he would breathe life into and that would serve his purpose until the end of their civilization.

That was the dream, anyway.

Hibiki was awaiting him eagerly, as he was anytime Bolt assigned him a task. Hibiki, Bolt had learned, was eager to please, and more than a little frustrated with his inability to leave their fortress' dimension. Bolt had considered giving Hibiki a similar, if altered, seal, similar to his own, that would prevent his father from sensing him, but could not trust Hibiki— under the sway of the seal and his desire— to act according to his orders. That, and Bolt would not wish the cold oblivion of his emotionless self on a friend.

"How is she?" Bolt asked, glancing through the shimmering barrier of blue chakra that contained Temari. She glared at him hatefully, her spirit unbowed and unbroken by her imprisonment.

Hibiki got that glazed, faraway look in his eyes whenever he was around. "Still as fiery as ever," he sighed forlornly.

Bolt nodded. "Good," he said curtly. "I have a task for you, Hibiki," he added softly, stepping forward and resting a hand on the man's shoulder.

He felt Hibiki shudder under his touch. "Anything," Hibiki whispered.

Bolt twitched and suppressed a grin. "I need you to extract as much information as you can from her mind," he said, nodding towards their prisoner.

Hibiki nodded, dazed.

"But I want her alive, Hibiki," Bolt stressed. "And as undamaged as possible," he added after casting a final glance at Temari. "Can you do that for me?"

Hibiki nodded eagerly. "Of course!" he exclaimed, music in his voice.

"Good," Bolt said curtly, withdrawing quickly. "Keep me informed of your findings."

Before Hibiki could reply, he was already up the stairs at a— by his standards, at least— slow jog. It took him only seconds to reach his quarters, slipping inside silently and kicking off his boots before sitting atop his shared bed, legs crossed.

Bolt had once praised and dabbled in the utilitarian use of the seal that suppressed his emotions when it came to plotting and crafting new techniques. Now, he found, after nearly two weeks of trial and error, that meditation achieved a similar— arguably _better_ — result. The monks, Bolt thought, were on to something after all. He hadn't understood their beliefs as a teenager but now, looking back on it, he could find the merits. All he remembered were long, hot, and sweaty days of labor, religious fervor, and meditation.

Bolt willingly sank into the abyss, mind clearing as he shed his mortal worries he was left bereft of distracting thoughts and emotions. At peace, he was free to ponder the revelations he had learned from Tetsu and his experiment with the Thunderswords. In his mind's eye, he saw it. A self-healing technique, more powerful than anything that he personally knew of. Bolt had dabbled in such a technique before during his creation of Thunder God Mode— part of which stemmed from the Hōzuki clan's Water Transformation Technique. They were famed for both their weakness to Lightning Release attacks and their ability to heal from all but the most grave wounds if given enough time and, more importantly, _water_. At the time of its creation, Thunder God Mode was almost impossible for him to use unto itself, let alone being able to take in electricity to heal his physical body.

Now, given time, experience, and proof of concept, Bolt believed he could solve the mystery of such a technique and incorporate it into his arsenal. In a way, it was a bit like creating Thunder God Mode in reverse. He wasn't seeking to become lightning, he was seeking for lightning to become him. And, much like Thunder God Mode, such a technique came more from feeling rather than logic. Just as there were no instructions or steps to becoming a force of nature, so too were there none for a force of nature becoming him. In a way, it made it more difficult. But Bolt was nothing if not determined and he loved the challenge.

Sinking deeper into the meditative trance, Bolt imagined what such a technique would feel like. In his mind's eye, he could see it. He could feel that distinctive flow of power that he became during Thunder God Mode. It reversed, welling within him instead of without, pouring into the core of his being and filling him to the brim. He directed that energy within him to spread, filling the gaps in his physical form, repairing them.

It felt different, too, than Bolt had imagined. A distinctive tapping sensation on his shoulder. Then, Bolt realized, it wasn't a sensation caused by the technique. It was... real. Cracking open an "eye," he found himself face-to-face with... himself.

Bolt recoiled and leapt away, slipping into a defensive Gentle Fist stance.

"What are you doing down here?" his doppelgänger asked, brows furrowed.

"Who are you?" Bolt demanded. "How did you gain entrance to my mind?" Internally, he began raising his mental defenses that had been hammered into him from his days in the Academy to his "apprenticeship" under Eiji and Hikari.

His doppelgänger looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "I'm you, of course," he said, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The Falls of Truth? Don't you remember?"

Bolt sneered. "My Light," he spat, relaxing fractionally. "I thought our business was concluded."

"Oh, I've always been here," his Light shrugged. "Waiting, watching. There was never any getting rid of me. I thought you understood that?"

Bolt ignored him. "Where are we, then, if you are here?" he asked instead.

His Light peered at him disbelievingly. "Your soul, Bolt," he answered gravely. "Why would you be down here if you didn't know where you were?"

"I was meditating," Bolt explained tersely. "I wasn't looking for you."

"And here I thought you missed me," his Light pouted.

Bolt twitched and felt the urge to throttle his "better" half. "If this is my soul, then why is it so dark?" he asked, gesturing to the abyss around them. For that matter, how was he even seeing his Light when there was no visible light source to illuminate him?

"I don't know," his Light shrugged. "You're the dominant half of our soul. Why? Afraid it's as black as your heart?"

Bolt studiously ignored the barb and focused on ignoring the pale imitation. Instead, he closed his eyes and— if he was correct, anyway— when he opened them, the view should be very... different.

And when he opened his eyes, it was. The abyss had been banished back into the depths of his mind and, in its place, stood his childhood home. The city streets, untouched by the war, faded to nothing as they yawned into eternity. Bolt nodded to himself, satisfied.

"This is much better!" his Light exclaimed with an almost embarrassing child-like glee.

Bolt ignored him and walked into the house. A tall mirror stood just inside the doorway. His mother had put it there, insisting that he and his sister make themselves presentable before they left the house as they were, as she put it, "representative of the Hyūga clan and their father." Staring into his reflection, Bolt lamented the black-and-red eyes that stared back at him.

His Light followed him into the house. Bolt groaned. "Shoo," he said, gesturing with his hands as if it would cause his doppelgänger to flee.

It didn't work.

"But I don't have anywhere else to go," his Light moaned, childishly lazing on the living room couch.

Bolt took a deep breath, turned, and walked back out into the streets. He closed the door, locked it, and imagined it being barred. And, as if he were a god, the door was barred. Pleased, hopeful that his doppelgänger wouldn't follow him, he turned and strolled down the street. It didn't take long for him to reach the end, and when he did, he quickly found that the edges of his creation bled back into the void of the abyss.

Bolt paused, suddenly and irrationally fearful of the dark, and in that darkness he found countless eyes gleaming with light staring back at him. Bolt turned and sprinted back into the "city," barged through the door of the house— breaking it and the planks barring it shut— and found his Light languidly lounging on the couch as he played some stupid handheld game.

Bolt was breathing hard, chest heaving, a cold sweat dampening his brow. He really didn't want to be here—wherever "here" was— anymore. His Light looked up at the commotion, frowning, and Bolt felt a warm, soft pressure against his neck. "It's time to wake up, Bolt," his Light said, only it wasn't a parody of his voice that spoke.

It was a woman's.

Bolt gasped and opened his eyes. Hikari pressed another kiss to his neck and Bolt breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps, he thought, no more meditation for awhile. He tilted his head and Hikari left a trail of kisses and bites along his jaw. She reached for his wrists, gently taking them in her hands, and Bolt allowed her to pin him. "You've been busy," Hikari accused him, looking down at him from up high.

"Conquering the world is no quick affair," Bolt huffed.

"You find time to train Kagami," Hikari said evenly.

Bolt squinted up at her. "Are— are you jealous?" he asked disbelievingly.

"No," Hikari said, tone as cold as ice and as hard as steel.

"You are!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"She is rather... _perfect_ ," Hikari pouted— actually pouted.

Bolt laughed. Evidently, that was the wrong answer. Hikari ground against him in a way that was a pleasurable torture. "You have nothing to worry about," Bolt assured her between gritted teeth.

"It's not you I'm worried about," Hikari whispered. "I've seen the way she has looked at you since her sister died. You were there in a way that no one has ever been when no one else could. That means a lot to her, Bolt. I would know."

Bolt nodded. "I'm not blind, you know," he groused. "I do manage Hibiki quite well if I do say so myself."

Hikari nodded slowly. Bolt smiled and reversed their positions, pinning Hikari to the bed. He leaned down and kissed her, closing his eyes.

* * *

 **April 20th, 0025 AIT**

Naruto felt a tangible weight on his shoulders, as if a boulder had been strapped to his back. He had fought so hard, came so far, and in the end, it didn't even matter. He had a front row seat to watch everything he and Sasuke had fought, bled, and almost died for crumble around him as he powerless to stop it. Every decision he made, every action he took, only served to prolong the inevitable, or make matters worse. Too late he realized he was too close to the situation, too involved, to make decisions with a clear, unbiased mind. The "war" had been his own personal crusade because it was instigated by his son. That made him sloppy, made him take risks, and now he was paying for it.

A genocide had occurred under his reign. Hundreds of people. Men, women, and children. Worse, they were one of his best friend's family. Shikamaru had been beside himself with rage and grief. It had taken six ANBU to restrain him and move him to a secured hotel to rest and grieve while the Nara district was rebuilt.

It was with a heavy heart Naruto realized that his generation's era had ended. He had expected to wear the Hat for another ten or twenty years. Give Konohamaru enough time to mature into the ninja Naruto knew he could be before passing on the mantle of Hokage. It seemed that in the blink of an eye the world had passed him by. He was forty-three and already the world had changed so much from how it was when he was a child that he no longer recognized it. Constants like nations and his people's way of life— the bedrock he had built his character upon— were shifting and changing. A new voice rose and spoke for them, and he spoke of war, of change, and of conquest, and the people— even his own— cheered.

A knock at the door drew him from his dark thoughts. "Enter," Naruto called.

Moegi entered, his current on-duty secretary, giving him a small, sad smile. "Your four o'clock is here, Seventh," she said, bowing.

Naruto nodded and waved her away. Konohamaru, looking abashed, stepped inside, followed by a disheveled and clearly hungover Shikamaru and several ANBU agents that slipped away into the shadows. Konohamaru sobered and Naruto knew he must have seen something in his expression that gave it away. "Naruto?" he questioned softly.

"I called the both of you here because I have made a decision," Naruto announced hoarsely. "As of tonight at midnight, I will cease to be the Seventh Hokage."

Konohamaru's eyes went wide and looked as if he had been stabbed. Shikamaru's eyes were red and welling with unshed tears— because of his announcement or not, Naruto couldn't tell.

Naruto took a deep, ragged breath. "I have named you my successor, Konohamaru," he said gently.

Konohamaru blinked owlishly. "M— Me?" he exclaimed. "I can't be Hokage! I'm not ready! I still have so much to learn! And— and I'm nowhere near strong enough to defend the village! I can't, Naruto!"

Naruto smiled fondly. "Your Sage Mode has improved by leaps and bounds this past year alone," he reminded him. "And you've been training for the Hat for almost as long as I have. You were born for this, Konohamaru. Do your grandfather proud."

"I—" Konohamaru gaped. "I— I— What if I decline?" he questioned. "Who else would you pick?"

Naruto exhaled through his nose, long and slow. "If you were to decline," he said carefully. "And given that Sasuke is missing, then I would choose Sarada as my successor."

Konohamaru choked. "But— I— she—" he babbled.

"Sarada would by the youngest Hokage since my own father, it's true," Naruto said. "She doesn't have any political training— and likely never will if things continue the way they are. But she is strong, and passionate, and despite her flaws and misdeeds, I believe she is committed to the Hidden Leaf, the betterment the world, and bringing Bolt to justice."

"She's not ready," Shikamaru croaked, speaking for the first time. "Hell, we're probably not ready for you to take the Hat, Konohamaru. No offense."

"Then— then why?" Konohamaru asked desperately, almost begging.

"Because... I'm emotionally compromised, Konohamaru," Naruto explained. "I have been for a long time. I thought I could handle it, be professional, but recent events... have proven that I cannot. I cannot, in good faith, wear the Hat knowing that I am incapable of honoring the strength and integrity of those that had worn it before me."

Konohamaru gaped at him like a fish.

"Naruto'll still stay on as your advisor, like me," Shikamaru said. "And he will continue to fight for the Leaf, but he will no longer be giving the orders. You will, Konohamaru."

"You— you agree with him, Shikamaru?" Konohamaru exclaimed.

Shikamaru nodded, long and slow. "You'll be a good Hokage, Konohamaru," he said. "In time, at least. If we make it that long."

Konohamaru was quiet for a long time, brows furrowed, and Naruto waited for his answer. After several minutes, he spoke. "I... I'll do it," he whispered, almost disbelievingly. "But I'll need your help."

Naruto smiled sadly and stood. He made his way around his desk— rather, the desk of the Hokage— for the last time. Gingerly, he reached up and removed the ceremonial hat of the Hokage, a fiery red and cream, and placed it atop Konohamaru's head. Next came the robe, undoing the golden clasp that held it in place. That, too, he draped Konohamaru in. Smiling, Naruto bowed respectfully. "Congratulations, Lord Eighth," he said.

Konohamaru rushed forward and hugged him with an almost crushing grip. Naruto returned the embrace and patted him on the back.

"You're a wartime appointee," Shikamaru interrupted. "There won't be any pomp or ceremony. It wouldn't go over well at the moment anyway. We'll announce the change quietly in the morning's paper."

Naruto saw some fire kindle itself in Shikamaru's eyes. He nodded in agreement.

"Right," Konohamaru said with a quick nod. "What should we do?"

Naruto shared a smirk with Shikamaru. "That," Shikamaru drawled. "Is up to you, Lord Eighth."

Konohamaru's cheeks were tinted red. "What should I do, then, in your opinion?" he asked.

Shikamaru sighed and reached into his pockets before withdrawing a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a long drag. He fetched a furled map from a nearby bookcase and spread it across the desk. Konohamaru made to sit down— in one of the guest's chairs. He seemed to realize his mistake at the last moment and moved to sit behind the desk. Naruto smiled fondly as he sat down.

"We know what Bolt wants now," Shikamaru growled lowly. "He wants the world— and he's already taken half of it without us realizing it. The United Shinobi Empire controls the Lands of Frost, Steam, and now Lightning. We're helping the survivors of the Battle for New Cloud to relocate here under Yurui's leadership. As the Seventh Raikage, he'll be our closest ally if we decide to commit to retaking the Land of Lightning."

Naruto nodded along as Konohamaru paid close attention to Shikamaru.

Shikamaru drew his hands across the map. "In addition," he continued. "We're almost certain the Land of Rain is allied with the Empire— if not a part of it. Bolt has close ties with the Amekage as he helped raise her to power."

Shikamaru tapped a finger on an island off the eastern coast of the Land of Fire. "We're not sure what is happening with the Hidden Whirlpool. The messenger hawks are being turned away and any attempted communication has failed. Kohaku deserted the task force guarding the Tailed Beasts and hasn't been seen since. In addition, intel suggests the Uzumaki clan was responsible for Orochimaru's death. Reports indicate a small force of red-haired ninja marched through the countryside of the Land of Steam and into the Land of Sound. Most likely, this means Whirlpool has joined the Empire."

Konohamaru exhaled sharply. "Five nations," he breathed.

Shikamaru nodded gravely. "An obvious plan of attack is to go for the weakest link," he continued. "The Land of Rain is far away from the Empire's borders. Bolt would be hard pressed to transport an army to defend it if we attacked. But that raises a problem: the Empire isn't the only one with an ally behind enemy lines."

"The Hidden Mist," Konohamaru said.

"Right," Shikamaru nodded, extinguishing his cigarette. "Mei has taken up her title as the Fifth Mizukage but they're in dire straits. Mist is still reeling from the attack. Chōjūrō was assassinated and, along with him, the candidates for the Seventh Mizukage. If Mei dies, Mist is doomed. They'll be leaderless and surrounded on all sides. They'll pose no threat to Bolt and he'll conquer them in an hour— let alone a day."

Konohamaru swore under his breath, sweat beading on his forehead. Naruto smiled wryly, keenly understanding the weight Konohamaru now felt.

"On top of the geopolitical threat," Shikamaru continued on. "Bolt wants the Tailed Beasts— for some reason. We don't know why. With the capture of the Eight-Tails, only the Six and Seven-Tails remain. The task force will keep watch over them but we need to be vigilant and keep a watchful eye on the situation. If we move too many of our pieces to defend our borders and retake countries, Bolt will move his forces to strike at the Tailed Beasts and steal them out from under our noses."

Shikamaru cleared his throat as a look of profound sorrow overshadowed his features. "With the... with the destruction of the Nara clan, Temari was kidnapped. She's a valuable prisoner— not just because of personal reasons, either. She's the next-in-line to be the Kazekage unless Shinki is chosen as the successor. She knows inside knowledge of the Hidden Sand and Leaf that will be invaluable in the war against both. The Empire hasn't made any demands, but they will soon. You need to be prepared to deal with that, Eighth."

Konohamaru looked absolutely lost. Naruto didn't envy him.

"And, finally," Shikamaru wiped at a tear that had escaped and trailed down his cheek. "The genocide of the nobility has left every nation— ours included— in shambles. You need to decide whether or not the Leaf should assume governance until such time that a new Fire Lord can be chosen."

Konohamaru was quiet for a long, long time. He stared at the map and Naruto was afraid for a moment that it would burst into flames. This was his first test as Hokage and Naruto dearly hoped Konohamaru would pass with flying colors.

"We... I don't think an attack would win us any favors at this point," Konohamaru— no, the Hokage— decided. "We'll leave the Hidden Rain alone for now but we should station a garrison at the border to help patrol. Likewise, we should move some of our forces to the northeast to help patrol our border with the Land of Steam. Let's keep trying to establish communication with the Hidden Whirlpool. If they keep stonewalling us then it's safe to say they've betrayed us and we'll need to send a garrison to the port cities to help defend them. Since Whirlpool controls the bay, let's send men to the southeastern peninsula and have them cross into the land border we share with the Land of Water. From there, they can move to reinforce the Hidden Mist. It'll be hard— if not impossible— to defend them behind enemy lines. If we can, we should help them retreat here. We can ask the Land of Waves to lend us use of their fleet and port to help transport the people. If Bolt wants the Land of Water, he can have it. But that's all he'll have. The land."

Konohamaru paused, taking a deep breath, brows furrowed. "We'll call in favors from the Hidden Sand and Stone if it comes to war," he said. "Regarding the nobility, I believe the Leaf should take over governance until a new Fire Lord can be chosen or elected. Let's start preparing the economy for war. More mining, more farming. Start making weapons and recruiting for the Academy."

Naruto stood alongside Shikamaru. "Yes, sir," they echoed each other, bowing. It felt kind of awkward, Naruto thought, after having people bow to him for so long.

As the two of them moved to leave— and to let Konohamaru acclimate to his new position, Naruto had no doubt— he called out to them. "Shikamaru?" Konohamaru said, drawing the man's attention. "We'll get your wife back. I promise."

Shikamaru didn't say anything. He just turned and left. But Naruto could see the tears fall as he trailed after Shikamaru and went about issuing orders.

* * *

 **April 15th, 0025 AIT**

Morale, Sarada concluded, was at an all-time low. They had succeeded in defending the Tailed Beasts, true, but at great cost elsewhere. The rise of the so-called "Empire," the conquest of the Land of Lightning and the death of yet another Raikage, the apparent death of Orochimaru and the defection of the Hidden Whirlpool, and the genocide of the Nara clan.

Together, recent events had her team in dire straits. Mitsuki had lost his father and withdrawn into himself, quiet and sullen, and Shikadai had lost his clan and his mother. Himawari was still reeling from taking her first life and her brother's sudden and explosive entry into the geopolitical scene. Neither her nor Shikadai were fit to guide the other through their current issues.

But, most of all, Sarada blamed herself. Because, of course, if they kept Bolt from getting what he wanted, he would go elsewhere and bring his war with him. She should have been monitoring the Eight-Tails from the beginning instead of trusting Cloud to defend him adequately. If she wanted something done right, after all, she should do it herself. But she hadn't and now Bolt was in possession of another Tailed Beast.

The deterioration of her sight wasn't helping matters either. Almost daily usage of her Mangekyō to monitor both the safety of the Six-Tails, the Seven-Tails, and herself and her team were wearing her thin. If they didn't win the war soon, she'd go blind and then she would be of no use to anyone at all.

What bothered Sarada most, however, was her inability to help her friends. It seemed like somewhere along the way between the days they shared at the Academy and her path to becoming Hokage, her friends had become strangers. She didn't know how to help Mitsuki grieve. She didn't know how to reassure Shikadai his mother would be rescued. She didn't know how to counsel Himawari on taking a life. And Sarada was loathe to stoop to using Omoikane to find the path to helping them— both because her eyes couldn't handle the strain and, more importantly, she ought to be able to do it without the aid of her clan's dōjutsu.

Sarada was drawn from her thoughts as Mitsuki approached her. He looked better than he had for weeks, new life burning in his eyes, and Sarada smiled weakly and blinked to focus her vision. "Sarada," he nodded.

"Mitsuki," Sarada said. "How are you doing?"

"Better, now that I've decided what I want to do," Mitsuki answered.

Sarada quirked a brow. "And what do you want to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to continue my father's work," Mitsuki affirmed with conviction. "Whatever Orochimaru might have been, he was working for the betterment of the world in his own way. There's a threat mankind will face in the near future and we need to be ready for it. The work my father was doing will help us survive."

Sarada's breath caught in her throat. The Seventh had told her never to tell another living soul, but...

"You know about the Ōtsutsuki?" she asked softly.

Mitsuki looked as surprised that she knew about the Ōtsutsuki as Sarada was surprised he knew. He nodded. "That's what my father was working on," Mitsuki said. "A clone army that could use natural energy to fight the Ōtsutsuki. Most of the data was lost when the mountain exploded, but he had backups in other hideouts I can use."

Sarada nodded slowly. "A worthy cause," she said.

"Are you going to be able to handle things while I'm gone?" Mitsuki asked.

Sarada smiled wryly. "I should be able to handle things," she said. "Take care of yourself, Mitsuki," she added, knowing he would be leaving and it was unlikely they would see each other again until the war to end all wars began.

"You too, Sarada," Mitsuki said, surprising her with a quick hug before withdrawing and walking away from their camp. The lumbering form of the Six-Tails turned and watched him leave.

Sarada returned to the camp proper where the rest of her team was lolling about. Her mother had a small makeshift field hospital erected under a giant tent, Lee and his father were boisterously training some hundred feet away atop a plateau of rubble, and Shikadai and Himawari were separated, for once, both lost in their thoughts, with Chōchō and Inojin awkwardly offering their silent support for their team leader. In the distance, Sarada could see Captain Yamato doing a patrol of the perimeter, the trees groaning and swaying as he passed.

The mood was resoundingly dark and dour and Sarada was determined to change that. "Hey, guys," she called out. Most everyone looked to her, almost surprised that she had dared to break the solemn silence. "I have an idea for a group training exercise," Sarada explained. "It's a shared group illusion that the Uchiha clan used to train themselves mentally. It's not that great for trapping people, but if you don't fight it I should be able to feed the illusion data from my Mangekyō to simulate fighting the Akatsuki."

It was a crime against nature that her clan had been wiped from existence when they had a long and sordid history of producing some of the greatest warriors and techniques the world had ever seen. The Uchiha could work wonders with illusions using their Sharingan and the world was a colder place for their absence. Hopefully, Sarada thought, she could begin to rebuild what her clan had lost.

"Yeah," Shikadai said, sounding a little lost and a little hopeful for something to take his mind off the destruction of his clan and the loss of his mother. In a way, they were kin: both having lost their clans to tragedy. "That sounds good," he said.

Himawari nodded. Chōchō and Inojin looked happy that Shikadai was showing some signs of life. Even Lee and his father had sprinted over at the word "training." Her mother looked on with a small, fond smile that Sarada returned.

Sarada cleared her throat. "Alright, then. Let's begin," she said. "Everyone, sit in a semi-circle around me and stare into my eyes for a moment. Don't fight the illusion. Just breathe deeply and lower your defenses..."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Chapter 100 is creeping up on us and I'm not sure what I want to do for it. Perhaps that will be the chapter Sasuke returns, or maybe I'll do a special omake. We'll see. Suggestions?

This chapter is a little shorter than my usual standard of 10-15k, but I feel like everything happened that needed to happen and we can move on to the next major plot points. Some people were pointing out that some of the Akatsuki weren't as relevant as they were in previous arcs and I hope I satisfied your cravings for them all around. Everyone will become more central to the story in the near future.

Watching the movie and the anime/manga, it never seemed to me that Naruto was going to be Hokage for long. He seems genuinely overworked and depressed, even if it was his dream to wear the Hat. His family, the one thing he wanted more than anything else growing up, suffered because of his duty to the village, and I think in an ideal, peaceful world, Naruto would have retired early and passed the mantle on to either Konohamaru or Sarada. I hope the reasoning for Naruto stepping down makes sense.

Other than that, things advance. Papa Sasuke comes home in ~6 months and the Earth will be very different than he remembers.


	99. Chapter 99

**A/N:** Can confirm, am not dead. Sorry this chapter was late. As such, it is double the length of a normal chapter. So, really, it's the same amount of content, just in at a later date. I had a tough time with the tail end of this chapter because there were so many ways it could go. Ultimately, the first way I had envisioned wasn't what I wanted to go with at this particular moment, but I still wanted those events to happen in the future. It took me a bit of time and planning to figure out where exactly to put them.

So, without further ado, enjoy... and happy Halloween.

* * *

 **May 9th, 0025 AIT**

There was something... freeing, Naruto decided, about being an enlisted ninja instead of the Hokage. He spent more time at home, more time with his wife, more time training, and more time discussing strategy and advising Konohamaru when he was called upon to. But he didn't feel that crushing, oppressive weight that he always felt when he wore the Hat. He would always be indebted to the Leaf, always honor-bound to defend it, but it was no longer the anchor tied to his feet as he desperately tried to swim to the surface.

If only he had retired years ago, Naruto thought, then maybe his family would have been mended before it had ever been broken in the first place. Alas, that was but a dream. Still, he hoped and prayed that, maybe, one day it might become a reality.

Mei and the last ship of refugees arrived later that day. Naruto, as the previous Hokage and a personal friend of Mei, was there to greet her along with Konohamaru, Shikamaru, and Yurui. The young Raikage had surprised him with his iron will and determination to better his people. When Bee died— when his father died— he had been sullen and quiet for days on end. Only when one day, out of the blue, Samehada had slithered into the Leaf did he break out of his shell and throw himself into his duties. As Seventh Raikage, Yurui worked tirelessly to better himself and his people. Naruto respected the boy and looked out for him. He knew Yurui would be in no small amount of danger as the wielder of the last of the Seven— which Tetsu Uzumaki pursued relentlessly— and as a Raikage bound and determined to retake his home from its conqueror— his son.

Naruto blinked as Shikamaru elbowed him in the ribs and then bowed respectfully to the current Mizukage. Despite being relieved to no longer wear the Hat, it seemed as if he still couldn't shake the mannerisms and mindset of a Kage. "Hello, Mei," he greeted happily.

Mei was as breathtakingly beautiful as ever. She had aged well. Waist-length auburn hair and coy jade eyes. She had never married and Naruto didn't know why though he suspected that she and Ao had been more than merely a Kage and her guard.

"It's good to see you, Naruto," Mei said, dipping her head, her lips pursed in that coy, tempting little smile she always wore. "And you too, Lord Eighth. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Mizukage," Konohamaru replied, inching forward to bow before remembering his new station.

Mei's coy smile only grew. She reached back, resting her hand on the shoulder of one of her guards and pushing him forward. He was tall and willowy, built like Bolt, with wheat-blond hair and strangely pink-colored eyes. A tattoo— like a scratch, almost— was inked below his left eye, stretching down to the corner of his lips. It, like his eyes, was the same strange pink color. "This," Mei announced proudly. "Is Karatachi Kagura. The future Seventh Mizukage, Sage willing. He was Chōjūrō's apprentice before he..."

Shikamaru coughed and cleared his throat awkwardly. Right, best not to mention his son who had accumulated a long list of slain Kage by either word or deed. Karatachi bowed. "It's an honor to meet you, sir," he said, before turning to Konohamaru. "Lord Hokage," he bowed.

Konohamaru laughed awkwardly, still unaccustomed to the respect of his post. "The honor is ours," he said instead. "I'm just glad we managed to get to you in time."

"As are we," Mei nodded.

And that was the thing, wasn't it? The self-proclaimed United Shinobi Empire had rapidly grown in size and strength in the short month since its formation, expanding and exerting its control in the northeast. The Land of Lightning fell quickly, its people freely embracing their new government— for, surprisingly, the most part. Few dissenters aside from those that were loyal to the Hidden Cloud and their families made their voices heard. The common folk, it seemed, were either embracing the Empire or entirely uncaring if they were subservient to Cloud or the Empire.

Either way, it hadn't taken long for Bolt to set his sights on his next conquest: the Land of Water. Armies were raised, far greater than anything any one single village could ever hope to field, legions of men and women loyal to his son. They gathered in the Land of Steam, half countering the defensive deployments Konohamaru had made, turning the northeastern border into a no man's land where both sides feared to cross. The other half sailed across the ocean in a fleet of cobbled-together ships, relics of a bygone era that the Leaf— thanks to the Land of Waves and Inari— had long since surpassed. Still, there was something to be said for quantity, wasn't there?

Ultimately, the Land of Water was abandoned and its people spared from having to fight a grueling war which would most likely end in their defeat after a long and bloody battle. Naruto was pleased all involved had seen the wisdom in avoiding unnecessary bloodshed.

Naruto blinked and found Mei staring fondly at Karatachi and Yurui as the two young future leaders introduced themselves and spark up a conversation. "He'll be the one to erase Mist's sins from history, Naruto," she said. "I know it. The name 'Bloody Mist' will be overshadowed by the greatness it will become in the future."

Naruto nodded. "I hope so, too," he said.

Mei nodded. "It's poetic, almost," she said. "Yagura came from the Kagura clan too."

Naruto smiled. Ironic, yes, and it proved what he believed: that good always triumphed over evil.

* * *

 **May 12th, 0025 AIT**

The ship beached itself upon the sand and Bolt leapt down. Foamy water splashed as his boots hit the wet sand and still he could see no defenders for miles and miles with his Byakugan. His men disembarked behind him, their armor and Gauntlets chiming as they jostled. "Send scouts to the north and south," Bolt commanded. "Then circle east. I'll take the main army over land directly to the Hidden Mist. Rally with us there."

"Yes, sir!" his lieutenants for the campaign barked before dashing off to fulfill his orders.

Kagami trailed after him, following him like a lost puppy, watching as more and more ships beached themselves and their soldiers disembarked. Bolt gazed across the sea and wondered where Hikari, who was leading the naval assault, would land. Bolt cast a quick glance back at Kagami and caught her staring at him. She quickly averted her eyes, suddenly finding the comings and goings of the soldiers fascinating. Bolt sighed. He hoped _that_ would not become a problem. Then again, Bolt couldn't blame her for her feelings. Hikari had been his teacher before she had been... well, _his_.

It didn't take long for his men to form into neat and orderly rank and file. They marched a harsh staccato that sounded strangely but pleasantly musical to his ears. The Land of Water was small compared to some of the mainland's countries but it still took them several hours of brisk marching to reach the only bastion of modern civilization on the island. The roads and houses came first, and then Bolt could see the masts of Hikari's fleets, followed by the high white stone walls of the Hidden Mist and the neon lights glowing softly in the ever-present fog. Bolt came within range of the city and his Byakugan spied...

Nothing.

It was empty, save for a few thousand nervous civilians. Bolt frowned.

"Bolt!" he heard Hikari shout his name. He quickly found her and a battalion of men camped on one of the beaches.

Bolt quickly jogged over to them. "Hikari," he breathed. "What's going on?" he asked.

"The city has been abandoned," Hikari informed him. "No ninja to speak of. We caught a few fishermen on our way into the bay. They say the Mizukage took her forces and the people loyal to her and fled."

Hikari nodded at two grizzled old men, both balding and with snow-white beards, that stood behind her that he hadn't noticed in his first inspection. "Lord _Ichiei_ ," they chorused, bowing respectfully.

"Why did the Mizukage abandon her city and where did she take her men?" Bolt asked them.

The two old men shared a look. One of them— the eldest, Bolt guessed— stepped forward. "The Mizukage knew you would come, my lord," he said. "She told us that she would be unable to defend us or the city, only buy us time before you conquered us as you stepped over the last corpse of our ninja. She gave us a choice: they could stay and futilely defend the city until their last breath, or retreat and live to fight another day. Our people took it to a vote and agreed to leave."

"And what of those that stayed?" Bolt asked.

The old man bowed again. "Those that remained behind are those loyal to you, my lord," he said.

Bolt nodded to himself. He gestured to one of his aides. "Lieutenant, see that this man is properly rewarded for his service," he said.

The soldier nodded and led the two old fishermen away. The man that had answered him bowed low. "Thank you, my lord," he said.

Bolt smiled, knowing that he had irrevocably changed that man and his family's lives forever. The Hidden Mist had barely kept up with the radical technological changes that boomed in the Leaf and the Union. Many people were poor, worked long hours, and lived hard lives, even many years after the war.

But now was not the time for pleasantries. Bolt had a country to bring into the fold. "Have men begin entering the city," he commanded. "They are not to attack unless they are attacked first. There will be no damage to property unless strictly necessary and absolutely no looting. Anyone caught taking advantage of the siege will have their hands _removed_."

"Yes, sir!" his lieutenants echoed before rushing off once more.

"You really think it'll be that easy?" Hikari asked.

Bolt shrugged. "Who knows?" he drawled. "We can always hope, can't we? This would be a huge victory for us if the Mizukage really did retreat. The Land of Lightning can provide much needed metal from their mines for the army and the Land of Water can singlehandedly supply the entire Empire with food thanks to its robust fishing industry. If most of the island is abandoned, that means there is land for the taking. We can offer incentives for people to move here. Give them land, homes, and jobs in return for a portion of their harvest going to the Empire."

Hikari smiled coyly and sauntered over to him in a way that was obviously intimate. Bolt wasn't embarrassed that the two of them were, well, involved, but they weren't exactly _alone_ and he had his image as One Shadow to consider. His men had to see him as their leader first and foremost— a god among men; undefeatable, untouchable, and unkillable. Hikari held his heart in her hands, out on display for the world to see.

"Have I ever told you how attractive you are when you talk politics?" she whispered, in a tone that was both seductive and jesting at the same time.

Bolt heard a disgusted scoff and turned to see Kagami stomping off. Blinking, he rounded on Hikari and stared at her incredulously. "Really?" he whined. "And with _that_ line?"

"She was annoying me," Hikari groused. "And it was the only thing I could think of that wasn't even more embarrassing for the both of us."

Bolt took a deep breath and sighed. "If you hadn't noticed, dear," he said sweetly. "We are at war— we are standing on a literal battlefield. Save it for later!" he hissed.

Hikari rolled her eyes as an out of breath messenger sprinted over to him. "One Shadow, sir!" he bowed. "A message for you," he said, handing him a scroll.

Bolt inspected the document with his Byakugan for a moment, looking for any traps, and found none. He took the scroll with a muttered thanks and the messenger ran off to see to his other duties. Bolt frowned deeply as his eyes scanned the text.

"What does it say?" Hikari asked.

Bolt sighed. "It's a message from Akane— the Uzukage," he amended, even though he planned to do away with the title once the Empire was more solidified. "She wants to meet with me to discuss an important matter."

Hikari raised a brow. "You're going to go now?" she asked.

Bolt nodded. "It saves me the time," he shrugged. "I needed to speak with her anyway. The plan is for the Uzukage to govern both the Land of Whirlpools and the Land of Water. I'll need to inform her that the Hidden Mist has been dealt with and her people can begin moving in and taking charge."

Hikari nodded idly.

"While I'm gone, can I trust you to oversee the surrender of the city?" he asked.

Hikari looked up and blinked. "Of course, Bolt," she said softly.

Bolt nodded thankfully, a small smile gracing his lips, and he reached out. His fingertips brushed against her hand and Hikari smiled back at him. Satisfied, Bolt turned and began following in Kagami's footsteps. It didn't take him long to find her— not that she had gone very far. Bolt found her overlooking Hikari's men as they disembarked their ships and unloaded supplies and equipment.

"Kagami," he said, striding up next to her. She grumbled something unintelligible. Bolt paused, decided upon his words, and then spoke. "I know you may not like Hikari, or see eye-to-eye on some things, but she's knowledgeable on military matters like this and I do expect the two of you to be able to work together."

Kagami was a peculiar shade of scarlet that Bolt hadn't quite seen in another human. He paused. Kagami was nothing like Hibiki and their feelings for him— whatever they thought they might be— were completely different. The same approach might not work, but...

Bolt gently and gingerly rested a hand on her shoulder that caused the woman to startle. "Help bring the city under my rule and learn what you can from her, please? For me?" he asked.

Kagami squeaked, looking away, and then nodded after a few seconds.

"Thank you," Bolt said softly, forming the pathways for Thunder God Mode as he spoke. The moment the words left his lips, he disappeared with a flash of light and a rumble of thunder.

It didn't take him long to sear through the skies. He sailed over the main island of the Land of Water quickly, spying his troops and the few civilians that had decided to live under his rule, before breaking across open ocean and sparse scattered spits of sand that could barely be called island. The Land of Whirlpools, surrounded by its namesake, took mere moments to reach. Bolt passed through the barrier surrounding the island, briefly phasing physical midair, before using Thunder God Mode to safely land once inside.

Transportation was always easier— and quicker— than combat. Bolt smiled at the good time he had made, his arrival heralded by a clap of thunder that drew the attention of the guards. They were startled, wide-eyed and clearly on alert, but relaxed upon seeing him. Bolt could understand their fears. The Uzumaki clan had been nearly obliterated once for its part in a war and they would not risk it again. Unlikely, as it was, that the Leaf would be the one to do the destroying. Bolt thought his father— or his fool of a teacher, Konohamaru, that was now Hokage— would be that callous.

"Kohaku," Bolt greeted the man as he was attracted to the clamor. "Good to see you again. And under better circumstances."

"Hey, kid," Kohaku waved halfheartedly. "No hard feelings, right?"

"On the contrary," Bolt said. "Your work on my prison cell was ingenious. I hope you don't mind if I copied it? I've put it to good use in the Empire's prisons."

Kohaku shrugged. "Don't really have a choice, do I, One Shadow?" he drawled. "Sir," he added mockingly.

Bolt smiled thinly. "Let's not stand on formality, shall we?" he offered.

Kohaku accepted the olive branch for what it was, nodding. Whatever misgivings the man had about him or the situation, there was nothing he could do about it. Bolt was more powerful than him and was owed the allegiance of the Hidden Whirlpool. "So," Bolt mused. "What does your grandmother want with me?"

Kohaku looked grave for a moment before jerking his head to the side. "Not here," he grunted, leading him to the sprawling hall that served as the Uzukage's office and the Academy.

If Bolt was being honest with himself, he missed the Hidden Whirlpool. There was something quaint about the "city"— if it could be called one— and its people. He felt a connection, a belonging, one unlike he had ever felt in the Leaf.

Akane sat behind her studious desk, looking as imposing and stern as always. Bolt hadn't quite realized it in their last meeting, but the Uzukage looked like her years were catching up to her. Her faded crimson hair was limp and wispy, and the comparatively youthful features had withered and began to wrinkle. She looked... old. But, then again, Bolt supposed she was old. Akane had been a girl when Mito married Hashirama. She had spoken with the First and Second Hokage in person. In a way, she was a living relic of a bygone era. And it saddened Bolt to think that she was finally reaching the end of her preternatural lifespan.

"You're quick, brat," the Uzukage spoke sharply. Alas, it seemed not even old age would dull her tongue.

Bolt smiled. "I was on my way here anyway," he shrugged.

"Oh?" Akane hummed.

"The Mizukage abandoned her country," Bolt explained. "There wasn't even a battle. We marched right through the front gates. My men are securing the city and consolidating power as we speak. Once that is done, I will need someone to take over governorship of the area. I'd like you to be that person."

The Uzukage nodded slowly and Bolt could practically see the gears turning inside her mind. "Very well," she agreed. "We can discuss the finer details at another time."

"Of course," Bolt said. "The Uzumaki clan will be rewarded for services rendered. What was it you asked me here for?"

Akane nodded, satisfied. "Someone wishes to meet you," she answered cryptically.

"Oh?" Bolt said, wary. More than one political leader had met with a potential ally or enemy and had it be the last thing they ever did.

"Yes," the Uzukage said. "She wishes to thank you for your part in her rescue."

Bolt watched as Akane placed a hand on the desk and an old white mask— almost like bone— winked into existence. Bolt took a breath, eyes flicking between the mask and the Uzukage. "The Progenitor?" he asked, awed.

Akane nodded. Bolt reached out, fingers suddenly trembling as they curled around the worn edges of the mask. He lifted it to his face but paused as the Uzukage called out to him. "I must warn you, Bolt," she said. "The Progenitor is very powerful. Her spirit is strong even after thousands of years. If you let your guard down, she will not hesitate to overpower you."

Bolt nodded, thankful of the warning, unnecessary as it was. He had already learned that lesson the hard way with his own collection of death masks. Taking a deep breath, Bolt closed his eyes and donned the mask. Immediately, he felt the influx of foreign chakra. At first it was cold and dark, alien in a way that Bolt had never felt or heard of before. Then it branched, drawing him deeper into the abyss, and Bolt felt like he would drown for a moment before the feeling subsided and he felt a new sensation: fear.

There was a soft, breathy exhale on his neck that made every hair on his body rise and Bolt felt a very different chakra assail him. On instinct he leapt away, whirling on his attacker and slipping into a defensive stance as he raised his mental barriers. The Progenitor was a woman of haunting, ethereal beauty. Crimson hair and eyes that reminded Bolt of roses and blood that framed fine, aristocratic features and alabaster skin. But her chakra— _her chakra_. Bolt could only describe it as hungry, malevolent. She was a wolf among sheep, cloaked in beauty, and though she may appear physically human, spiritually Bolt knew she had to be something far, far more monstrous.

A soft laugh echoed in his ears and suddenly he was _face-to-face_ with the Progenitor and she had his wrist clutched in an iron grip as she lazily trailed a finger down his temple to his jaw. Bolt couldn't move and animal panic took over as he felt more and more of the woman's chakra flood into his system.

Panic gave way to anger and an iron will. He couldn't lose, Bolt thought, not after coming so far. Not until his mission was completed. He pushed back, his own chakra flaring violently, and fought the Progenitor off before she could take control of his body. He held her at bay, even sending tendrils of his own electric chakra into her own system.

The Progenitor smiled something feral and pleased before she stopped attempting to possess him. "You are quite powerful indeed," she said, voice soft and raspy with an almost smoke-like quality. "Were you alive in my day I would have no doubt challenged you to a duel to the death for my hand in marriage."

Bolt wasn't sure if he was supposed to be flattered or terrified so he said nothing.

"And handsome, too," the Progenitor said, fingertips ghosting over his cheekbones. He still couldn't break free from her grip. "A half-breed?" she mused. "A Hyūga, hmm?"

Bolt broke away as the woman released him. He rubbed at his bruised wrist. "You know of the Hyūga?" he asked warily.

"Of course," the Progenitor said airily. "We used to be at war with them, you know? They were allied with the Senju and we sided with the Uchiha before we realized the darkness they carried. A war over such a petty thing, too. Who had the prettier eyes?" she laughed bitterly.

"And you eventually joined the Senju, I presume?" Bolt continued the line of thinking, knowing the two clan's closeness.

"And he's smart, too," the Progenitor cooed like he was a child.

Bolt scowled at her.

"Don't be like that," the Progenitor whined. "I did want to thank you, after all. You did save me from that dreadful man. To think my first contact with another soul after thousands of years in isolation would be a snake in the guise of a man. I was most cross that my family had given away my mask."

Bolt swallowed as the hungry quality of her chakra made itself known once more. The Progenitor sighed wistfully. "Still, I see that you would be uncomfortable with me joining with you in combat, nor would you trust another to use me in your stead," she groused. Bolt stiffened and redoubled his mental defenses against the caressing tendrils of the woman's chakra that still lingered. The Progenitor smiled wolfishly, knowingly. Bolt shivered. "But there is one thing I can give you. Or rather, your champion."

"My champion?" Bolt queried. There was only one person that came to mind. "What could you give Tetsu?"

The Progenitor inched forward sensually in a way that made Bolt think of a predator stalking its prey. She grinned, some hungry fire burning in her eyes. "My sword," she said, low and raspy.

Bolt recalled the dark cavernous shrine that he had awakened in after almost dying under Orochimaru's tender care. The ice-cold black fire, the solemn, holy air about the death masks, and the crude sword that sat at the base. The sword that, according to the Uzukage, was forged from the blood of the butchered royal family of a long-dead country.

"You know," the Progenitor drawled. "I was actually surprised by how few people you have to kill to get enough iron for a sword. They're deceptively light, you know? Swords, that is. It only takes four or five hundred people's blood to have enough iron. No, the real trick is separating the iron from the blood." She sighed wistfully. "Oh, but their screams. It was truly a blissful time. What I wouldn't do to have a body of flesh and blood again..."

Bolt shuddered. He might be a killer but he rarely— if ever— took pleasure in his enemies' pain. The Progenitor _revelled_ in it. Bolt blinked, the momentary revulsion of the woman having made him blind to her, and found the Progenitor's fist thrust into his chest cavity. The pain assailed him, an agony unlike anything he had ever felt before, and then she removed her hand and left behind seamless, unmarred skin. But Bolt could feel something different, something more, something sitting dormant and waiting within him. "What did you do to me?" he demanded angrily. His ancestor or not, if she had attacked him he would shatter her death mask the instant he was freed from her influence.

"Oh, don't worry," the Progenitor drawled sensually. "Nothing bad, I promise. Think of it as a key. You think my descendants wouldn't have taken up my sword if they could?"

Bolt bristled but admitted that her excuse did make some logical sense. An artifact of such importance and power would have been used liberally in war. That the Uzumaki clan hadn't was indeed strange. Bolt surmised the Progenitor must have placed a seal preventing the sword's use— probably at the cost of the life of the thief— until such time that she could select a successor.

"Run along now, little half-breed," the Progenitor cooed. "We shall meet again."

Bolt blinked and found himself back in the Uzukage's office, a nervous and worried Akane and Kohaku standing vigil over where he sat. Several of what appeared to be medics were waiting in the wings. "I'm fine," Bolt assured them, voice hoarse.

"Are you sure?" the Uzukage asked, and Bolt warmed slightly at the genuine concern in her voice.

"Positive," he assured her. "The Progenitor was... very unique."

Kohaku snorted. "Not the way I'd put it," he muttered.

"What did she say?" Akane asked.

Bolt shrugged, rubbing at the phantom pain in his chest. "She wanted to test me, I guess," he said. "She must have seen something she liked in me. She also gave me a gift: her sword."

The Uzukage blinked owlishly. "I presume she has given you a method to survive the jūinjutsu she placed on the sword before her death?" she asked.

Bolt nodded. "Although it was... unconventional, yes, she did," he said.

Akane breathed a breathy sigh. "Very well," she said. "If you're able to take the sword without dying, it is yours."

"Thank you," Bolt said, inclining his head ever so slightly. Though, technically, he was her superior, and if he had demanded the sword there would have been little she could have done to stop him, Bolt understood the importance of the sword to his clan. He glanced at a nearby clock and saw that it had been some time since he had left Hikari and Kagami to see to the Hidden Mist. "I'm afraid I must get back to my army," Bolt said. "Unless, of course, you have more pressing matters to discuss?" he added with a quirked brow.

The Uzukage shook her head.

"Good," Bolt nodded. "Oh, and about my order..."

Akane grimaced. "It will take some time to apply the seals to every set of armor," she said. "Even with seal masters working round the clock."

"I trust that you'll have them done in time, though?" Bolt pressed. He needed those sets of armor for his soldiers.

Akane nodded hesitantly. "If you'll keep up your end of the bargain, we will as well," she said.

"Consider it done," Bolt said, turning to leave.

"Oh, and Bolt?" the Uzukage called out. He paused at the threshold. "A million sets of armor? How many men do you have fighting under your banner?"

Bolt just smiled.

* * *

 **May 24th, 0025 AIT**

A month and a half later, they cracked.

Bolt smiled. The scroll laid unfurled on his desk, an "unofficial" official request from the Leaf for a meeting— a prisoner exchange. They were claiming Temari as a prisoner of war and thus recognizing the United Shinobi Empire as a legitimate and sovereign nation, even if it wasn't public. It was the kind of recognition Bolt needed most. The Land of Rain and the Land of Whirlpools weren't enough for the rest of the world to recognize that his empire was a nation in and of itself. But if the Land of Fire— who the Hokage now spoke for— were to recognize him? Well, that would be something else entirely.

Finally it was time to advance his agenda once more. If he couldn't beat Sarada and her guard dogs in combat then he would just do so in the political arena. One in which they were far less powerful and held far less sway than him.

Bolt quickly stood, knocking over a pile of furled scrolls in his haste, and quickly donned the ceremonial cloak of the One Shadow. Hikari twitched at the sudden action, hands going for her needles, before she realized it was only him and relaxed. "Get Tetsu and prepare for a mission," he ordered, then paused. "Try not to alert Kagami," he added. "She won't have a level head for this. Best if she stays here."

Hikari nodded. "Prisoner exchange?" she asked.

"Prisoner exchange," Bolt confirmed with a nod before quickly leaving and delving into the bowels of the Eye and making his way to the prison. Empty cells stared back at him, left empty and barren save for the fūinjutsu script that would contain their hosts. All cells, save for one. Temari had awakened at the sound of his footsteps no doubt. She glared angrily at him through the shimmering barrier of blue-white energy that disrupted her chakra. Bolt blinked and looked around. Hibiki was nowhere to be seen. Strange, Bolt thought, before one of Tsuchigumo's puppets shambled forward.

"Hibiki is resting," the puppet chattered.

Bolt frowned but nodded and accepted that Hibiki was only human and he had mortal limits. He had been watching Temari constantly for weeks at a time, always pushing and pressuring her for more information. The intel they had gained on the inner workings of the Leaf was not insubstantial. Things that even Bolt, son of the Hokage, hadn't known. "Very well," Bolt said. "Have Hibiki send his latest report to my desk. I'll want to read it when I get back."

The puppet chattered its assent and moved to its place of honor near the far wall, shadowed beneath an overhanging eve. Bolt approached the cell, placing his hand on the seal near the entrance and forcing his chakra into it. The seal reacted to his touch, his chakra changing its configurations. The barrier flickered and died and Bolt prepared himself to rush in. The moment the barrier dropped he dashed inside, ducking beneath Temari's punch and kicking her in the gut before pasting a chakra disruption tag on the back of her neck. She went boneless, helplessly struggling and flailing for a moment, before Bolt pinned her and quickly cuffed her hands behind her back.

"Really?" he chided Temari as he hauled her to his feet. "Why struggle? Even if you escape, there's nowhere to go. Even if you could kill me— which you can't— you wouldn't escape. No one can leave this place unless I say so."

Temari growled angrily at him and attempted to grapple him. Bolt, being taller and stronger than she was, easily kept his feet on the ground. With a sigh, Bolt kneed her in the small of her back and forced her to walk. He got all of three steps before Temari slammed the back of her skull into his nose as hard as she could and then sprinted down the hall. Bolt grunted and scowled at her as he wiped blood away from his upper lip, watching as Temari feebly attempted to outrun him— _him_ , the fastest being alive— before closing the distance between them in the space between one heartbeat and the next. Bolt slammed Temari into the unforgiving stone wall of the prison and could see the veritable stars in her eyes as she was dazed. Then he pressed his forearm against her neck and began to choke her. "This can be easy," Bolt intoned. "Or it can be hard," he said lowly, choking her harder.

Temari spasmed and gasped for air feebly for a moment before Bolt removed his arm. When she didn't make to attack him or run, he was satisfied in her compliance.

Then again, Bolt thought, she was if nothing else a fighter, and he really should have expected it when Temari lunged forward, teeth flashing, and bit him. Her teeth caught him by the jaw, digging deep into the soft flesh of his lips and cheek. Bolt yelped, lashing out with the Gentle Fist and striking her in the stomach.

Bolt's eyes widened as, before the punch had even connected, a tendril of wispy pink smoke leapt from Temari's lips and snaked into his own before he could close his mouth or halt his breath.

Cold, hard realization hit him like one of his sister's Sage Mode punches. The knowledge didn't save him, though, and in an instant Bolt felt control of his body be wrested from his control. Panic set in immediately as he began to rage for exertion of control and failed. Bolt drowned in the panic, cold and dark and all-consuming, like the time he had nearly drowned trying to reach the Land of Whirlpools.

"Not so cocky now, are you?" Temari snarled before kicking him in the groin.

Bolt felt the tendrils of mind-consuming pain spread through him as his mind went white and he— or his body, rather— collapsed.

"If you could not do that, please," Bolt said— only it wasn't him speaking the words. "I do need to be able to walk to get you out of here."

"Shit!" Temari hissed. "Sorry," she added, hastily helping his body to its feet.

Yasuo. It was Yasuo. The fucking bounty hunter had his fucking body and he was helping Temari escape! Anger, uncontrolled and burning as white-hot as the pain that lingered in his mind, coursed through every fiber of his being.

"We need to move quickly," Yasuo said, and Bolt couldn't help but mentally shudder as he heard his voice spills from his lips but speaking words not his own. "The longer we stay here the higher the chances something will go wrong."

"Right," Temari agreed, quickly assuming the role of a broken, defeated prisoner as the two of them began to march through the halls of the Eye.

Helpless terror assailed Bolt as he continued to fight for control of his body and failed. Every footstep brought Temari closer to freedom and Yasuo closer to safety from his betrayal. It didn't take long at all for them to reach the main floor of the castle where Hikari and Tetsu were waiting for him.

Hope blossomed for but an instant before Yasuo destroyed it. "I've changed my mind," he said curtly, coldly, clearly an order. "The two of you will stay here."

Hikari blinked, looking confused, before straightening. "Why?" she asked.

Yasuo kneed Temari in the back and forced her to walk forward. There was no real malice in the action. It was simply part of the act. "Because," Yasuo said, imitating his demeanor in a way Bolt hadn't thought possible. "I need you to stay here and keep an eye on Kagami. She can't know that we're going to trade Temari. She's emotional and she'll let those emotions control her during negotiations. You're the only one I can trust to keep her under control. That, and if things go bad, I'm not going to risk fighting the task force again unless I know we can win. If a fight erupts then I will kill Temari and flee using Thunder God Mode."

" _No!"_ Bolt screamed, trapped behind his own eyes as he watched everything he had worked for crumble around. _"Hikari! Don't fall for it!"_

Hikari hesitated, paused, and then nodded. "Alright," she agreed softly. "Be careful," she added, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I will," Yasuo swore.

Bolt felt an all-consuming, apocalyptic anger ignite in his chest. It was a raging inferno, scouring and incinerating all in its path, even himself, heedless of the damage. Bolt had never been so angry in his life. So angry that he couldn't even think, couldn't even see, until the meaning "seeing red" was burned into his soul. It burned through him, turning him to ash, leaving nothing but charred remains.

"Tetsu, continue training and improve your skill with the Progenitor's Bloodsword," Yasuo commanded.

"Yes, my lord,' Tetsu rumbled, bowing.

"Tsuchigumo," Yasuo addressed the puppet that was the puppeteer's main body when he wasn't physically present. "Begin the teleportation process."

More puppets emerged from the shadows, tall and lumbering, their chests bulging with furled fūinjutsu scrolls that facilitated the spatial technique that physically transported things between the Eye and the Earth.

Bolt felt his heart drop into his stomach. _"Hikari! Tetsu!"_ he screamed. _"Tsuchigumo! Anyone! Stop!"_

His screams echoed in his skull and did little else. Bolt watched helplessly as the puppets glowed blue-white with chakra before his body and Temari winked out of existence. Bolt blinked and his body was standing on grassy knoll somewhere in the western Land of Fire. It was only a short jaunt to the meeting location, an old bridge that spanned a ravine separating the Land of Fire and the Land of Grass. Internally, Bolt trembled with unbridled anger and— embarrassingly— fear.

Temari squealed joyfully and began to dance happily at her newfound freedom. Yasuo moved forward and helped her free herself from the bindings Bolt had placed on her. The cuffs fell to the grass, discarded, and Temari grinned as she rubbed at her bruised wrists.

"We should hurry," Yasuo said, looking around nervously.

Bolt mentally hurled himself at the chains barring him from controlling his body. Never had he felt so helpless, to feel the electric signals travel down his limbs and yet have them remain motionless. There wasn't a more dreadful feeling— or, at least, not one that Bolt had felt yet. Yasuo and Temari began a brisk sprint across the grassy plains as they headed west to the Land of Grass.

The minutes passed and Bolt continued to struggle to regain control of his body. And as the minutes passed, he failed, and Bolt knew that there was no escaping the possession technique of the Iburi clan without outside assistance. He was trapped, helpless, and he was going to be given to his enemies— again— and this time there would be no escape. Sarada and his father would make certain of that. His movement would continue on, weak and feeble without a leader, fighting until their dying breath before their ultimate defeat...

It was every nightmare Bolt had ever feared come to life.

" _Why?"_ Bolt demanded. It came out broken and desperate and Bolt hated it. _"Why? Why betray me? Why now?! When I'm so close to victory?! If it's money, I have it! I'll double whatever the Leaf is giving you. I gave you Orochimaru's death!"_

"... Because," Yasuo answered after a moment, speaking aloud. "You have become the very thing you set out to destroy, and the thing I hate the most." Temari looked strangely at him and Yasuo shrugged. "You have become Orochimaru, Bolt," he said gravely. "The human experimentation and your disregard for what Katasuke does in your name, just like Orochimaru and his minions. The extermination of the Nara clan? Just like what Orochimaru did to my mother's clan. You're opposed to the ninja system, true, but you aren't seeking to destroy the old system that brought about the ultimate destruction of the Iburi clan, you're just building a new, larger totalitarian system that serves you."

Bolt trembled with barely suppressed rage. _"I am nothing like Orochimaru!"_ he screamed. _"I am building a better world! A world that no one else but me could build!"_

"... I'm sure Orochimaru thought that, too, when he first began to walk down his path, before he left the Leaf," Yasuo said quietly.

Like a candle that had burned too bright, Bolt burned himself out as his fate settled on his shoulders. He was helpless and watched as Yasuo and Temari continued their steady pace towards the bridge.

And, slowly, like a volcano primed for eruption, his anger built and built, and where once there had been grim acceptance, new resistance was born. It was fiery, something fierce and determined that blossomed in his chest, and Bolt felt like his heart would burst if he didn't act. Bolt gathered himself for one last charge, one last push, and it would either end in his freedom or his death. Everything that he was, every hope and dream, every fear, every great love and victory and defeat, with all his chakra and willpower, forging his will into a blade as sharp as any made of steel, and then driving it deep into the barrier barring him from his body.

The barrier shattered like a pane of glass. And like throwing himself against a pane of glass, Bolt tumbled forth into the world— only, it was not the world he had known. It was a fierce world, blurry and indistinct, one with an undying, howling wind, one where he couldn't see for more than a handful of feet before him, one where turbulent rain came down sideways with a biting force.

And it was beautiful and painted in shades of gold.

* * *

 **May 24th, 0025 AIT**

It had been a long time since the Five Bodhisattva had convened, Sentoki thought, as he kneeled before the low table upon which countless dusty tomes of scripture sat. Of course, they weren't exactly numbered five any longer, either. The abbot of the Wind Temple, Benkei, would be but a child still, unable to resume his duties so soon after his reincarnation. Thus it fell to Sentoki and his fellow brothers to continue upholding the Brotherhood's values until he could rejoin them.

"I do not think it would be wise for us to join this war," In'ei, abbot of the Earth Temple, said. He was a man of average build and height to Sentoki's eyes, his head bare of hair and his eyes a warm, kind brown. Ironically, he was a lover of peace, quite unlike the historic Tsuchikage.

"I agree," Tajima, abbot of the Water Temple, said with a sagely nod. He was the oldest among them— physically, anyways— tall and lithe with a snow-white beard that came to his belly that spoke of wisdom. Still, the icey blue eyes that stared back at him beneath drooping eyelids spoke of a strength of will Sentoki had rarely seen. "I am unconvinced this upstart is the grave threat you speak of, Sentoki."

Sentoki inwardly groaned. Tajima, much like his homeland, went with the flow, and Sentoki had hoped he would be able to sway him to vote for the Brotherhood intervening in the war raging across the continent.

"Regardless," Meishū rumbled. "The Brotherhood has sat idle for far too long. It doesn't matter if this Bolt Uzumaki is a false user of ninshū or not, we cannot afford continue letting him tear this world apart. The spirits are restless, my brothers, surely you sense this as well?"

Sentoki had thought Meishū was the man he would least like to fight— until Bolt had claimed his arm, that was. The abbot of the Lightning Temple was a paragon of his people: tall and burly with bronzed skin and arms as large around as Sentoki's waist, he looked like he could snap a man in half with only one arm. Of the five of them, he was the only one to elect not to shave their head. He had a long mane and a neat beard of wheat-blond hair. Historically, he was the strongest of the abbots, having fought in many great battles over the ages, putting down more than one threat to the teachings of the Sage single-handedly.

And he was also predictably war-like, which Sentoki had counted on. Together, the two of them, he had hoped, would sway Tajima to join them in voting to go to war.

Sentoki cleared his throat. "Please, my brothers," he said. "I implore you, if you will not trust my words, trust my spirit. See Bolt as I have seen him, understand him as I understand him. Then you will see the truth."

In'ei, Tajima, and Meishū closed their eyes, heads lolling, and Sentoki joined them, reaching out with his spirit as four became one. Sentoki focused on the battle, on how fiercely they fought, how far outclassed Sentoki had Bolt, and then how— slowly— the battle turned, how the hunter became the hunted, how Bolt began to understand Sentoki the way Sentoki understood him: a hungry soul, one starved for connection, eager to latch onto any who unfortunate soul who dared to wander too close to him.

They opened their eyes as one and their grim visages mirrored Sentoki's own. "Now you understand," he said.

"This is most... distressing," In'ei said.

"All the more reason to go to war," Meishū growled.

"I... agree," Tajima, finally swayed to their side, said.

"I believe it would be best if we were to offer an alliance with our ninja counterparts," Sentoki suggested. "Together, there would be very little the United Shinobi Empire could do to challenge—"

The words died on Sentoki's lips as a ripple echoed across eternity, plucking the strings that connected every soul to each other and creating a sorrowful song of despair and resentment. Sentoki gazed into the yawning abyss, as did his brothers, wondering what could have disturbed the spirits so.

"A spirit-walk, hmm?" Tajima hummed thoughtfully.

"A novice," Meishū scoffed. "They are broadcasting themselves to anyone with even a modicum of spiritual awareness. One of yours, I assume, In'ei?"

In'ei ignored the barb and shook his head. "Not one of mine," he said. "None of my novitiates are at a level where they could perform a spirit-walk."

"Neither is it one of mine," Tajima said, stroking his beard.

Sentoki had yet to teach any of his students the necessary discipline and spiritual awareness needed to safely attempt an advanced, dangerous technique like spirit-walking so he knew it was not one of his own novitiates. And, judging by Meishū's barb, it wasn't one of his either, then...

"Who is it?" the abbots spoke as one.

Sometimes, Sentoki thought, he wished his old master Chiriku would have decided to continue serving as the abbot of the Fire Temple instead of handing the mantle down to him. Still, Sentoki supposed that even the noblest of souls grew weary of the Impure World after enough lifetimes. Perhaps he, after many reincarnations, would feel the same?

* * *

 **May 24th, 0025 AIT**

Bolt stumbled blindly through the golden world, arms held before his face and eyes to ward off the howling wind and biting rain. He was lost and alone and terrified out of his mind with fear of the unknown and anger at Yasuo's betrayal. The further he waded into the storm the more lost he became and Bolt knew if he didn't escape the storm soon then he would be lost and succumb to the elements. He needed to find a path, someway to guide himself through the storm, a destination.

But, in his heart, Bolt knew he was lost in a much more grave manner than his surroundings supposed. He could feel it, somehow— he didn't know how— but Bolt knew he wasn't in his physical body. No, he was... somewhere else. He existed as... something else. And that was what was most alarming. Bolt feared if he wandered too far that he would be lost forever in a more damning way than being lost in some forest.

He wandered for what seemed like hours with naught but the moaning wind for company. And with each step Bolt grew more and more exhausted until it became a task fit for the Sage of Six Paths to keep one foot moving in front of the other. Eventually his "body," for a lack of a better word, gave out, and Bolt could walk no further. He was empty, burning with exhaustion, tired, angry, alone, and afraid. Afraid of failure, afraid of being caged, afraid of defeat after all he had done and sacrificed, afraid of his dream never coming to fruition, afraid of death, afraid of never seeing his friends again, afraid of never seeing Hikari again.

There was a great deal of fear in him, Bolt realized.

Bolt sighed and closed his eyes, lying down. The wind and rain licked at his skin and Bolt let his mind drift as he thought of Hikari, Tetsu, Kagami, Hibiki, and Tsuchigumo. He thought of his family, of his aunt Hanabi and his grandfather, of his sister and mother, and even his naive, idealistic pain in the ass father.

"I don't like this, Tetsu," Hikari said. Bolt's eyes snapped open. "Something doesn't feel right."

Bolt leapt to his feet, eyes wide, and he found himself standing in one of the underground training arenas in the Eye of the Storm. Tetsu sparred with an unseen opponent, his hands gripping the hilt of the Progenitor's Bloodsword tightly, while Hikari watched and paced nervously. _"Hikari! Tetsu!"_ Bolt shouted happily.

Neither of them heard him. Tetsu continued to spar and Hikari continued to pace. Bolt calmed his frantically beating heart and ran over to Hikari. The world was distinct now, Bolt noticed, and the raging storm had passed. Bolt realized he was more distinct. He felt solid, real, anchored in a way he hadn't before. And free from the storm, Bolt realized it wasn't the only thing that was golden— he was too. He looked at his hands, incorporeal and ethereal, a wispy mist of golden light that shimmered beneath the translucent skin.

Bolt didn't have long to ponder his new existence. Somehow, some way, he had found an opportunity to rescue himself and Bolt would be damned if he was going to look a gift horse in the mouth. _"Hikari!"_ he shouted, moving to stand before. _"Help me!"_

"My lord has given us a command," Tetsu rumbled as he moved through a form.

"Still," Hikari hissed. "We should be there. You know how Bolt gets..."

Bolt lunged forward and grabbed Hikari by the shoulders. His hands went through the silk of her robes and her skin, phasing through harmlessly, though Bolt saw her shiver as if chilled. Hikari glanced keenly at the shadows as if looking for some unseen opponent and an idea blossomed in Bolt's mind. _"I'm sorry if this hurts you, Hikari,"_ he whispered to her. _"But I really need you. Now more than ever."_

Bolt thrust his fists into her chest and Hikari visibly recoiled. _"Hikari!"_ he shouted, impressing as much urgency into his voice as he could. _"Help me!"_

"Something is wrong," Hikari said, again. "Something's wrong, I know it."

Bolt watched as she ran from the room and he let loose a victorious cry before chasing after her. Tetsu sheathed the Bloodsword and gave chase. The cavalry was coming and it brought a smile to Bolt's lips. Hikari made her way through the winding halls of the castle until she came to the level dedicated to the living quarters of the Akatsuki. Hibiki was furthest from them all, save for Tsuchigumo, who basically lived in the labs.

Hikari pounded on the door. "Hibiki!" she shouted, fist slamming against fūinjutsu-reinforced wood. "Hibiki! Open up! It's important!"

When Hikari— who had tremendous physical strength, Bolt might add— pounded on something, you would have to be deaf not to hear it. Hibiki didn't answer and Hikari, like him, must have known something was amiss. She took a step back, braced herself, and then kicked the door down. The door, reinforced by fūinjutsu, held, but the stone wall that it was attached to, however, was not so lucky. The door and the surrounding wall for nearly a full foot was sent rocketing into Hibiki's room. Bolt nodded, impressed, and made a note to address that flaw at a later date.

The inside of Hibiki's room was dark and smelled of sickness. Bolt wrinkled his nose. Hikari kneeled beside Hibiki who laid comatose on his bed. Her hands glowed with a crystalline green chakra as she ran her hands over his body. "Poison," she announced to Tetsu who lingered near the doorway, now on guard. "A neurotoxin from the southern Land of Fire. I can heal him."

Hikari produced the antidote from one of the storage seals he tattooed on the palms of her hands and forced it down Hibiki's throat. The black-haired man sputtered and coughed but Bolt could see some color return to his unnatural pallor almost immediately. Hikari placed a palm on Hibiki's forehead and let the Mystic Palm do its work. After a few long, agonizing seconds, Hibiki's eyes opened. They were cloudy with pain but he was conscious. "Hibiki," Hikari hissed urgently. "I need you to check on Bolt. I think something happened. Quick."

Hibiki nodded feebly, closing his eyes, and Bolt felt _something_ wash over him before it passed quickly. "He's... near the border of the Land of Grass," Hibiki croaked weakly. "With... Temari... and... Yasuo?"

Hikari slammed a clenched fist into the ground near Hibiki's bed and the stone shattered. "Fuck!" she swore. "Bolt wouldn't have taken Yasuo and not us. That means—"

"—My lord has fallen into a trap," Tetsu rumbled angrily. Bolt smiled. If there was one thing Tetsu hated most, it was dishonorable combat.

"Shit. Okay. Hibiki, listen to me," Hikari spoke quickly, urgently. "You're going to be fine. I've already given you the antidote and performed first aid. Tsuchigumo is going to come help you and Tetsu and I are going to go rescue Bolt. Stay here and rest, okay?"

Hibiki nodded feebly and closed his eyes, falling asleep, though Bolt could still feel the spectral gaze of something— or someone— fixated on him. Or, rather, he thought... his chakra.

"Tsuchigumo!" Hikari hollered, sprinting into and down the hallway until she found the first puppet. "I need a summoning as close to the border of the Land of Fire and Grass as you can get me. Bolt's in trouble!"

The puppet chattered something and Bolt reached out to take ahold of Hikari. She shivered, again, and looked down at her shoulder before glancing from side to side. Bolt smiled fondly and caressed her reassuringly. A moment later they were whisked away to a small farming village overlooking a sprawling forest. Hikari and Tetsu burst into a sprint as they ran north towards the bridge where they were supposed to meet the Leaf. Bolt followed and could only pray that they made it in time before Yasuo and Temari gave him over to the Leaf.

Bolt followed them, though the longer they ran and the longer the silence drew on, the more blurry and indistinct the world grew. Bolt could hear the howling wind slowly gaining strength and it made his heart flutter in his chest like a caged bird to think of going back to being lost in the golden storm.

The three of them crested a hill and in the distance Bolt could see two heads of blond hair moving across the countryside. Hikari shot off, Tetsu close behind, and Bolt gave chase. His... whatever his existence was, didn't seem to be as fast as his physical flesh-and-blood body, so Bolt was a handful of paces behind when Hikari and Tetsu burst through a copse of trees and into a small clearing. On the other hand, he did have quite the excellent view for Hikari rearing back and punching his body in the gut with what was, by his own estimate, a fair bit of her strength. His body sailed through the air and slammed into the trunk of a large tree, shattering the bark, before falling limply to the ground. Meanwhile, Tetsu had cornered Temari— who had begun to weave the hand signs for a Wind Release technique— and struck her across the face with the flat of his blade, effectively knocking her unconscious.

Rosy, pink-colored smoke slipped from the lips of his body and Bolt watched as it quickly began to disperse. Hikari futilely threw a punch at Yasuo's smoke form before realizing that it would do little more than tire her out. She stood, inhaled, and spat a wave of water forth that caught a few wispy tendrils of smoke but little else. The water subsumed what little smoke it captured and sank beneath the dirt. Bolt hoped it would be enough to kill Yasuo, but he had little faith. If his own lightning form was like Yasuo's smoke form, then the bounty hunter would have prioritized the safety of key bodily functions. It would be a flesh wound, likely, and nothing more.

Hikari swore loudly and rushed over to his side. "Bolt? Bolt!" she said, kneeling and shaking him gently by the shoulder. Her hands glowed green for the second time that day. "Come on, Bolt. Wake up. I didn't hit you that hard. Come back to me..."

Bolt then realized, suddenly, that he was staring at his own body and had no idea how he was supposed to... get back in, for a lack of a better word. _"Well, shit,"_ he muttered.

"He's not waking up..." Hikari said tensely.

Bolt circled Hikari and his body as he wracked his brain for a solution. His recollection of the moments before he stumbled into the golden storm were chaotic at best. He wasn't sure if he could even replicate the feat to repeat the process, let alone reverse it to return to his body. At first, Bolt thought he had— somehow— untethered his chakra from his physical body. Now, standing before his body, Bolt could feel the electric hum of his power just out of reach of... whatever he was. A second option was that he had somehow, on pure instinct, performed a technique similar to the Yamanaka clan's techniques. However, Bolt had never heard of the Yamanaka— let alone any ninja— being able to cast their mind so far without it unravelling at the ends like a frayed rope.

That left... as ridiculous and foreign as it sounded to his ears... one option. For lack of a better word, Bolt had "disgorged" his soul from his body. Many famous technique crafters had debated on the nature of chakra; the amalgamation of the Yin and Yang energies. Yang, as most everyone agreed upon, came from the physical body. Yin, however, there was dissent. Some theorized Yin energy came from the mind, that it was sentience that gave birth to chakra. They supported their argument by stating that humans, as the most sentient creatures, had the most powerful chakra, while less sentient creatures, like the Inuzuka clan's ninja dogs, had less powerful chakra. Others argued that Yin energy was the energy of the soul, the spirit; immortal, immaterial, and indestructible.

The debate had raged for some centuries. Bolt had never particularly cared one way or the other. His only concern was what he could do with his chakra. But, of the two, he thought that Yin stemming from sentience was the most likely. Now, given possible evidence of the contrary, and his experience with his "Light," he wasn't so sure. He loathed the notion of "ghosts," which his current existence could be described as such.

"Come on, Bolt..." Hikari whispered urgently.

Taking a leap of faith— quite literally— Bolt shrugged and leapt forward, sailing through the air, and fell into his unconscious body.

Bolt lurched and sat bolt upright, his forehead slamming into Hikari's chin. The two of them hissed in pain and recoiled but Bolt couldn't stop the bubbling laughter from escaping his lips as the pain reminded him that he was in his body once more. And, more important than that: he was in control.

"Bolt!" Hikari exclaimed. "Are you alright? What happened?!"

Bolt could hardly answer her between exhilarated fits of laughter. Then, he remembered. "Yasuo," he hissed, leaping to his feet.

There was a clamor in the brush and the three of them rounded on the source of the noise as Kagami and the human puppet Danzō erupted into the clearing. Kagami was flushed and breathing hard, but she looked relieved to see him. Tsuchigumo's puppet's Sharingan eyed the clearing warily.

Bolt quickly formed five signs, bit his thumb, and slammed a bloody palm to the ground as he thought of Yasuo's chakra and... nothing happened. Growling in frustration, Bolt stood and pressed his bloody finger to the palm of his hand. The summoning contract every member of the Akatsuki had signed winked into existence in the palm of his hand from its place in his workshop. Unfurling it rapidly, Bolt gazed upon the names signed in blood. And where Yasuo's signature should be, only a gnarled gap in the parchment resided. Like the leaves of a tree beset by locusts, the parchment appeared to have been nibbled away at by tiny insects. The micro-puppets Yasuo was so skilled with, no doubt, Bolt assumed.

"I want him found," Bolt growled. "Tsuchigumo, spread the word. Contact the bounty hunter association and tell them the Empire is putting a one billion ryō price on Yasuo Iburi's head. I want his name and face in every bingo book from the Land of Water to the Land of Wind!"

The Danzō puppet nodded, drawing close. "Sorry," it said, voice low and gravelly, as it no doubt had been in life. The puppet nodded at Kagami. "I didn't know what the situation was, and..."

"It's fine," Bolt assured the puppeteer. "Perhaps she should be there for the exchange after all."

"What!" Hikari exclaimed. "You're still going? Bolt, you were possessed and fell unconscious afterwards, I don't think this is—"

"—I'll be fine," Bolt assured her. "How is Hibiki doing?"

Hikari bristled. "He should be stable, for now, but... wait, how did you know Hibiki was injured?" she asked, brows furrowed.

That was the question, wasn't it? Bolt wasn't sure what happened to him himself. "I'll tell you later," he settled for. "In the meantime..." his gaze fell to the unconscious Temari. "Let's get moving. We have a prisoner to trade."

* * *

 **May 24th, 0025 AIT**

The reason the Land of Rain was chosen as the battleground between the Lands of Fire, Earth, and Wind instead of more direct routes such as the Land of Valleys and the Land of Grass was one thing and one thing only: natural barriers. The Land of Valleys was pockmarked with snaking rivers, dense forests, and treacherous valleys that proved deadly to all but their inhabitants. The Land of Grass, however, was defended by what many called "the Scar": a canyon that stretched the length of the border that was so deep and cavernous one couldn't see the bottom even with the aid of a dōjutsu. Numerous bridges connected the Land of Fire to the Land of Grass, each an important structure for trade and travel. Wars had been fought for them in the past and Bolt hoped he wasn't about to start another today. At least, not without a good reason.

The Bridge that Spanned Heaven and Earth, as it was so aptly named, bridged one of the largest gaps in the Scar, and the Leaf had chosen it as the meeting place for their prisoner exchange. As Bolt peered across the miles with his Byakugan, he could see the task force on the far side of the canyon. There, along with the Six-Tails, was his sister, who likewise was peering at him, no doubt having already informed Sarada and the last two surviving Nara clansmen that would head the proceeding. And, most importantly, as promised, his father was nowhere in sight, though he no doubt frothing at the bit to be present. Bolt was banking on the Leaf upholding their end of the agreement and keeping the former Hokage away. Originally only he was supposed to be there for the transfer— a non-issue, given that his father already had a nose for his unique brand of "darkness" as his father so eloquently put it— but with the inclusion of Hikari, Tetsu, Kagami, and Tsuchigumo, he was putting his entire team at risk.

But, Bolt mused as he gazed upon the sinuous form of the Six-Tails, it was a risk worth taking. His eyes fell, from the monstrous Tailed Beast to the bridge, and there approaching the middle was Shikamaru, Shikadai, and his sister. An odd choice of an honor guard, to be sure, Bolt thought. Himawari, yes, but Shikadai? He would have rather had Sarada and her nigh omniscient Mangekyō.

"Well?!" Kagami asked impatiently.

"They're there, alright," Bolt said, eyes trained once more on the opposite side of the canyon. His sister kept her eyes on him, whispering something to Shikadai and his father. "Looks like it's going to be me and two guards meeting them on the bridge while the rest of our forces watch our backs."

"I'm going with you!" Kagami declared, stepping forward as she squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly.

"You have but only to give the command, my lord," Tetsu said with a bow.

Hikari remained silent but moved to stand closer to him; she didn't need to say anything. Tsuchigumo was quiet but for an entirely different reason as the puppeteer scoured the surrounding lands with his puppet spies.

"You'll stay here, Kagami," Bolt said. "Hikari, Tetsu, and—"

"What?!" Kagami screeched shrilly. "No! Absolutely not! This is my sister's vengeance we're trading for and I will not be left here to watch!"

Bolt could see the fire in her eyes and knew that no amount of reasoning or arguing would sway her to his point of view. He could either forcibly restrain her— which he was loathe to do, given their newfound friendship— or let her accompany him as one of his guards. Bolt closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine," he breathed. "But you'll stay quiet. Let me do the talking. No outbursts, got it?"

Kagami scowled but nodded.

"Hikari, you'll come with me," Bolt continued. "Tetsu, I want you to be watching over the bridge from nearby. If negotiations break down, cover the canyon with a Flash. Hikari and I will escape while our prisoner, unfortunately, perishes in the struggle. Tsuchigumo I want you to be prepared to summon us back to the Eye at a moment's notice. Have scouts watching the surrounding forest for anti-summoning traps."

His Akatsuki hastened to follow his orders and Bolt roughly jerked the somewhat conscious Temari to her feet. The old deer trail down through the forest was narrow and nigh indistinguishable from the surrounding vegetation but was much easier to traverse than wandering blindly through the brush. Hikari followed closely behind him, helping keep an eye on Temari, but Kagami was bouncing on the balls of her feet with a manic grin in anticipation of the coming— what Bolt could only presume she thought was— clash.

The moment he stepped from the forest onto the road preceding the bridge, every set of eyes turned to settle on him. The massive shifting form of the Six-Tails loomed overhead, its two eyestalks peering down at him with a bestial focus like a predator stalking its prey. Sarada and the rest of the task force lingered near the Tailed Beast some handful of hundred feet away. Bolt watched Shikamaru, Shikadai, and Himawari closely as he approached them leisurely with Temari in tow and Hikari and Kagami at his back. Shikamaru and Shikadai were both relieved and furious at the sight of Temari.

Bolt stopped a good twenty feet from the three of them and quirked his head as he looked between them and Temari. "I believe you lost something?" he quipped.

To the Nara duo's credit, neither of them took the bait. Bolt smiled thinly. "Are you hurt, Temari?" Shikamaru asked.

Temari shook her head, biting down on the gag Bolt had tied around her mouth. No more biting, that he made sure of. "Safe and unharmed," Bolt said smoothly. "I, unlike others, know how to treat my prisoners."

Shikadai looked like he had been punched in the gut and Himawari flinched. Good, Bolt thought. They knew their position in the world. They had been the ones to torture and kill a prisoner of war, not him. "So, let's get down to business, shall we?" Bolt posed. "I have something you want. You have something I want. Let's make a trade."

Shikamaru grit his teeth. "What do we have that you could possibly want?" he asked.

Bolt smiled and let his gaze drift skyward, falling on the looming, sinuous form of the Six-Tails in the distance.

Shikamaru, ever shrewd, saw his meaning. "Absolutely not," he said immediately. Bolt admired the man in that moment. It took a lot to be face-to-face with one's wife and tell the man holding her prisoner that you wouldn't trade a monster for her safety. His voice didn't even waver.

"Why?" Bolt drawled. "Why bother defending them? They were— are— demons. Think of how many humans the Tailed Beasts have killed, of their own volition or at the behest of other humans. You'd really defend one of them over getting your wife back?"

"... The Tailed Beasts are too dangerous for one entity to control them all," Shikamaru growled. "Personal feelings have nothing to do with it. Temari wouldn't want me to save her at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives."

Bolt looked to Temari. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears but her back was straight, her chin raised, and her shoulders squared. "Huh," he mused. "Honor? What is it good for?"

"Someone like you would never understand, Bolt," Shikadai growled, almost stepping forward to throttle him. Only his father grabbing him by the shoulder stopped negotiations from breaking down right then and there.

"Fine, then," Bolt shrugged. "You're blockading the Land of Sound. I want you to withdraw your forces south of the border and remain there. You will not attack the United Shinobi Empire until such time that a month has passed. I trust this is more acceptable?"

Shikamaru clenched a fist so hard his knuckles popped. "You want us to sit by as you conquer another country?" he spat.

"Well," Bolt said softly, brows furrowed. "Yes. That's kinda the point."

Temari shook her head violently. Bolt sighed, exasperated. "Oh, come on!" he exclaimed. "It's the Land of Sound! Nobody likes the Land of Sound! It's infested with all sorts of monstrosities from when Orochimaru ruled the country and the newly established Hidden Sound has no formal diplomatic ties to the Hidden Leaf. The only thing I'm asking you to do is step aside. No one has to die."

There was a long, tense, angry silence that seemed to stretch unnaturally. Eventually, Shikamaru spoke. "... That's all you want?" he asked hoarsely.

Bolt smiled. An old woman for a nation? One that produced more food annually than the rest of the world combined? That sounded like a hell of a trade to him. "Yes," he hissed.

"What?" Kagami, it seemed, had finally reached her limit. She leaned in close, hissing into his hear. "What about my sister?!" she demanded angrily, loudly.

Bolt groaned inwardly. This is why he hadn't wanted to bring her along. There was no way in Naraka that Shikamaru or Temari would give up their son to be killed. Absolutely no chance. It was pointless to even ask. "There will be a time and a place for Shikadai's punishment, but it isn't now," Bolt hissed back quietly under his breath. "Kagari's legacy will be in giving the Empire the Land of Sound."

"Fuck that!" Kagami growled. "He—" she pointed angrily at Shikadai. "—killed my sister! If you think I'm just going to walk away, you're even crazier than I fucking thought!"

Bolt glanced at Shikamaru and saw a fire reflected in his keen eyes. He saw the discord in their group and would use it to his advantage if he could. "Not now," Bolt commanded quietly. "You will follow my orders. Stand there and be silent. You'll have your revenge soon enough."

Hikari, bless her, moved to stand closer to Kagami, silently imposing her will on the fiery blonde woman. Bolt took a deep breath. "So," he breathed. "Do we have a deal?"

Slowly but surely, Shikamaru nodded. Temari grunted something through her gag, shaking her head, and Shikamaru looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "Excellent," Bolt said with a nod, he placed a hand between the woman's shoulder blades and pushed her forward into the waiting arms of her husband and son. All three had unshed tears in their eyes as they embraced. Beside him, Kagami trembled with barely suppressed rage. He silently willed her to behave until they had retreated.

"Well, this has been a pleasant experience," Bolt said, slowly walking backwards and forcing Kagami and Hikari to follow him. "I hope you will hold up your end of the bargain? I would hate for our civil negotiations to break down."

It was surprising, Bolt had learned, how much war was like a game. And like a game, often times war was advanced more by both players meeting and agreeing to a mutually beneficial agreement than fighting a long, bloody battle. It was when those players stopped being civil that the true war began.

He got five steps, perhaps six, before Kagami snapped. "No!" she screamed, pushing him away. "I am not leaving until that bastard is dead or I am! You promised me revenge, Bolt!"

Bolt grabbed Kagami by the wrist firmly and she winced in pain from the strength of his grip. She growled like a rabid dog and her skin slowly began to glow a dull red-white glow that heralded her Explosion Release Armor. From the trees came the sound of snapping timber as the rest of the task force leapt forward and readied themselves for battle. Orange-red tongues of chakra licked at Sarada's skin as tears of blood ran down her cheeks.

Bolt swallowed. "Not here, not now," he said urgently. "Please. Trust me, Kagami."

"I did it," his sister's voice, loud and clear, echoed across the bridge. "It wasn't Shikadai that killed your sister. It was me. I did it. I killed Kagari."

"What?" Bolt thought aloud, grip going slack as he stared at his sister. Himawari stood tall, if not proud, in that way she did when she was being brave even when he knew she was terrified. Bolt blinked. He didn't hear that. He couldn't have. His sister had a temper, true, but she was always sweet and kind, caring. Himawari wasn't a warrior, she wasn't a soldier. She hadn't fought any great war, hadn't shed so much blood that she couldn't get the metallic scent out of her nose. Himawari couldn't kill someone. That wasn't who she was. His sister couldn't torture someone to death. She didn't have a mean bone in her body.

Kagami growled, breaking free, and stalked forward, and Shikadai put himself between her and Himawari. "She did it on my order!" he barked harshly. "I was in charge, I made the call, and I issued the command! If you're going to blame someone, blame me!"

"Bolt!" Hikari hissed in his ear and Bolt finally broke free from the spell.

He surged forward, grabbing Kagami harshly by the shoulder and pulling her back. He had meant what he had said: if it came to a fight, the task force would win. He had no way of beating Sarada. She had overpowered him, outplayed him, and he had yet to devise a way around her Mangekyō. More than that, Tetsu has orders to bathe the Scar in a fiery Flash if the shit hit the fan.

"That's not an excuse," Himawari cried. "I knew the risks when I tried to... remove Kagari's chakra. Just because I was ordered to doesn't absolve me of my actions. If you have to blame someone for her death, blame me."

"Then let's settle this!" Kagami growled, pushing forward against Bolt with all her strength. "You and me, a duel to the death! No one else will interfere!"

"Kagami!" Bolt hissed pleadingly. "Don't do this. Please. Please, listen to me. I promise you, I swear to you, we will avenge your sister. But don't do this. Please. Not when we're so close to victory."

Some of his words must've gotten through because Bolt saw the fire in her eyes be tempered and Kagami turned more of her attention to him instead of his sister and Shikadai. But it wasn't enough, Bolt could see. He could see the raw pain, the anger, the sadness, the loneliness. He could see how crushing it was, how it nearly broke her, how Kagami was lost and hurting and wanted nothing more than for the pain to go away.

Bolt didn't know how he could make the pain go away but he knew he had to try or everything he had worked for, bled for, and sacrificed for would be destroyed here and now. "Please, trust me," he urged softly, willing her to obey.

Kagami's eyes lingered on his own before darting over his shoulder where no doubt his sister and the task force were ready and more than willing to fight if it came down to it. Her eyes flicked back to his. "S-She's— she's your sister," Kagami said, lips trembling with anger. "Y-You're just protecting her!" she hissed.

Bolt took a deep breath and stepped closer. "Yes, she's my sister," he said. "Yes, I care for her, just like you care for Kagari. Just like I care for you. And I promise you, I will have justice for your sister's death. But Himawari isn't the one responsible. You know this. How many people have I killed? More by word than deed, no? Their families may hate their loved one's killer, but the blame lies with me. They hate me more."

Kagami was breathing heavy, trembling, but she was listening. Bolt turned his head. "Look at them," he said, inclining his head toward the last three surviving Nara clansmen. "Look into their eyes. You see their hate, don't you? But it's not you they hate, is it? It's me. You were there, you killed more of their clan than me, but it was me who gave the order, me who orchestrated their deaths."

Bolt paused, breathless, and prayed. Long, yawning moments where he wasn't sure if his words would reach Kagami passed. She was stubborn, and passionate, and angry, and those three qualities were never a good combination in anyone. Bolt tried again. "Himawari is my sister. I love her, my enemy or not. Think about how you felt after Kagari died. Would you really do that to me?" he asked softly.

Kagami jerked as if she had been slapped, eyes wide.

"Please," Bolt pressed. "See the truth. Himawari was the sword, but Shikadai was its wielder. Don't do to me what he did to you."

And, slowly, Bolt saw her muscles relax as the fight left her. She ducked her chin and nodded and Bolt saw a stray tear fall down her cheek. He breathed a sigh of relief and ushered Kagami back, away from his sister and the battle that surely would have cost him both a powerful fighter, a country, and— admittedly— a friend. "Let's go," Bolt ordered, pushing Kagami forward.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. "Pride cometh before the fall," the elder Nara scoffed loudly. "You're losing control, Bolt, just like every tyrant before you. Just like every tyrant who will come after you. I'll enjoy watching your empire crumble around you at the war's end."

Bolt whirled on the man, anger searing in his veins. Sarada, luckily, beat him to it. She grabbed Shikamaru by the shoulder of his jōnin jacket roughly. "Shut up!" she hissed, a bloody tear streaking down her cheek. Bolt let his anger burn itself out as he turned and left, following after and herding Kagami away from his sister. He wondered what Sarada saw that made her intervene.

Ultimately, it didn't matter. Bolt waited for the other boot to drop. It never came. His father didn't swoop in, the task force didn't attack when his back was turned, and the Six-Tails didn't go on a rampage in a fit of demonic anger. He rejoined Tetsu and Tsuchigumo, Hikari and a sullen Kagami behind him, and the five of them were whisked back to the safety of the Eye.

He had an invasion to plan, after all. The Land of Sound was his for the taking.

* * *

 **May 28th, 0025 AIT**

Mitsuki wiped the sweat from his brow as he crested the mountain and gazed down at the sprawling emerald forest that lay before him. His father, ever the paranoid mastermind, had built his secluded and secret hideout deep in the mountains that separated the Land of Sound and the Land of Waterfalls. The terrain was harsh and unforgiving with not a living soul for hundreds of miles calling it home. It was also the final resting place of many monsters that had been lost to human memory: huge looming skeletons of beasts that rivaled the Tailed Beasts in size were hidden amongst the mountains and forests. Mitsuki could only wonder at what they had been in life. Perhaps, one day, he would discover it for himself.

It took most of the day to navigate the forest, following his father's instructions, until he finally found the overgrown entrance to the base. It was well hidden, guarded by fūinjutsu, a mere crack in a boulder that led to a cave that led to a tunnel that led deep, deep underground until it became something less natural and more crafted by mortal hands. A barrier shimmered, a great gate that barred all entrance, invisible to the naked eye. Mitsuki would not have seen it had he not felt its effects in the natural energy of the world. It took another hour or two to decipher the means of bypassing the barrier before finally, blissfully, Mitsuki set foot inside what would become his home for the foreseeable future. Until the war with the Ōtsutsuki came and he and his brothers emerged to help Sarada save the world.

Mitsuki didn't know what he had expected, but he knew he hadn't expected... _this_. A colossal circular chamber, the walls of which were lined with bookshelves, upon which sat every book, furled scroll, and dusty tome that had ever been penned by human hands. Mitsuki marvelled at it. There had to have been tens of thousands of them— no, hundreds of thousands. The largest library in the world. The largest there had ever been or would ever be. This, Mitsuki realized, was his father's life's work: the collection and mastery of every jutsu under the heavens. And, even, some above them, he thought.

"What Bolt wouldn't do to have this," Mitsuki chucked at the thought. But, then again, perhaps his Sun shouldn't ever know of his father's library. The Sun, drawn to the power of the knowledge contained within, would surely scour the Earth with its brilliance. That, Mitsuki had come to learn, was not a good thing.

Mitsuki spent the better part of the day leisurely exploring the base; the library, the barracks, the countless labs, the training rooms, the botanical gardens. It was deceptively large. Mitsuki could spend days in every room and still not see everything. It was on the third day, during the night cycle, that Mitsuki stumbled upon _the room_ by sheer chance. It was the soft blue-green glow of light that slipped beneath the door of a hidden passageway. Leery, Mitsuki made his way through the door and deeper into the bowels of the complex.

And there, in a small room, in a cylinder of bubbling green liquid, was a nebulous hunk of white flesh.

A hunk of white flesh with a face Mitsuki was intimately familiar with.

"... Father?"

* * *

 **A/N:**

There was some question last chapter about what, exactly, Gyūki meant when he said "fighting [Bolt] is like fighting Kurama." I've taken a bit more of a "show, don't tell" approach with the Tailed Beasts, but perhaps it was something you noticed during each of their fights with the Akatsuki: none of the Tailed Beasts are head and shoulders above the others. What that means is that, basically, the power level of each of the Nine are homogenous to a certain degree. 1-3 are about the same, 4-6 are a little above them, and 7-8 are above them. Kurama, as the Nine-Tails, is the most powerful of all— but not by such an extreme amount that none of the other Tailed Beasts would be crushed by him without a fight. For example, Gyūki, the Eight-Tails, would give Kurama a fight for his money, and if Gyūki had any backup, say, another Tailed Beast or Bee or even a small squadron of supporting shinobi, he'd probably come out on top (to say nothing of the elemental advantage of Water vs. Fire or home field advantage of ocean/lake/river vs. land).

The design of the Tailed Beasts was a bit poor in canon and this was my attempt at rectifying it. If you go by the maxim that power increases as the number of tails do, then since we've seen what the Nine-Tails is capable of we should therefore be able to "calculate" the power of the rest of the Tailed Beasts. With that logic, what ends up happening is we get to the One-Tail and find it's a little baby trash panda who is angrily rooting through your garbage can. It just doesn't make sense. Instead, it makes much greater sense— and adds to the gravity of the threat of the Tailed Beasts— for the power difference between tails to be much smaller, incremental, even, so that each of the Tailed Beasts are a natural disaster unto their own.

What this also does is allow for an almost universal check for the rank of Kage. To be a Kage, it is nigh mandatory to be able to throw down with a Tailed Beast and either come out the victor or at the very least be able to drive it away. Bonus points for being able to capture and/or seal the beastie so your village has its mutually assured destruction human weapon. So, when Rasa, Gaara's father, was able to defeat the One-Tail with his golden sand, that was viewed as a huge achievement and cemented him as Kazekage. Likewise, when Ay, the Third Raikage, duked it out with the Eight-Tails, he was seen as inhuman for his feat of permanently scarring the beast and the best Raikage that Cloud had ever produced. It was also why, way back when the story started, there was such a huge uproar that Bolt had managed to defeat the One-Tail. That wasn't the feat of a rogue ninja— that was a feat of a Kage. Exceedingly few rogue ninja ever reach that level of power or infamy. Most are little better than roving bandits and mercenaries. For there to be a Kage-class ninja roaming the continent, doing whatever he pleases, was a serious threat to the security of the world's nations. Make no mistake: the Kage of the world, even the historically forgotten ones, all would have been able to throw down with the Tailed Beasts and at least give as good as they got. This includes the Hokages and the Nine-Tails.

What else does this imply? If defeating a single Tailed Beast was a check for becoming a Kage, then what did it mean when Hashirama defeated and sealed _all nine of them?_ It makes sense, then, why the budding Great Five agreed to meet with him and end the Warring Clans Period. With Naruto, this exemplifies him not being "special" because he is the host of the Nine-Tails, something I never liked because there were multiple Tailed Beasts and multiple hosts of the Nine-Tails whom were not as prolific, but because he is the transmigrant of Asura. Sure, having Kurama along for the ride was the literal greatest boon a ninja could ask for, but even without that, Naruto still would have been destined for greatness because of who and what he is. Kurama, then, attributes a lesser fraction of Naruto's supposed power than what people in-universe suspect.

So when Gyūki says Bolt has more chakra than him, that fighting him is like fighting Kurama, what he means is that they are facing a much more dangerous opponent— a Kage among Kage, if you will. Still, Gyūki hasn't had the best track record as the Eight-Tails considering both the Third and Fourth Raikage routinely beat him into submission. On that note, I like to think that Hashirama fought and beat all nine of the Tailed Beasts at once. That's my Hashirama "God of Shinobi" Senju headcanon and I'm sticking to it.

—

So I forgot to post this little... blurb, I guess, in the last chapter, but apparently it has been leaked (?) that Boruto's dōjutsu is called the "Jōgan," the "Pure Eye," neither relating to the Byakugan nor the Tenseigan, and is apparently "connected" to the Ōtsutsuki somehow. Cool, right? Here's the kicker— it hasn't been explained in the manga or anime yet _because the author hadn't thought it through yet_ , according to the animator who leaked the information. Talk about massively disappointing. Internal worldbuilding is supremely important in any fictional writing and often makes or breaks a story. For example, there are characters, events, and techniques referenced in TND, or derived therein from canon, that don't even make appearances themselves, but directly affect events that _have_ occurred, even if it wasn't obvious. Even if you, the audience, doesn't notice them, or even ask about them, it's still important that they're there, so I, as the author, can write with internal consistency, keeping everything on the straight and narrow. To just randomly create or do something because it's cool isn't good writing or worldbuilding and once again amplifies my disappointment with the direction of the Naruto series.

But, on a more positive note... I'm really digging the worldbuilding the anime is going into right now with the Hidden Mist. A recurring theme some of you might have noticed is the slow shift change in the old guard as the younger generation replace them. Yurui becoming the next Raikage, for example, and Shinki being set up to become a (the next?) Kazekage. The problem with this? There is a distinct lack of characters from the next generation in the Hidden Mist and Stone. Who can replace Chōjūrō and Kurotsuchi? Your guess is as good as mine. Luckily, the anime came to the rescue in the form of Karatachi Kagura, who made his appearance here.

Lastly, I wanted to define the meaning of "AU" (alternative universe). Some things, either now, in the past, or in the future, will be borrowed from the manga or anime— such as Karatachi, here— but that does not mean events that may have happened in the source material happened in this story. For example, Samehada remained with Bee and the Thunderswords with Omoi, the most recent anime villain arc didn't happen although Bolt did go on the field trip, and Mitsuki moving to the Hidden Leaf earlier and being a larger part of Bolt's childhood. There are also other minor things, like Sumire not going on her vendetta, but still being part of that generation in a meaningful way.


	100. Chapter 100

**A/N:** So, chapter 100! I wasn't sure what I wanted to do to celebrate the big one. I had an idea for a one-shot where Bolt became the next Uzukage but couldn't really get into it. Who knows, though? Maybe I'll revisit the idea in the future. Instead, if people are interested, I'd be up to do a Q &A about The New Dawn and writing in general. Backstories on certain characters or countries, lore, mechanical workings of certain techniques, "what if..."s, alternate routes the story could have taken, cut/dropped characters/events/content, etc. If you want to submit questions, just leave a review or PM me. I'll include the answers in my author's note next chapter.

* * *

 **June 4th, 0025 AIT**

 **Hidden Leaf, Land of Fire**

 **Hokage's Tower**

 **13:32**

* * *

Konohamaru nervously wove his fingers together. Wearing the Hat came with more stress than he could have possibly imagined— doubly so now that the Leaf was, essentially, embroiled in a literal world war. He used to wonder why Naruto couldn't juggle being the Hokage and being a father. Now he knew better.

It had become more and more clear to Konohamaru that his former student wouldn't be appeased. Bolt wouldn't be content to sit on his throne and rule over his little corner of the world. It was foolish to sit back and cave to his every action. Now, Konohamaru was forced to act or let the United Shinobi Empire grow in strength and size, becoming an even greater threat.

His foot bounced up and down nervously as he glanced at the clock. Konohamaru hadn't ever been in a war. The closest he ever got was killing a Path of Pain when the Akatsuki attacked. And there was no comparison between the war ravaging the land now and the one Madara attempted to usher in. It was one thing to fight a horde of inhuman monsters. It was easy, really. They didn't look human. They didn't bleed. They didn't scream as they died. There wasn't mortal terror etched onto their features as they passed to the Pure Lands. But this? This was a war— a world war— between men. And if there was one thing Konohamaru had learned in the past twenty years, it was that the true monsters weren't the ones you could see on the outside, like the Zetsu, but the ones you couldn't. The monsters that lurked within the dark hearts of scarred little boys.

A soft knock echoed at the door. Konohamaru cleared his throat. "Enter," he called.

Naruto smiled weakly as he led Mei— no, the Mizukage, he had to remember— and her successor, Kagura Karatachi, into his office. Behind them came Yurui with the almost comically large Samehada strapped to his back. Konohamaru didn't miss the envious glances Kagura sent the way of the young Seventh Raikage. Shikamaru, who had safely returned from the successful recovery of his kidnapped wife, brought up the rear.

Their goal? How to defeat a nation that spanned nearly half the continent.

"So," Konohamaru breathed. "Does anyone have any brilliant ideas?"

Shikamaru paused, looking to the Kage of the room, before beginning to speak when no one with a Hat voiced their opinion. "As a matter of fact... yes," he drawled with a devilish grin.

"I hope it doesn't involve trading another country to the Empire. We'll run out of them if your wife gets kidnapped again," Yurui— no, the Raikage— drawled.

Shikamaru frowned thunderously at Yurui. "Believe it or not," he growled. "I didn't pull our men out of the Land of Sound _just_ for my wife's safety. And for the record, Lord Raikage, such deals are the only thing keeping this war civilized. Once one side starts breaking the rules, the other won't have a reason to keep following them either."

"So?" the Raikage shrugged.

"So," Shikamaru said slowly. "That's the difference between Bolt keeping everyone you've ever known and loved as a prisoner of war or beheading them in the streets."

Yurui grumbled something unintelligible but remained quiet.

"Thankfully it seems Bolt and the Empire are content to continue playing by the rules, for now, and that bodes well for the future battles to come," Shikamaru continued.

"Future battles?" Mei said, tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ears. Really, she was quite beautiful, Konohamaru thought.

Shikamaru nodded. "Like I said, I had a plan," he smirked. "I told Bolt that the Leaf would pull out of the Land of Sound. And we will. But not before giving the Hidden Sound plenty of forewarning and coordinating a counter-attack on the Land of Steam for when Bolt invades."

Konohamaru gaped, looked at the map unfurled on his desk, and then back to Shikamaru. "That... that actually might work," he said.

Shikamaru nodded. "Bolt is many things, but a tactician he is not," he said. "At best he is a battlefield commander. He's the point of the spear— an unstoppable spear, maybe, but a spear nonetheless. If we give him a target, point that spearhead away from us, then..."

"Then we can beat him," Mei surmised.

"Still, Bolt has proved he is nothing if not determined and resourceful," Shikamaru said. "I'm not taking any risks. We hit him hard and fast, where it hurts, and we overwhelm him before he can mount a defensive. We'll sweep in through our shared border with the Land of Steam, here," he pointed at the map. "Then we'll continue northeast, through the Land of Frost, where we can destroy the Empire's base of power. From there, with your help, Lord Raikage, a portion of the army will continue into the Land of Lightning and free the ninja there while the rest of our army brings the Land of Frost under our control."

"And you'll send Kagura and I to the coast, yes?" Mei hummed.

Shikamaru blinked, then nodded. "Right," he said. "The remnants of the Hidden Mist— along with reinforcements from the Leaf— will launch an attack from Maelstrom Bay," he pointed at the bay that the Land of Fire shared with the Land of Whirlpools. "And either confirm or deny if the Hidden Whirlpool has joined the Empire. If they have, the army will defeat them. If they haven't, we'll join forces and march on the Land of Water to reclaim the Hidden Mist."

Shikamaru turned his sight towards the Land of Rain. "And at the same time," Konohamaru exclaimed, finally seeing the picture. "We can coordinate a pincer attack with the Hidden Sand, easily defeating the Hidden Rain!"

Shikamaru grinned wolfishly. "We'll make a Hokage out of you yet," he said approvingly.

Konohamaru looked to Naruto, who had been staring at the map with wide, almost unseeing eyes for some time. He knew that Naruto didn't like fighting, didn't like killing. That was who he was and Konohamaru thought he was a better man for it. He just hoped the former Hokage could survive the emotional turmoil to come.

"What about the other countries?" Yurui asked, sullen but determined. "There is a standing offer for any nation that wishes so to join the Empire. What if one of them jumps ship?"

Shikamaru grumbled something under his breath. "There's not much we can do about that," he shrugged, fumbling through his jacket pockets for a cigarette. "Grass has always been neutral in every war we have a record for. I doubt we'll have trouble with them. Waterfall is the most powerful ninja village not among the Great Five. They've made great strides in recovering their former strength since the loss of the Seven-Tails. The samurai, while currently leaderless, have always refrained from interfering in the affairs of us ninja. Though, considering the Akatsuki assassinated Mifune, it's almost certain they'll side with us. The Hidden Stone owes us for the war with Sand. If they tried to stab us in the back here, we'd destroy them and they know it. The Hidden Rock has been defunct since Gaara dealt with them some years ago. That just leaves the Hidden Valleys. The Tanikage has kept to himself, always has, but we'll keep an eye on him."

There was a long pause as everyone stared at the map, mentally coloring each nation with their mind's eye— for the Empire, or against the Empire.

Konohamaru breathed a shaky sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't want to ask this of Naruto, a man who he considered a brother in all but blood, but there was no other choice. If they were to succeed, Naruto would have to fight. Again.

"Naruto," Konohamaru said. The blond looked up at the sound of his name. "I want you to lead the attack on the Land of Steam."

* * *

 **June 10th, 0025 AIT**

 **The Eye of the Storm**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **21:21**

* * *

Bolt paced.

He was nervous, restless, and he didn't know why. He had long ago overcome the nerves that accompanied every ninja the eve before a battle. It was a trait that separated the wheat from the chaff. Bolt blamed his current unease on the questions that ever plagued his mind. Where was Yasuo? What had happened to him during the time he had been possessed? Would the Leaf honor their deal? Who would be the first of his enemies to launch an attack on his empire? How could he defeat Sarada? How could he secure the last two— three, if he counted his father— Tailed Beasts? How long could he continue to fool Kagami? How could he protect his sister?

All questions he had been unable to answer. It bothered him more than Bolt was willing to admit.

But Bolt knew he had to sleep and that meant silencing his demons. Hikari was good for that, but she needed her rest as much as he did. The left two options: the Cursed Seal of Zamin— which he hadn't had need of outside of extended stays on Earth— and... meditation. Bolt was hesitant to attempt doing so again given his previous experience. More than having to deal with his "Light," Bolt wasn't ready to confront whatever loomed in the darkness of his soul. Hell, he wasn't even sure he was even "in," for lack of a better word, his soul. His Light wasn't exactly the most sterling source of information, whatever he was.

Ultimately, it came down to a matter of practicality. Bolt needed to know what had happened to him when Yasuo had possessed him. It seemed, Bolt was loathe to admit, to have been a spiritual experience, and if his Light was indeed telling the truth, then the best way to get to the bottom of the issue was to meditate and ask the only source of information he had. Eyes in the dark be damned.

Bolt settled down, knelt, and closed his eyes. Slow, deep breaths calmed his racing mind and stilled his beating heart. It was difficult to get into the right mindset. The Wind Temple monk who had instructed him on meditation so long ago had it all wrong. It wasn't about being thoughtless, about clearing the mind. It was about detaching yourself from thought. Acknowledging your thoughts, feeling them, and then letting them go. Still, the mind was restless. His most of all. It grew bored, repeating thoughts, brooding over them, feeding the compulsion. The trick was to let the thoughts go. Sink deeper, and deeper, and deeper... until there were no thoughts at all.

His soul— if it was indeed that— was much the same as he had left it. A bastion of light among the darkness, a picturesque neighborhood with his childhood home featured prominently. The door had remained shattered from where he had fled from the eyes in the darkness. Peering out into the abyss, Bolt saw nothing. Neither the eyes nor anything lurking in the deep. Still, it was something to be wary of. Bolt stepped forward, walking up the steps that led to his home in the Leaf. As he did, he willed the debris way, restoring the door, before opening it and stepping inside.

He was met with the sound of swords clashing. His Light sat on the floor, cross-legged, a controller in his hand as two characters clad in armor and wielding swords clashed on the television screen. His Light had a dopey look of absolute concentration; eyes narrowed, tongue jutting out from thinned lips.

He looked like an idiot. Bolt groaned.

"No!" his Light screamed, throwing the controller. One of the knights executed the other, decapitating the other. His Light whirled on him. "This is your fault! You distracted me!"

Bolt rested his face in the palm of his hand. "You can't be serious," he groaned. "You are not my other half. We cannot possibly be this... this—" he had no words.

"I challenge you to a duel!" his Light exclaimed, lunging forward and producing another controller from seemingly thin air.

This was a mistake. A total mistake. Why had he even thought his Light would have the answers? Bolt would never accept that this man-child was his better half. "I'm leaving," Bolt said without preamble.

"Come on!" his Light whined. "Just one game? Please?"

Bolt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Sage help him endure the ordeal to come. He was already here. "Why not?" he sighed.

"Yes!" his Light hissed in victory.

Bolt sighed and took the proffered controller. He vaguely remembered the game. He, Shikadai, Inojin, and Mitsuki used to play it when they were children. Bolt scrolled over the characters until he found one that he remembered: a samurai that dual-wielded shortswords and specialized in mobility and quick attacks.

"That's my favorite," his Light pouted.

"I know," Bolt smirked.

His Light grumbled something unintelligible beneath his breath and chose his own character, a heavily armored knight with a large shield and a spear. The screen faded to black before their chosen warriors were placed in an arena that looked like it was somewhere in the Land of Wind. Their characters inched forward slowly, cautiously, and Bolt re-familiarized himself with what each button did. A snap of the thumbstick and a quick mash of the buttons had his samurai roll forward and thrust his katanas forward in quick succession. His Light parried with his shield and counter-attacked with long thrusts of the spear. The two of them continued their duel for some minutes, the only sound in the disturbingly quiet house the clicking of cheap plastics.

Bolt watched as his Light's knight surged forward, caught his samurai with a quick attack that stunned him, before bashing him in the skull with his shield and thrusting his spear through the samurai's gut, impaling him. "Bullshit!" Bolt yelled, throwing the controller down.

"I win!" his Light sing-songed with a grin.

Bolt closed his eyes and took a deep breath; in through the nose, out through the mouth. "Alright, I played your game," he said. "Now I want answers. The out-of-body experience we had when Yasuo possessed us. What was it?"

"Dunno," his Light shrugged.

"What? What do you mean you don't know? You're the expert, here!" Bolt exclaimed. "You're the one who told me this—" he waved his hand around the room. "—was our soul."

"I only know as much as you do," his Light said.

Bolt groaned. "Why did I expect anything from you," he grumbled.

Bolt turned to leave and made it two steps towards the door before his Light called out to him. "Wait!" his Light yelped, scrambling forward and dropping his controller.

Bolt sighed. "What is it?" he asked.

His Light, somehow, looked almost embarrassed— no, hesitant. Bolt eyed his other half warily. "I... I've been meaning to tell you something. For a long time," his Light said, eyes downturned at his feet.

"Yes?" Bolt drawled, crossing his arms.

"I'm... I'm sorry," his Light said softly beneath his breath.

Bolt shuddered and suddenly no longer wished to be... wherever here was.

"I'm the reason you have to fight our war for us," his Light continued hoarsely.

Bolt's brows narrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I wasn't strong enough," his Light said. "When we went to the Land of Rain, I thought I was. I thought I could handle the war. But I wasn't and I couldn't. We would have broken if it wasn't for you, so... thank you."

Bolt swallowed. He wasn't exactly sure how the whole duality of the soul made him feel but he knew for certain that he didn't like the idea that had had been some dormant aspect of his Light that only came forward because he was better at staining his hands red with the blood of their enemies. He was Bolt, he always had been, that was all he knew and all he remembered. "Yeah, sure," Bolt dismissed his Light casually with a wave of his hand. "I'm going now."

"W-wait!" his Light called desperately. Bolt sighed, paused, then turned. "I... I think I can help us," he said.

"How?" Bolt asked tersely.

"I don't know what happened to us when Yasuo possessed us," his Light said. "But I do know who does."

"And they are...?" Bolt drawled.

"Us," his Light answered. "Well, we do. All of us, I mean," he said, waving his hand around and gesturing at everything and nothing.

Bolt frowned. "Alright. Thanks. That wasn't helpful. Have fun playing your games," he said, closing his eyes and focusing on waking up.

"It's the eyes!" his Light exclaimed. "The eyes! In the dark! Go talk to them and you'll understand. We will understand."

Bolt could feel the tendrils of conscious thought creeping down into him and threatening to pull him back to reality. He hesitated. His Light, right or wrong, at least provided him a reason to investigate the disturbing sight he had seen the last time he had meditated. Bolt slithered away from the pull of the waking world and instead strode back into the streets of the Leaf. The street lights faded as he walked farther from his childhood home until the creeping darkness overtook the familiar neighborhood and his creation faded to nothingness.

Then there was only shadow. Bolt stared into the abyss and some primal, instinctive part of him shied away from it as the abyss stared back into him. Something was there. He could feel it in his bones. Bolt suddenly found that his feet wouldn't carry him any farther. He was rooted, stuck between the twilight of the streetlights and the yawning abyss.

Bolt growled. He wasn't afraid. He was the Thunder God, the One Shadow, the Conqueror. Before his time was done he would rule the world and make it a better place. Never let it be said that Bolt Uzumaki was afraid of the dark. He steeled himself and forced his feet forward and into the abyss. Bolt walked. He didn't know for how long, only that he did. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Bolt couldn't say one way or the other. Only that when he looked back he could only see a spec of light from the neighborhood block on the horizon.

And then not even that.

There was only him, the dark, and whatever lurked in the shadow. Bolt stared into the abyss and challenged it— dared it— to show its face. The eyes came, their owners silent as the grave, blinking open in the oppressing darkness. There were countless sets; hundreds, even thousands. Too many for Bolt to guess. But this was his soul and Bolt was loathe to share it with anyone— even his Light— and he wouldn't be host to... whatever demons lurked within him.

"Who are you?!" Bolt screamed into the darkness, hackles raised.

The eyes stared, they blinked, like twinkling stars in the night sky. Every color imaginable blurred together until all Bolt could see were slits from which beamed a pure white light. The shadows receded like the tide and his inner demon revealed itself. It was... a woman? She was short but lithe, with long and familiar purple-black hair that framed a face of sharp, aristocratic features, and thought Bolt couldn't see her eyes for the blinding inner light that leaked from them, he would have bet anything they would have been the violet eyes of the Hyūga clan. The woman reminded him of his mother, in a way, at least physically. That was where the similarities ended. Where his mother was kind and gentle, incapable of harming anyone, Bolt could sense the power this foreign Hyūga woman possessed brimming just beneath her skin.

She smiled at him. "The question is," she said, something soft and kind and understanding in her tone. "Who are you?"

* * *

 **June 11th, 0025 AIT**

 **Kusatsu, Land of Steam**

 **Border of the Land of Fire and Steam**

 **06:30**

 **The Battle of Kusatsu**

* * *

Naruto could feel the weight of the collective fear of over ten thousand of the bravest men and women he had ever known. It was both a tangible weight— one he could empathize with— and an ethereal one, a constant feedback loop that seeped into his mind and spirit from Kurama's chakra. It was early, the sun barely cresting the mountains, and yet no one was tired. His ninja were grim-faced and hard-eyed. War had come and they all knew that, chances were, either they or their brother-in-arms next to them would be dead by the end of the day.

Naruto would do everything in his power to stop that. No more bloodshed, not on his watch, not when the world had been so peaceful after Madara. Not when humanity should be uniting to face the Ōtsutsuki.

In the distance, he could see the sprawling city of Kusatsu. It was a quaint little city, built in the old style, home to several luxurious hot springs in the nearby mountains. It was the closest city to the Land of Fire, sitting a mere half a mile from the border. It was nestled neatly in the valley between two great mountains, a plateau of beautiful whitewashed stone.

And it was their way into the country. An easy path for which their army could march unimpeded by the mountains.

The army marched forward, ever restless, ever watchful. It was slow but the march of ten thousand boots made the ground tremble with each footfall. The first rays of the dawn crested the mountains, painting them in hues of orange and yellow, and Naruto frowned as the army began to slow. A runner sprinted over to him, lines of men parting to grant him passage. "Lord Sev— er, sir—" the runner stuttered, cheeks rosy. He coughed to clear his throat and choked as he tried to gasp for air as his chest heaved.

"It's alright," Naruto said, clapping him on the shoulder gently. "What's the matter?"

"It's— well, sir, it's—" the runner tried to get out. "There's resistance, sir. A defense. Just up ahead, a little over a mile out."

Naruto frowned and made his way forward, the runner and his own accompaniment of aides following him. "Someone send a message to Shikamaru," he ordered and heard someone take off running towards the rear of the army where Shikamaru and the rest of the commanding staff were safely guarded.

He reached the front of the army in little time and the runner pointed towards the horizon. Naruto squinted, holding a hand to his brow, and could see little of anything. Then it dawned on him: there were no trees. No vegetation of any kind, really. Just thousands of feet of upturned soil that sloped upwards towards the city of Kusatsu in the distance. The runner cleared his throat nervously and tapped a pair of binoculars against his jōnin jacket. Naruto clicked his tongue and accepted them with a murmured thanks.

Naruto frowned as the cold steel of the binoculars touched his skin, his eyes adjusting to the distance. And there, set in a defensive formation some miles before the city, Naruto could see a low wall near the ground that was pocked with merlons for which men could hide behind— they were battlements, he realized. Naruto reached out with his empathic sensing. He could feel thousands of defenders, all just as terrified as his men, all just as willing to fight and die for their home as his were. And, like a flood, the two feelings combined and formed a feedback loop in his mind, and Naruto shied away from the incoming tide of terror that threatened to overwhelm him. In the depths of his mind, Kurama rumbled, and the feelings stopped.

"Thank you, Kurama," Naruto whispered. The furball, as he predicted, remained silent, but Naruto could tell the fox was smiling.

"What do we do, sir?" one of his aides asked, hands clenched into fists at his side and trembling.

"We wait for our orders," Naruto said simply. He was no longer the Hokage. These ninja no longer answered to him. In a way, it was freeing. On the other hand, he wished he had an answer that would quell the nerves of his men. Something heroic and brave that would inspire courage in the face of death.

He had nothing.

Their orders came shortly, another runner ferrying Shikamaru's orders to them. It was, Naruto thought, rather simple. _"Advance as one,"_ he could hear Shikamaru as if he were actually there. _"Naruto will lead the charge."_

Their charge wasn't much of a charge. There were still untold thousands of feet before the two armies clashed. They started slow, ever so slowly gaining speed, until they were at a light run. The closer they drew, the clearer Naruto could see, and the clearer he could see that they had made a terrible, costly mistake.

Something whistled through the air, high and shrill, and someone to his right screamed.

Naruto glanced to his right just in time to see a rod of steel sink into the dirt at one of his men's feet, a tail of sealing tags settling behind it at an almost eerily glacial pace. All at once they glowed orange and erupted into an inferno of light and heat, swallowing ten, fifteen, twenty people easily, leaving nothing but ash and fire in its wake.

The air was filled with whistling.

"Take cover!" Naruto screamed, calling forth one of his Truth-seeking Orbs and creating a shield for him and as many people as he could cover within two hundred feet. People rushed to hide beneath his shield but still others were caught out and died in the fiery onslaught. For them, Naruto could only growl and stamp his feet, erecting barriers of stone and praying that would be enough. Those who could use Earth Release followed his example, creating more barriers, and Water Release users tried to stem the wildfire that ate at their flanks.

"Advance!" Naruto cried, gesturing with a hand that made his Truth-seeking shield inch forward. He took ten paces forward before his boot sunk beneath the dirt and something metallic clicked.

His eyes widened. "Retrea—"

Naruto's words were stolen from his lips as the ground became as bright as the sun before exploding into a pillar of fire. Everyone near him died horribly, their screams echoing in his ears even as tongues of white-hot pain seared up his leg. Naruto blinked, his ears ringing, dirt falling like snow all around him. The air was thick with smoke, cloying and strangling his lungs, and he gazed around, dazed, at the charred corpses that started at him with unseeing eyes that pierced his soul.

This was nothing like fighting the Zetsu. This was nothing like fighting the reanimated.

" **I've got you, Naruto,"** Kurama rumbled, the pain fading as his flesh knit itself back together. **"Watch where you're walking next time."**

"Forward! Forward!" came the cry, echoing over the whistling and the explosions and the crackle of fire and the screams of terror and the moans of the dying.

Naruto created a clone, then two, and then eight. Each one carried forth one of his Truth-seeking Orbs, modified to act as a shield, and together the nine of them could protect a large swathe of their army... but not all of it. And unlike a human preparing to kill, Naruto couldn't sense where the mines were buried. Even if he protected them from the explosive tags raining down on them, there was nothing he could do about the threat from below.

"Earth Release users!" Naruto roared, all eyes darting to him for but a moment before they returned to the battle. He knew his men were listening. "Search the ground for mines! We have to move forward and avoid them!"

The pace was slow and for every minute they waited scores of ninja died as the explosions continued. The ringing in his ears, after awhile, just became normal. They were getting close, but not close enough. Not close enough for his men to attack. But Naruto wasn't as limited as they were, was he? He and his clones stepped forward as ones, taking deep breaths, their lungs heavy with air, before they spat massive fireballs forth that arced through the air. Naruto watched as they soared through the air, arcing towards the battlements, before they broke upon some shimmering invisible barrier that formed a dome above the battlements.

A weight settled upon the army, tangible like a physical thing, and they marched on with feet that were just a little bit heavier than before.

Then they were close, too close, close enough for a true battle. A battle cry erupted, echoing across the battlefield, and his men charged forward from the safety of his shields.

The battlements, Naruto realized, were not battlements at all. They were trenches. And from the trenches a thousand heads peeked up, followed by a thousand arms, each clad in the black steel of the Gauntlet, and from a thousand palms came forth bolts of screaming lightning. The first wave of men dropped dead, their corpses so burned and charred that Naruto couldn't even recognize them and something churned low in his gut. The second was crippled, half their number dead or dying, the remaining few hesitating as they saw the fate of the first wave and the deaths of their brothers and sisters-at-arms. Their hesitation was their undoing as more Gauntlets appeared and struck them down as easily as the first.

"Back! Get back!" Naruto ordered, creating earthen walls to shield them from the front. He inched his Truth-seeking shields as low as he dared without risking the rear of the charging army to the explosions that continued to rain down from above.

"Attack! Counter-attack!" someone barked orders from behind him and his men hastened to obey, sending fireballs and boulders over the defensive wall and into the trenches.

Still, the defenders didn't stop. The bombardment continued, both from above and before them, and Naruto could feel his earthen wall slowly being whittled away by continued Lightning Release attacks.

They were trapped between a rock and a hard place and Naruto couldn't see a way through unless he wanted to kill every defender to the man and destroy a large portion of the city with a Tailed Beast Bomb. Not to mention any damage to his own forces such an attack would incur.

Someone stepped on a mine nearby and exploded in a spray of guts and fire. Naruto gaped in horror as a man crawled forth from the explosion, nothing but entrails trailing from his jōnin jacket behind him. This time, he knelt and vomited. He hadn't been able to stomach anything before the battle so it came up as acid. Brows narrowed, throat burning, Naruto glared through the wall, angry, and stood. He stomped a foot, his chakra echoing through dirt and stone, bending the earth to his will, reshaping it as he chose. The changes surged forth, upturning the ground, before petering out as they approached the barrier and stopping altogether only a foot or two before the trenches. He tried, again, to much the same effect, but the barrier was too strong and his chakra was too divided among his clones and the summoned Truth-seeking Orbs.

Naruto looked to his left, to his right, and all he could see was fire and death. Head hung, ice settled in the pit of his stomach. It was either his people's lives... or his enemies. And if Naruto was forced to choose, he would choose his people every time. Fiery orange chakra formed into a pair of hands as he took a step back and began to form a Rasengan. The air hummed with power as streams of air coalesced in the palm of his hand.

Swallowing, Naruto hurled it forward.

* * *

 **June 11th, 0025 AIT**

 **Kusatsu, Land of Steam**

 **Border of the Land of Fire and Steam**

 **06:47**

 **The Battle of Kusatsu**

* * *

"Out of the way!" Maeda screamed, waving his free arm around threateningly at the herd of sheep before him.

It did little good. His words were lost in the echoing blasts and screams. Maeda cast a quick glance down at his patient that he dragged behind him— a green brat that couldn't have been older than fifteen— and ensured that he was still alive. The boy had his leg blown clean off by a mine and had been bleeding profusely. Maeda had managed to stem the bleeding but it was a mortal blow if he couldn't get the boy somewhere safe to provide more treatment. And, ironically, on this battlefield, Maeda thought, safety was forwards, not backwards. The Seventh Hokage's shields would provide more safety than retreating hundreds of feet through raining steel and fire.

"You're gonna be okay, son," Maeda grunted as he dragged the boy forward, trying to bat people aside and make his way to the safety of the Seventh's shadow.

The boy let out an agonized scream as the stump of his leg hit an unearthed stone. Maeda swore, taking his eyes off his feet, and ended up tumbling to the ground over a corpse so badly mangled and charred it didn't even resemble a human. Swearing profusely, Maeda knelt and turned to heal the boy. Raining fire be damned, he wasn't going to be able to save the boy with the chaos of war plaguing the battlefield. "It's alright, kid," Maeda hissed, hands glowing green with the light of the Mystical Palm.

Glassy eyes, clouded with pain, looked up at him and the boy nodded feebly. He smiled, something brief and full of hope, and that was the expression he wore in death as a stray shuriken sailed into his skull. It was like snapping his fingers— there one moment, gone the next.

Maeda whirled on the front lines. "At least give me a chance, you sons of bitches!" he screamed, storming forward.

Rough hands grabbed him by the scorched fabric of his jōnin jacket. "Easy, doc!" a man screamed to be heard over the explosion. "He's gone! Focus on someone else!"

Maeda stumbled as he was pushed back and the man that had probably saved his life ran forward to join his brothers and sisters at the front where the Seventh was. Time yawned and for a moment Maeda regretted his path in life. He had come from humble beginnings from civilian parents but Maeda wanted to do more with his life, he wanted to help people. So he became a doctor. When the Fourth War erupted he became a combat medic and nothing in his forty-seven years had prepared him for the sheer terror and carnage of war. But the Fourth War had been against inhuman monsters and restless corpses from a bygone era. This was war between men of flesh and blood and it came with all the cruelty and malice that only man was capable of. And as Maeda glared at the front lines, he could only accept with grim respect that the enemy commander was defending his post admirably.

But it was a lost cause, Maeda knew, because they had the Hero of the Fourth War, the Seventh Hokage, with them.

An explosion not even twenty feet away sent him scrambling for cover. Ears ringing as dirt fell like snow, Maeda gaped at the sight of a woman wandering aimlessly, clearly lost, among a pile of burning corpses. She rummaged through them, looking for something, and when she came up with a charred arm she placed it where the stump of her left arm was and laughed. Maeda balked as she was shot by a bolt of lightning and struck dead.

An explosion of light and pressure erupted like a volcano near the front. A gust of wind slammed into Maeda and sent him sprawling. Overhead he could see a blue-white shimmer of chakra that reached for the sky as it flickered, wavered, and then died. A great cheer echoed from somewhere ahead and was soon followed by the sound of boots striking mud as ninja surged forward as one.

Maeda spied a woman lying on the ground, alive and clutching at her belly, and he could see blood spilling from a large piece of shrapnel that had caught her in the gut. He sprinted forward, hands already glowing green, dancing over mud, blood, and fire, before sliding into a kneel beside her. "I gotchu," he hissed, already stemming the flow of blood and numbing the woman's pain.

Another medic slid down next to him and Maeda shared a grim nod with the man before they began to treat the woman's wounds. Blood poured from her wound in a steady stream, seeping through bandages and staining his fingers crimson. "Daddy," the woman whimpered, eyes clouded with pain and skin as pale as milk. Her fingers fisted his jacket. "I don't wanna die..."

"You're gonna be fine, girl," Maeda reassured her. "Don't worry. We've got you."

Fire and blood and his hands didn't even tremble. Maeda nimbly stitched skin and and muscle back together, taking turns with the other medic as they switched out bloodied bandages. "We've got it," Maeda hissed triumphantly. "We've stopped the bleeding. We've—"

The girl was still and her eyes staring into the distant morning sky. "Fuck!" Maeda swore, slamming both fists into the bloody mud.

A hand rested on his shoulder. "Come on, man," the other medic said. "We've got to keep moving. Other people need our help."

The ringing in his ears cleared enough for Maeda to hear the cries for help and medical assistance. Wiping his hands on his pants, Maeda stood and waded back into the carnage. He paused only briefly to eye the frontlines. Their army funneled into the narrow breach in the barrier, shielded by the Seventh's shields, and the fighting in the trench was underway. It was brutal and quick, Maeda saw, men throwing themselves at the enemy, barely better than a meat shield for the man behind them before they too were struck down.

And yet the Empire's soldiers fought on, never once looking back, never once daring to sound the retreat. They were garbed from head-to-toe in armor as black as night that allowed them to take blows that should have crippled or killed them but allowed them to fight on. As he headed forward to help the wounded, Maeda saw one or two of the Empire's armored soldiers that should have been dead twice over— if not more— still standing and fighting, in a berserker rage that struck terror into even the most stalwart ninja. They swarmed the Seventh, clad in his golden armor of chakra, and for every man the Seventh put down, two more leapt forward to take their place. There was no end in sight, it seemed, as the deaths mounted. Maeda wondered how many would lay dead before the day's end.

Then it started to rain. Maeda stared up at the sky, dark storm clouds hanging low overhead, the sky painted a dark red-orange from the dawn. "Really, God?" he demanded angrily, stomping through the mud that was dyed red with blood and the rain.

Lightning flashed overhead and thunder rumbled across the heavens.

Something blue-white flashed in the corner of his eye and then a golden blur shot back out of the trenches. Maeda didn't catch what happened as a great cheer erupted from the Empire's side. Their cries and stomps made the ground tremble and as Maeda looked to the front he knew why: the Emperor— the One Shadow himself— had come to defend his land. He stood atop the trenches like a triumphant god, looking down on all those that stood before him as if they were no more than ants.

The Seventh stood, not a scratch on him save for the tread of a boot marring his jacket, a look of sadness and determination in equal measure as he marched forward to take his place at the head of the army.

* * *

 **June 11th, 0025 AIT**

 **Kusatsu, Land of Steam**

 **Border of the Land of Fire and Steam**

 **07:09**

 **The Battle of Kusatsu**

* * *

"Keep firing!" Bolt screamed, his words carried by a rumble of thunder.

Naruto saw the barrier he had destroyed rise once more, twice as powerful as it had been, as his son weaved it back into existence with but a wave of his hand. With his other, he thrust his fist forward, and a wave of lightning tore through the line of ninja that had been closest to the trenches. Naruto bit his lip as he marched forward. If he was going to fight Bolt, if he was going to tear down those barriers so the rest of the army could win the battle, he would have to dismiss one or two of his clones. And with them, one or two of his shields— the only things protecting the men and women under his protection from the fiery death that was being rained down upon them.

Not yet, Naruto decided. Bolt wasn't fighting, he was issuing orders. He'd lure his son forth and then trap him inside one of the Truth-seeking Orbs and end the war before it even began.

Bolt unleashed another lance of lightning and Naruto destroyed it by breathing forth a gust of wind. His followers in the trenches followed the attack up by launching forth great, all-consuming fireballs that swallowed his wind whole and followed it back to the source: him. Naruto waded through the fire, confident that Kurama's chakra would protect him. One of the explosive tag shells landed next to him and Naruto followed the furball's warning and got out of the way.

Naruto focused on defending his people. Blocking attacks that were fired from countless Gauntlets, dealing with Bolt's own attacks, creating barriers and shields for his ninja to hide behind, and slowly but surely whittling away at the strength of the barriers that shielded the trenches. Still, it did little to assuage his guilt. Naruto could tell that Kurama was doing his best to shield him from the onslaught of negative emotions that that battlefield was drowning in. Already there was so much death. Boots sunk deep into muck that was equal parts mud, water, and blood, fires that wouldn't be extinguished by the rain licking at the ground hungrily, corpses forming mounds that quickly began to resemble hills.

He hated it all.

He hated it and his enemies seemed to revel in the death. For every soldier defending the Empire that they killed, took prisoner, or incapacitated, two more took their place. A never-ending flood of men that were not only willing to throw their lives way for his son, but glad to do so. They died with smiles on their lips and glee in their eyes. Naruto couldn't understand how someone could love death so much.

Bolt pointed at him, barely visible through the torrent of rain and the flashes of lightning, his lips parted in a wordless scream. Naruto nimbly dodged as rod after rod of explosive tags fell all around him. Left, right, forward, he made his way towards the barrier and readied himself to take it down again. When he was within a hundred feet of the trenches the soldiers within rose up and thrust their Gauntlets forward. They cried out in unison as one and Naruto watched as a hundred whirring spheres of chakra— his father's technique— flew forward. He batted away one of the Rasengans, dodged others, and caught one in the chest. It detonated with a thunderous explosion of light and pressure, hurting his eyes, but doing little else thanks to Kurama's chakra.

Around him, the battle raged on. Both sides unwilling to fail under the watchful gaze of their leader. His clones stood ever watchful, guarding his ninja with their shields, erecting earthen barriers or otherwise stopping techniques before they could rob good men and women of their lives. He had to end this, Naruto thought, before anyone else died. He should have ended it a long time ago.

"Let's do this, Kurama," Naruto whispered beneath his breath.

" **... You got it, brat,"** Kurama rumbled back.

Naruto gasped as he felt the influx of natural energy that Kurama gathered. It flowed into him like the tide, a well of nigh infinite power. Naruto cupped his hands, a small smile gracing his lips as he recalled the day Jiraiya had taught him the technique. Natural energy and his own chakra mixed and mingled, becoming one, forming a small sphere. Naruto built upon it, adding more and more layers, the sphere burgeoning rapidly until it was the size of his fist, then his skull, then his body... and then even bigger, until Naruto could have created a clone to stand on his shoulders and they still could have walked through the eye of the Rasengan without reaching its apex.

The memory of him and Jiraiya, sweaty and lost in some Sage forsaken forest, entered his mind. The old white-haired pervert struck a pose, a winning smile on his lips as he held his creation aloft with one hand. _"Sage Art: Colossal Rasengan!"_

Rods of explosive tags rained down all around him, as thick as any torrent of liquid rain Naruto had ever seen, and he paid them no mind as he flashed forward faster than the mortal eye could follow. He made it to the base of the barrier in an instant and thrust his palm forward to deliver his payload. The barrier— whoever had designed it, whatever it had been designed for— was not nearly strong enough to withstand the attack. The explosion was thunderous, a gust of wind lifting grown men and casting them to the four winds, and the barrier buckled immediately. It started a chain reaction, each section of the barrier falling one-by-one, each a second after the other. There was a yawning silence followed by a rousing cry as the ninja of the Leaf raised their fists and cheered as one before charging forward.

Naruto felt bile rise in his throat as he stared down at the carnage he had wrought. The trench that had been guarded by the section of the barrier he had attacked was simply gone. The ground was upturned and charred black and Naruto could see bits and pieces of dismembered people peeking through the dirt and the smoke.

Barrier down, his army advanced. The enemy was in disarray, they thought, and their morale soared. Hurled kunai and shuriken sailed overhead, followed by balls of fire, lances of water, boulders of stone, blades of wind, and bolts of lightning as his ninja gave as good as they got in a vicious counter-attack. The ground trembled under the weight of ten thousand boots stampeding forward.

Thunder boomed overhead, so ungodly loud that Naruto felt it in his heart, in his bones, and saw it as pebbles leapt from the very ground itself as if frightened by some supernatural terror. Naruto moved an instant too late, helpless as his son shot forward as an electrical specter. The first wave of his ninja that charged the trenches realized their error and screamed as Bolt descended on them. He didn't cleave through them, not like Naruto knew he could, he phased _through_ them. They screamed, something shrill and bloodcurdling, clawed hands reaching for their faces as electricity ravaged their bodies and left them charred. They dropped to their knees, smoke wafting skyward, lightning dancing across their bodies, and Bolt reformed before them, coalescing into his physical form and stealing the lightning from their corpses.

The battlefield was as silent as the grave as his son stared across no man's land, wrath in his eyes, at the encroaching army. "For the Empire! Victory... or death!" he screamed, a battle cry heralded by a clap of thunder.

The Empire forces in the trenches abandoned their posts, leaping over the trenches and roaring furious battle cries. The first man over the trenches was clad head-to-toe in that black armor, an old banner in the style of the days of yore clutched in one hand that read _"United Shinobi Empire,"_ fearless in his charge as he and his fellows ran headlong into a superior enemy. He didn't get very far before being struck down, a blade of wind removing his head from his shoulders, and the haft of the banner barely touched the mud before another had taken it up to lead the charge.

And Bolt was at the very front, the proverbial tip of the spear— just like Shikamaru said.

Naruto met his son head on, unwilling to allow any others to suffer the same fate as the men that had died charging the trenches. Naruto dismissed two of his clones, calling their Truth-seeking Orbs to him. Bolt, for all that he was, was _fast_. Naruto ducked out of the way as his son came flying at him— quite literally— a vicious kick aimed for his head. The orbs arrived and Naruto had one go for Bolt, spreading and enveloping him.

Bolt was gone with a flash of lightning that left his Truth-seeking Orb clutching at wisps of sickly-sweet air. Behind, Naruto realized, eyes wide as he slid out of the way of a Gentle Fist strike that was aimed at his spine. He could feel the razor's edge of the Gentle Fist passing through Kurama's protective cloak. Naruto blurred forward with a punch and Bolt caught it with both arms that nearly buckled beneath the strength of the blow. He sent forward his Truth-seeking Orbs again— two of them, this time. One unfurled around Bolt and the other unfurled around the space where Naruto thought he would flee.

Bolt did neither. He surged forward, becoming lightning, and tried to spear through him. It felt like a light tap to the gut, nothing that Kurama nor his Sage Mode couldn't defend against. Bolt appeared behind him, pirouetted, shin coming up and bouncing off Naruto's temple. There was a concussive crack of bone, but it wasn't his. Naruto suppressed the urge to stop fighting as Bolt pulled back, favoring his right leg, and Naruto knew he would have use the wound to his advantage no matter how much it pained him.

Inky black, jagged markings burned across his son's skin, crawling out from beneath his clothing to brand him. Naruto felt the natural energy surrounding him dip, a second sieve drawing from its source. Then, Bolt was gone. Naruto lunged forward, rolling away from a thunderous kick that connected with the ground behind him and sent a cloud of mud and bloody, misty water skyward. Naruto turned, still sensing Bolt where he was, peering through the debris to spot him. Bolt stood amid the destruction, left hand clutching his right wrist, white-gold lightning coalescing in the palm of his hand.

Naruto's eyes widened and then his world was painted white with a clap of thunder. The beam of lightning tore through the debris cloud with ease and Naruto narrowly avoided being clipped by the attack as it sailed behind him and hit a sloping hill in the distance before exploding in an eruption of lightning and thunder.

Naruto brought in one of his Truth-seeking Orbs to be a shield while the other surged forward, winding through stray arcs of residual electricity and unfurled around Bolt. His son was gone, again, in a flash of lightning, and Naruto growled in annoyance. He whirled on Bolt, sensing him attacking from behind, and landed a solid punch in the gut for his troubles. Bolt recovered quickly, slipping into the now-familiar stances of the Gentle Fist, and Naruto turned away or blocked every Palm of the Sixty-Four Palms that came his way. Bolt reeled and withdrew and Naruto sent a high kick forward that connected with his son's shoulder and catapulted him away.

Naruto knew it had to have hurt, but Bolt recovered in an instant without so much as a blink. He was up, on his feet, a furious snarl on his lips as he charged, and Naruto retreated as Bolt launched a furious assault of Gentle Fist strikes at him. The punches came so quick and so numerous that the space between them was a blur of white-blue chakra from his son's Lightning Armor. Naruto ducked and weaved, dodging each one easily with the combined speed of Kurama's cloak and Sage Mode's sensory abilities, and each strike left the ground cleaved in two and boiled of its blood and water.

But Naruto could feel the lives being snuffed out all around him. He had to end this and he had to end it now. He dismissed another clone, adding its chakra to his reserves, calling its Truth-seeking Orb from the furthest reaches of the battlefield. Then he darted away the instant one of Bolt's arms passed in front of his eyes and blinded him. Bolt halted his attack almost immediately, whirling on him and seeing the Truth-seeking Orbs coming. Thunder God Mode carried him to safety and Naruto lunged as he reformed. Bolt wasn't prepared to fight so quickly. Naruto caught him with one punch, then a second, and then a third, and Bolt was forced to retreat.

Bolt snarled something, low and furious, and the Cursed Seal marring his pale skin spread even further, red-orange as it burned across every inch of his skin and left it a mottled, sickly gray. Even his eyes withered and died, the whites becoming as black as pitch. It gave the pale lavender of his Byakugan an ethereal, ghostly quality. Bolt placed both hands palm down, lightning dancing through his fingers, as he vented electricity, and Naruto felt something akin to Magnet Release as the mud bubbled and boiled away, exposing the stone beneath as it began to glow a cherry-red. Bolt drifted skyward before he was simply _gone_.

Naruto sensed the blow coming. Behind, he thought, and then again, dodging both kicks that were heralded by a clap of thunder. Bolt lunged at him with an open palm and this time Naruto didn't retreat— he moved in. It was easy, really, once he decided on a course of action. At top speeds, Thunder God Mode might have been faster. But this? Close quarters ground fighting? Naruto knew he had the advantage. He slipped inside Bolt's guard, drawing the offending arm away with one arm and drawing the other back as he clenched a fist.

Bolt's eyes widened and Naruto saw firsthand why he called himself the Thunder God. His son roared, something primal and powerful that tore itself from his lips, and Naruto winced as superheated air slammed into his face and thunder boomed in his ears. The gust of the thunderclap carried him up and away and Naruto righted himself quickly with a quick Wind Release technique that had him back on the ground. He lunged forward, closing the distance before Bolt could even move, and spun on the balls of his feet and swept his son's feet from out beneath him.

Bolt yelped in pain, landing awkwardly and favoring the leg he had injured earlier. Naruto pressed the advantage and sent two of his Truth-seeking Orbs forward, each blossoming and unfurling like a spring flower after a long winter. Bolt snapped out of the pain and disappeared in a flash of lightning before Naruto could capture him. His son coalesced several dozen feet from him, brows narrowed in pain, glaring at him furiously. Naruto felt something sharp tug at his heart. This was Bolt, his son, he shouldn't be hurting him. It left something dark, heavy, and cold in the pit of his stomach.

Then Bolt smiled, something terrible and predatory. "Dodge this," he said with a menacing rumble of thunder. Both arms snapped up, hands cupped, and Naruto felt every hair on his body rise as that same sickly-sweet smell invaded his nose. The air between them glowed with power, white-gold chakra ladden on the wind. The attack earlier was nothing compared to this, Naruto could tell.

Naruto tensed, Kurama's chakra burning through his veins, and then his eyes widened as he realized what Bolt was aiming at. Naruto was standing between Bolt and... the army. The _armies._ Leaf shinobi and Empire soldier alike fought and died behind him. Would Bolt really fire on his own people? Ultimately, it didn't matter. The choice was made for him. Naruto would never let innocent blood be spilt. Not while he could do something to stop it.

Naruto called back one of his Truth-seeking Orbs and formed a wide shield. Another joined it, doubling its size, forming a cup that wouldn't let even a single arc past. The light was blinding and the force behind the lightning surprised Naruto. It felt... different. More solid, more forceful. Sasuke's lightning was all penetrative power. If you blocked it, prevented it from piercing, the rest of the energy had nowhere to go, and it just fizzled out. This felt more real.

It was real, Naruto realized, as the natural dissipation properties of his orbs should have caused any normal ninjutsu to unravel at the seams. It was, in a way, a true natural energy attack. There was no foreign human chakra in the mix— just the natural order of the world bending to Bolt's will as he directed the electric charge to turn on him.

... In a way, Naruto supposed, that was certainly much worse.

The attack lit up the sky, blinding in its intensity. There was a lull in the fighting behind him as both sides paused ever so briefly to catch a glimpse of the clash. But it was nothing he couldn't handle. Naruto formed a seal, summoning a clone, and gave it a grim nod as it took over control of the Truth-seeking shield. Naruto dashed forward, careful to avoid the pools of liquid stone that had melted beneath the fury of his son's attack, and circled around to Bolt's blind spot. That little gap in the Byakugan's vision at the base of the vertebrae that had been etched into his mind after countless spars with Neji so long ago.

Naruto clenched a fist and drew his arm back.

" **Got him,"** Kurama rumbled, predatory satisfaction radiating from the fox.

Bolt jerked his head to the side in one quick, bird-like motion that Naruto couldn't believe. The punch went wide. He had been so quick, so precise, that even if Bolt had caught a glimpse of him in the blind spot, he shouldn't have been able to react in time. The beam of charged particles ceased instantly as Bolt whirled on him, arms already raised in a defensive stance of the Gentle Fist.

Naruto was determined to end the fight here, now, before Bolt tried to pull a stunt like that again. He couldn't condone the danger he was putting his ninja in. "Full power, Kurama!" Naruto cried, dismissing his clones. The influx of chakra was like a tidal wave, more power than Naruto could possibly ever exhaust.

Naruto lunged forward, carefully diving his focus between his speed and the concentration of chakra in his feet so the strength of his run wouldn't shatter the ground and sink him like it did when he first learned how to use Kurama's chakra.

Still, his opponent _was_ the Thunder God. Bolt moved, slapping away an arm and lunging forward with two fingers aimed at his chest. Naruto turned on his heels, darting to the side, dipping beneath Bolt's guard and appearing behind him. Bolt hadn't even withdrawn his arm from the thrust. Naruto had him, he knew. He drew his fist back and hurled it forward.

Bolt turned, eyes wide, and it all happened in slow motion to Naruto. His son flinched, one arm raised pathetically to shield his face, and said the one word that robbed him of every ounce of fight. "Dad!" he cried.

Naruto stopped dead in his tracks and felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. He... he had been about to—

" **Narut—"**

Whatever Kurama had been roaring, it was silenced as something sank into his gut, through his gut, cutting deep into some part of him that Naruto had rarely felt. Then, his chakra pulsed and fluctuated wildly, like the sea in a storm, and he saw the burning chain of ivory fire that had impaled him. The foreign, unstable quality of his chakra gave Bolt the advantage he needed as a dozen more chains erupted from his son's back and impaled him.

Naruto had never really been good at chakra control. His solution had always been throw chakra at it until it works. That was why his shitty Academy teachers had held him back so many years. He couldn't make a damn illusory clone to save his life. The problem only exacerbated itself as he grew older and more powerful. More chakra made control harder, not easier. Thus, when thirteen of the Uzumaki clan's sealing chains speared through him, the colossal ocean of chakra that he wielded slipped through his fingers. Naruto swore and fumbled with it, and like water, managed to salvage a few cups with his hands.

Bolt wore a manic grin, smile a little too wide, baring a little too many teeth, eyes a little too hungry, and it reminded him— disturbingly so— of Madara's expression during the height of their battle. "I've got you, Fox!" he snarled.

Naruto felt the chains sink deeper, scoring their way deep into his chakra, hunting for Kurama. Naruto's eyes widened. He could not— would not— let that happen. So, just like back at the Academy, he solved the problem like he always did: throw more chakra at it. The fiery orange cloak of chakra he wore flared brilliantly as he fought against the chains. And, to his surprise, the links of the chains began to warp under the strain quite easily.

Bolt fell to one knee, sucking in a ragged breath, before both of his hands shot up and formed the Snake sign. Naruto had only a moment to question the significance of the change before— pain. White-hot and razor-sharp, it felt like someone had taken a knife and stabbed him in the brain.

"Don't fight it, dad!" Bolt said, jaw trembling. "I can remove it safely! You're an Uzumaki, the only clan whose Yang chakra is powerful enough to survive the extraction. Let me... help you..."

Naruto could hardly understand the words over the searing pain inside his skull. He fought through the pain, fought through the chains, and threw himself at his bindings. The links flared, fiery tongues of lavender fire reaching skyward as they stretched and warped under the strain. Bolt fell to both knees, head bowed, and one of the links of a chain snapped but didn't break. "I... I..." Bolt struggled to get out, gritting his teeth. "I won't... let you... take this from me! This is... my land! My people!"

Naruto pulled and one of the chains disappeared in a burst of fiery chakra. "You can take them... over my corpse!" Bolt screamed. Another dozen chains burst forth and Naruto's mind went white as the pain overwhelmed him. But his son didn't know who he was if he thought he would just give up. Naruto Uzumaki never gave up.

Naruto stood, knees trembling from pain, and grabbed a fistful of the chains. With one solid tug, he snapped them. Bolt gasped and bowed his head over his clasped hands, almost as if in prayer. Naruto took another step forward, snapping another handful of chains.

Bolt roared, something primal and powerful, and raised his head. Blood ran freely from his nose and ears and Naruto saw a few locks of blond hair turn white as snow. His eyes widened in horror as he watched his son use more chakra than he had and his life's energy began to dwindle. Naruto didn't even feel the countless chains Bolt summoned. The pain wasn't important. His son was. "Bolt! Stop!" Naruto begged. "You'll die!"

Bolt didn't stop. He didn't even hear him. "Bolt, please!" Naruto begged desperately, looking around for anyone who could help him end the technique.

There was no one. All there was was him, his son, and a field of corpses around them. The dead were of no use to him. And if he didn't act now, Bolt would join them. Naruto looked down at a taut chain and an idea blossomed in his mind. "I'm sorry, Bolt," Naruto said weakly as he grasped the chain softly and sent Kurama's chakra cascading across the links of the chain where it found a host in his son.

Bolt _screamed_. It was agony given a name in the mortal tongue. Bubbling crimson chakra surrounded his son, the crudest dregs of Kurama's hatred given physical form, burning and acidic. Bolt collapsed to the ground and curled into a ball, screaming as the Tailed Beast's chakra burned through his pathways like molten steel. Tendrils of charred skin drifted skyward through the cloak of chakra, boiling blood coloring the Nine-Tails' chakra an inky black. The chakra chains faded into wispy blue-white particles and then vanished completely and the link between father and son was broken and the torment ended.

"Bolt!" Naruto lunged forward, falling to his knees and cradling his son gently as tears ran down his cheeks and his body trembled, wracked with pain.

" **Get him to a healer, Naruto!"** Kurama rumbled, their bond restored.

Naruto scooped Bolt into his arms and turned to run but was stopped as five men clad in black armor lunged at him roaring battle cries. "For the One Shadow!" they screamed, fury and murder in their eyes.

Naruto frowned thunderously at them and conjured a clone. It dispatched them easily, quickly, and without mercy. As they fell, more took their place, and were just as easily dispatched by the clone as their brethren before them, and still _even more_ took their place. "For the One Shadow! Victory or death!" they cried.

Naruto growled. He didn't have time for this. He crouched, making to leap over the melee and find friendly faces, only for his body to lock up as something foreign invaded his body and stilled his muscles. Kurama rumbled something bestial and the control began to return only for Naruto to blink and catch the business end of a sword on his face. The slash was delivered with enough force that it sent him sailing backwards and Bolt slipped out of his grasp. Whatever force had been controlling him vanished and Naruto looked up to see a goddess of vengeance looming above him, wreathed in a veil of brilliant white chakra.

"Touch him again!" Kagami Akiyama screamed, fury given physical form. "And I'll blow you to pieces!"

Naruto's world went white as a thousand pinpricks of white-hot heat licked at him. He was vaguely aware that he was tumbling though the air, then the ground, before he came to a stop and blinked stars from his eyes. Naruto shook his head and was on his feet, no worse for wear but still dizzy.

The Akatsuki had arrived and brought Naraka with them. Naruto straightened as he sensed several thousand more men marching on their position from the west: reinforcements. Hikari, Tetsu, and Kagami had joined the battle, each standing guard over their fallen leader, and the battle between their two armies had taken a turn for the worse as neither would accept defeat. The dead outnumbered the living and their blood flowed in veritable rivers.

They could win. Naruto knew they could. He could fight, and fight, and fight, and in the end, he would win. There was no one, save for Sasuke, that could ever hope to beat him, and he knew that even if it took a day or a year, he could fight and bring victory and peace to his people. But at what cost? His son was in critical condition and thousands of lives on both sides had been extinguished in just a single clash. If he won here, it wouldn't matter. What did the dead care of victory? It would be an empty, hollow victory, one in word only.

Naruto's eyes fell to his son, bleeding from incinerated skin. Hikari had him in her arms, hands trembling as they grew skin and knit flesh. He could end it, Naruto thought, here and now, and the deaths would mean something. They would have died for peace. A Truth-seeking Orb inched forward.

The words were hoarse and raspy but Naruto could hear them over the din of battle. He could hear the ice, the steel, the cold command. "K-Kill... him," Bolt hissed.

Naruto gaped. They were enemies, true, but they were still family. Was Bolt really so callous as to order his own father's death?

"Yes, my lord!" Tetsu answered thunderously, drawing forth a sickeningly crude sword that was such a dark shade of red that it appeared black.

Naruto lunged forward as the giant of a man raised his sword above his head. His eyes widened as chakra licked at the blade— only this chakra was... _hungry._ That was the only word for it. Blue-white chakra became as red as blood as Tetsu brought the sword down and unleashed a Flash. Naruto was glad he had a Truth-seeking Orb nearby. He moulded it into a shield and the Flash broke upon it like a tsunami breaking upon a pebble. Naruto was washed away by the sheer force of the blast and tongues of hungry blood-red chakra licked at Kurama's cloak and scoured him of its power.

Still, it was no match for the nullifying power of the Truth-seeking shield. The Flash withered and died and Naruto glared at his son's allies... the two of them. Where was—

Something— or someone— screeched behind him, and Naruto rounded on the noise and came face-to-face with a technique that he was intimately familiar with: the Rasengan. Only, he was pretty sure he hadn't ever seen one imbued with Explosion Release chakra. The whirring orb of chakra was a brilliant white color, its core a bubbling mass of smaller whirring spheres of chakra, and Naruto could sense the unstable quality of the technique as it was thrust at him. If that hit him, he thought, it was going to hurt, Kurama or no.

Kagami got within a foot of him before a mass of bubbling crimson chakra slammed into her side and kicked her away. The Rasengan shot wide, clipping an upturned boulder, and Naruto swore. He grabbed Yurui— and he was really quite thankful for the help, but would have preferred it sooner— and ran.

Naruto didn't have a word to describe the noise. It was like a thousand claps of thunder all erupting simultaneously. Heat washed over him, drying him of the rain, and then quickly became unpleasantly hot. The shock wave caught him in the back and propelled him forward and Naruto had the mind to look back. A column of fire reached for the heavens, the fist of god itself, parting the clouds and dispelling the storm that had beset the battlefield.

It rained stone and dirt. The battlefield was silent and solemn in the wake of such destruction and Naruto surveyed both sides. The Empire was unwilling to surrender, unwilling to retreat, unwilling to lose. They would die for their cause to the last man if it was necessary. And Naruto knew his ninja would too if he stayed and fought.

He couldn't consign so many souls to the Pure Lands. He didn't have it in him. There had to be a better way. He would find a better way. That was what he had promised Jiraiya and Nagato, wasn't it?

"Retreat!" Naruto cried. "Retreat! Fall back to the rear lines!"

His men didn't need to be told twice. They turned and fled. They were chased by the armor-clad Empire only until Naruto dispersed his clones to secure their retreat. As he and Yurui ran, Naruto looked back. He could see Bolt in the distance, surrounded by his friends and allies, and he could sense the steady pulse of his chakra. He wasn't dead, thank the Sage, and Naruto trusted that his Akatsuki would heal him. He had no doubt they would if the rumors about his son and his second-in-command were true.

Naruto focused on his men as they marched back to rally with Shikamaru and his forces. They were grim, weary, and tired of battle.

And the war had only just begun.

* * *

 **June 11th, 0025 AIT**

 **Maelstrom Bay, Land of Fire**

 **Sea of the Sage**

 **08:03**

* * *

Mei looked out over the deck of the ship she commanded. Kagura stood next to her, a nervous bundle of energy, and she couldn't blame him. The entire fleet was anchored in the middle of the bay and they had nowhere to go.

"Do... do you think we can get through?" Kagura asked.

Mei looked out across the ocean where the tides churned, angry and furious, a wall of whirlpools as far as the eye could see. "No," she answered simply.

The Uzumaki clan. It had to be them. She hadn't understood why the Second had deemed it necessary to wipe out an entire race of people, and it had set the tone for Yagura and his purge, but there must have been a reason for his fear of the red-haired clan. Only a fool would fight their enemy on their home terrain, as much as she considered the sea her own home.

"We turn back!" Mei barked. "Make for the Straight of Storms! We'll cross into the land border the Land of Fire shares with the Land of Water!"

Her sailors raised their fists and cheered before hurrying to make the ship ready to sail. Word spread quickly and the entire fleet turned south. A messenger ran between ships, jumping over waves, and leapt onto the deck. "Mizukage!" he bowed, before offering her a scroll.

Mei took it, nodding her thanks, and unfurled the message. She frowned, biting her bottom lip, and burned the scroll.

The northern offensive had stalled.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I always hate writing fights for Naruto. He's the One Punch Man of the series and it's basically impossible to write a good scene where his opponents can put up enough of a fight to seem like a credible threat in their own right despite knowing that he'll come out on top in the end. It doesn't help that Naruto is the "Big Good" and his only weaknesses tend to come off as cop-outs. *sighs* Anyway, I hope this chapter was up to par.

So, for as far as future plans go... there's about 2-3 more chapters of the war before we move on to the final arc, which will hopefully be pretty long unto itself. We should definitely break 1m words by my estimate. I'll try to get the chapters out as quickly as I can, because I know these last few have been slow coming, but since it's the holidays I doubt it will actually happen. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me.

Mannnn, I'm really not digging the retcons going on in both the anime and the manga. The whole Mist reclaiming ALL of the Seven Swords is like really implausible to me. For one, who the hell is going to separate Samehada from Bee, the jinchūriki of the Eight-Tails? No one, that's who. Second, who is going to take Zabuza's sword from Suigetsu, who is under the protection of Orochimaru. You guessed it— no one! I could kind of see the Thunderswords (Kiba) being reclaimed from Omoi, but still, also unlikely in my opinion given that he was the bodyguard of the Raikage. For the manga, there is ABSOLUTELY NO POSSIBLE WAY that Ao survived. He was with Shikamaru's and Ino's fathers and the rest of the Intelligence division when the Ten-Tails hit them with the Tailed Beast Bomb. There is absolutely no way he survived that kind of attack. It obliterated entire mountain ranges (plural, not singular). You're telling me some two-bit spy from Mist survived that? Get out of here.


	101. Chapter 101

**A/N:** Merry Christmas! I was worried I wouldn't get this chapter out before the holidays, but here we go!

* * *

 **June 14th, 0025 AIT**

 **The Eye of the Storm**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **13:25**

* * *

Bolt woke slowly. His eyelids were heavy, with that sandy quality that told him he needed more rest. His body ached, protesting consciousness, and Bolt slipped back into the dark oblivion of sleep. He was just... so tired. So tired of fighting, so tired of hurting. Why couldn't everyone see the world as he saw it? Things would be so much easier. Things would be so much better.

But it didn't matter. He was the One Shadow, now. He had a duty. A land to safeguard, a people to provide for. No matter how tired he was, no matter how badly he just wanted to close his eyes and drift away, Bolt couldn't. He could sleep when he was dead. There was no rest for the wicked, as the saying went. His eyes opened and this time Bolt didn't led his body convince him that it needed more rest. He woke, muscles burning, his eyes aching from the dull, warm glow of the illuminating crystals on the ceiling.

Bolt struggled to recall what had happened to him. His memories were hazy at best. He had traded Temari in exchange for the Leaf pulling out of the Land of Sound, and Yasuo had betrayed him, and...

The Leaf had invaded the Empire. _His_ empire.

And Bolt had lost. Ice settled in the pit of his stomach. He had failed and the realization set his heart pounding furiously. His father had beaten him casually, easily, like all his life-and-death struggles and training hadn't meant a thing. The Leaf probably retook the Land of Steam— no, fuck, Bolt had no idea how much time had passed since he fell unconscious. It could have been hours. It could have been days. It could have been weeks. His Empire was already gone. Crushed before it even had a chance to save the world. Bolt forced himself to rise, body broken, aching, and burning, but rising all the same.

In the solemn silence, a breathy gasp sounded like a clap of thunder. Suddenly, Hikari was there, hands outstretched and shaky as they reached for him as if they had to restrain themselves. It made Bolt feel like he was made of glass. "Y- you're alive," she said, something catching in her throat, and her hands lost the battle they had been waging and found their way around his neck as Hikari pulled him into a soft embrace. Bolt didn't have the strength to protest as she cradled him. He could feel her chest rise and fall rapidly, catching on a poorly hidden sob.

"T- the Nine-Tails' chakra," Hikari managed to explain. "It's... it's like a poison. I didn't know if I could get it all out. I didn't know if it would even matter. B- but you're alive! It worked!"

Bolt grunted as he became aware of a very persistent... burn. Like, a sunburn, except it covered every inch of his body, and hurt a thousand times worse. He felt like he had been cooked alive. It probably wasn't that far from the truth, Bolt supposed, hazy, fragmented memories of the battle with his father flittering through his brain.

"What happened?" Bolt demanded, harsher than he meant to. His throat was raw and hoarse. More than just from sleep and disuse, he knew.

"T- the Leaf retreated just after you... fell," Hikari explained. "They knew taking Kusatsu would cost them more than the city was worth. They've encamped themselves a few miles outside the city and are regrouping for another attack."

Bolt growled and winced in pain as tendrils of white-hot fire spread from his lungs at the action.

"W- we lost a lot of men, Bolt," Hikari continued, idly stroking his back. "Five for every one of the Leaf's ninja, even with the armor. We were doing fine until the barrier fell, and then..."

Bolt grit his teeth. He had known his army, whilst vastly more numerous than his enemies, was weaker in strength, but he hadn't thought it would be so bad. With the armor, and the Gauntlet, and how religiously he had fortified all of the border cities, he thought his Empire would be secure against any invasion. Kusatsu had proved him wrong.

"I made sure as few people as possible saw you in your injured state," Hikari said, a bit more warmth coloring her tone now that he had woken. "The soldiers think you drove off the Hokage and forced the army to retreat. The dissenters were... silenced."

Bolt took a deep breath, lungs burning painfully as they filled with air, and nodded. "Good work, Hikari," he said. She smiled brightly. "Now I need your help. Take me to Katasuke."

Hikari's smile faltered. "Bolt," she said softly, gravely. "You're not well. You need rest. Just stay here and I can—"

"No!" Bolt hissed. "I—" he coughed, doubling over as red-hot blades of steel poked at his lungs. Bolt growled. "No," he said. "I need— I need to see Katasuke. Now."

He ignored the slight tremble of Hikari's lips. He couldn't deal with her sentimentality right now. He was fine. He was going to be fine. "Okay," she agreed, looping one of his arms around her shoulders and helping him stand.

Pain radiated from his right leg. He couldn't even stand on it. Broken, useless thing he cursed. The journey into the bowels of the Eye was long and Bolt couldn't even remember the half of it. His mind was a blank canvas for half the trek, wiped clean by agony. Every hiss of breath and whimper of pain caused Hikari to freeze and fret.

"I have a task for you, Hikari," Bolt managed to gasp, the door to Katasuke's lab just before them. "I want you to be my new Yukage."

Hikari froze in her steps. She glanced at him wryly. "You're supposed to ask with a ring, Bolt, not a Hat," she said.

Bolt laughed and he regretted it immediately as he added another definition of agony to his already expansive repertoire. When his vision refocused, Hikari was looking at him with clear worry in her green eyes. "You can control your blood, Hikari," Bolt explained. "That makes you the only other person aside from me that can manage Hidan now that Yasuo has betrayed me. Take control of the Land of Steam. Defend it until I can recover. Use Hidan and the army of Jashinists. They're unbeatable. An army of immortals ready to spread death and pain in the name of their "Lord"— me."

"I will," Hikari promised him.

Bolt grunted as they crossed the threshold into Katasuke's laboratory. He sighed in relief as he saw the scientist working idly on something at his desk, the looming mass of steel and wires behind him heralding his salvation. "One more thing," Bolt said. "Make the Leaf bleed. That's the key to victory. My father won't let innocents die for overly long. He'd rather be defeated than have that blood on his hands. Don't fight him yourself, and if you have to, bring Tetsu with you. Don't expose either of yourselves to him for very long. My father was able to identify Hibiki and I's emotions because he had access to us for so long. Me being his son didn't help matters. If you minimize your exposure, you can avoid being tracked by his empath sensing."

Hikari nodded, eyes cold and sharp as she took in the knowledge. Bolt knew she would use it to great effect.

"Young Master!" Katasuke scuttled over to them. "It is very good to see you awake at last! You had us all worried there for a moment!"

Bolt grit his teeth and shrugged out of Hikari's grip. It hurt— oh, by the Sage, did it hurt— but he wouldn't be seen on his knees by a fat fop of a scientist. "Is it ready, Katasuke?" he growled.

"Yes, yes, of course!" Katasuke said, hand finding its way to the bridge of his nose to push his glasses back into place. "Right this way, Young Master!"

Katasuke led him towards the steel chamber at the far end of the lab. Bolt favored Hikari with a small smile as he followed the scientist, telling himself that every painful step forward would be worth it once he was inside. Thick cords of steel wires were attached at the base of a raised dais that supported a hexagonal steel chamber. As they approached, the chamber unfurled, like a great beast parting its maw. Inside, the chamber was a stark white, bare save for several diodes the size of his fist attached to the walls and a steel chair in the center. Bolt breathed a sigh of relief as he slumped down into the chair.

Katasuke nervously danced from one foot to the other. "Young Master, are you sure? You've only just awoken and your injuries are—"

"Katasuke," Bolt growled, silencing the man. "Do it."

"Very well, Young Master," Katasuke bowed. He retreated and the chamber closed its maw and Bolt was left only with an echoing silence.

Bolt could feel the electrical charge building in the diodes before the first spark of lightning danced through the chamber. It zipped by him, missing him, too fast for him to take control and direct it to strike his body. The second spark didn't miss. It struck him in the shoulder, arcing across his chest, and Bolt sighed in almost relief as he felt the passage of energy within his body. It flowed down his leg, dissipating into the floor, and left him perfectly unharmed, just as he knew it would. The diodes were alight with sparking, screaming electricity, bolts leaping from panel to panel and diode to diode. Soon, Bolt didn't even need to direct the discharges. He sat there, bathing in the elements, and then began to attempt to incorporate the electricity into his body as he knew the Hōzuki clan could. It was rather unfortunate, Bolt mused, that the last living member had been killed during the Uzukage's attack on Orochimaru.

It started slowly, at first. Bolt felt like he was afloat a pool of water, drifting aimlessly. He breathed in, then out, softy but steady inhales and exhales. Bolt relaxed for the first time in... he couldn't remember. It was then that he realized he wasn't breathing. Not with his lungs, anyway, and not with air.

It was his body. It breathed in, and out, in, and out, and instead of air, it breathed lightning. It was both simultaneously the most relaxing and disconcerting feeling Bolt had ever felt. Like he was both drowning and elated at once. Bolt straightened in his chair, his back no longer feeling so stiff, his lungs no longer burning quite so badly. He clenched a fist, surprised that it didn't leave him gasping in pain, watching as a barely visible blue glow radiated from his wounds.

It was slow, but it worked. Bolt grinned.

He was healing.

* * *

 **June 14th, 0025 AIT**

 **The Eye of the Storm**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **14:45**

* * *

Tajima stroked his beard as he walked the halls of the so-called "Eye of the Storm." He chuckled wryly. In a way, the Akatsuki— the Empire, whatever they wished to call themselves— were the metaphorical storm shaking the continent, and this was indeed its "eye." Still, as the abbot of the Water Temple, he had not been as unaffected by the Empire's rise as his fellows seemed to think. He and his disciples had been forced to flee along with the Mizukage when the Empire invaded.

So many fascinating souls gathered in one place, Tajima thought, watching as the black-haired girl stalked the halls. She had beautiful eyes, the monk thought, harking back to the deep greens of the ocean. Her soul was troubled, like a storm at sea, lost and yet at home all at once. She was a good person, Tajima saw, if crippled and broken from her current life's experiences at the hands of the Circle. He idly wondered what she had done in her previous lives that had earned her such a painful karma.

The swordsman was much the same. An icy, hard soul, but good, just, and devoted to those who had won its loyalty and friendship. So much hardship and yet it had not broken under the weight of the burden. If anything, it had grown stronger. It was an old soul, a powerful soul, and Tajima knew he would likely be the second largest threat when the Brotherhood marched to war.

He pitied the puppeteer. His soul was the epitome of the Circle's cruelty. That such pain could exist unchallenged was a monument to the very reason Tajima and the Brotherhood continued their work throughout the ages. So that other unfortunate, downtrodden souls might escape the Circle and find true peace.

The sensor's soul was warped and twisted. No doubt from the constant feed of chakra that waned and ebbed like the tide. He would have been a good person, Tajima thought, had his own abilities not held him back so.

The blonde-haired girl's soul could only be one thing: mourning. Tajima felt the sorrow radiating from her. In his spirit form, the sheer crushing weight of it nearly brought him to tears. She was but a shell of her former self, half her reason for existence tragically having been stolen from her by the Circle. She desperately was trying to fill that void, to find something that could replace her other half, and Tajima lamented her fate, for to find one's soulmate in life was the rarest and most beautiful treasure, and to have it stolen was the greatest devastation.

Tajima ventured further into the castle. He shied away from the scientist, a wicked soul that cared for nothing save for the pursuit of knowledge, giving no thought to those beings that he left destroyed in his wake. Tajima pitied the poor creatures that the scientist had captured and corrupted, warped and twisted by the taint of Man's chakra, until they were as monstrous as the blackest of souls.

But theirs was not the soul upon which he had come to gaze. Through burning eyes, Tajima parted lies and falsehoods, saw clearer and more deeply than any other, unto the deepest pits and the darkest reaches. There, he saw it.

In a place of wrath and tears, an ember glowed in the horror of the shade. An exalted darkness, terrible and great, eclipsing in its totality, the ember served to illuminate the looming shadow, and it was all the darker for the light it shed. He could do naught but gaze upon the well of the abyss with awe and terror, for all things came to an end, and all things feared that end, and here he was, face-to-face with the end— the End of All That Is.

Before the visage of darkness, Tajima balked, and in his hesitation, the darkness gazed into him as he gazed into it, and it reached out to touch him as he had touched it. Tendrils of inky shadow spilled forth, grasping and slithering and writhing, like dead trees, dried and withered husks, crawling forth from the dirt and reaching for the stars. Desperate, so desperate, for but a speck of light, of understanding, of peace.

Tajima shied away from them, too, for he did not believe the light of his soul could ever hope to banish the shadow and give it the freedom it so yearned for. A coward he was, perhaps, but a fool, a liar, never.

There was an old saying, Tajima thought, as he gazed upon the gaping wound that was Bolt Uzumaki. _Demons run when a good man goes to war_. In his long, long life, Tajima had found that it wasn't pushing the good men too far that you had to fear— for they would always be, at their core, just that: good men. It was the evil men, the truly evil men, an evil with a cause, that you had to be careful of. For evil was capable of great and terrible things when pushed to the very brink. And though Bolt was certainly ruled by his inner darkness, the corona of purity, of light, that embraced that darkness spoke of a hidden, subtle goodness.

And that was what was most terrifying of all, Tajima decided. A great evil that believed it was working in the service of an even greater good. That was the thing though, wasn't it? The road to Naraka was paved with good intentions.

Cautious, Tajima inched forward. He deftly sidestepped the clawing tendrils of the soul that reached out for him, his spirit body phasing through the walls of the steel chamber, and he came to stand before the very man himself: Bolt Uzumaki. Lightning danced, arcing from wall to wall, and Bolt drew it in, incorporating it into his mortal vessel. Tajima circled the young man, eying him where he sat. A grasping tendril of his soul slithered by his foot and sharp blue eyes turned to face him. For an instant, Tajima froze. Bolt gazed at him, through him, unseeing and yet seeing far more than most mortal's eyes.

Tajima breathed a sigh of relief, nervously stroking his beard as the blond returned his gaze to the front of the chamber. Superimposed over sharp blue eyes, he could see the immortal spirit within. Burning red eyes wreathed in darkness stared back at him, a sure sign that Bolt was ruled by his darker half. And what a darkness it was, Tajima wondered.

From the vision Sentoki had shared with him, Tajima did not believe that the young soul before him could be such a threat. Now, staring into its darkness, he did. Tajima had not felt such a darkness since... since...

Not since Jashin, so long ago.

Still, Tajima smiled, gazing upon the eclipse, even at the height of darkness, light always shined through. The corona of Bolt's inner good glowed bright and strong, embracing the darkness and shielding it as best it could. There existed no such thing as pure evil, Tajima had found. Not in all his thousands of years, nor his forebear before him, or his forebears before him, had there been an evil absolute. Nor had there been an absolute good. In all things there was a balance: good and evil, light and dark, Yin and Yang. One could not exist without the other.

Even Jashin, Sage watch over his soul, had had some good in him, driven mad by his power as he was. And, like Jashin, Tajima hoped that Bolt too would at least agree to speak with him and his brothers. Let them try to convince him of the errors of his ways, show him the path. For not all souls steeped in darkness were lost. Meishū was proof of that.

Tajima smiled fondly and looked away from the burning red eyes. His gaze traveled north, finding the golden slit that marred the forehead where the divine eye remained— thankfully— closed.

A spear of lightning tore through his chest. Tajima blinked owlishly, staring down at his astral body, the golden energy phasing through the chirping blue-white chakra. Bolt is looking through him again, blinking in confusion, glancing around as if an enemy would leap out of one of the steel panels. "Strange," Bolt murmured, leaning back and dissipating the chakra with a twitch of his fingers.

Tajima retreats, staying at the edge of the chamber, not daring to close the distance again. He ensured none of the grasping tendrils catch him, give Bolt no reason to suspect he had been spied upon. Tajima watched as the young man's breathing slowed, his eyes drifting closed, as he sunk inwards, falling into the trance of meditation. Tajima was sorely tempted to follow Bolt. To understand more deeply. But he knew he couldn't. The risk was far too great. One small, simple mistake and he could irrevocably alter the fate of the world by spurring Bolt toward his awakening before it was his time— if it ever would be. It was not his place to bestow enlightenment. He could only guide those that sought freedom, peace, and knowledge of the self.

" _We will meet again, young one,"_ Tajima said, watching as lightning continued to grow skin and knit flesh. He retreated, phasing through the chamber, before willing his spirit to return to his body.

Tajima awoke, sore and cold, shivering as he felt the morning dew cling to his skin. The dawn heralded a new day and painted the white crags of the Land of Steam a beautiful red-orange. Already he could hear the rustle of robes and the patter of sandals. Old bones creaking as he stood, Tajima parted the flap of his tent and emerged into the daylight. He gazed upon the mulling throes of acolytes and disciples, gathered from every temple from the Land of Wind to the Land of Water, and for the first time in a very, very long time, the Brotherhood marched to war.

* * *

 **June 14th, 0025 AIT**

 **The Eye of the Storm**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **14:57**

* * *

It was easier to sink into the abyss of meditation this time. Probably because his body was in ruins, Bolt thought. He doesn't even bother appearing in the picturesque neighborhood. He doesn't particularly want to speak with his Light, anyway. Instead, he wandered aimlessly into the darkness.

It didn't take long. Bolt paused mid step, turned, and came face-to-face with his inner demon. "Who are you?" he asked without preamble. "What's your name? You're obviously a Hyūga. Your name will be recorded among the clan records and histories."

The Hyūga woman smiled wryly and remained silent. Bolt frowned. "Why are you here?" he tried. "This is my soul. I already share it with one leech. I'll not have a second," he said menacingly. Still, the woman remained infuriatingly silent. "And what did you mean last time?" he added tersely.

His inner demon smiled thinly, tilting her head playfully with lidded eyes. "The question is: who am I?" Bolt parroted. She bobbed her head, nodding. He scowled at her. "I am Bolt Uzumaki, scion of both the Uzumaki and Hyūga clans, the Thunder God, and the One Shadow, and I will be the savior of this world. There, answered. Now answer me: who are you?"

Still, the Hyūga woman remained infuriatingly silent. "I can tell you're powerful," Bolt drawled. "And your features are obviously those of the main branch. Yet I've never seen you around the Hyūga estates. My mother is not cunning enough to hide a sister, nor would my grandfather ignore a member of the family after what happened to uncle Neji. Therefore... you must be a rogue member of the clan. It would not be surprising for me to have not heard of you before. It would bring great dishonor upon the clan to know that a Byakugan roamed the world freely. But, then again... I've also never seen your face in the wanted posters or the bingo book."

She smiled a little more fondly, baring teeth, as if he was no more than a child. Bolt narrowed his eyes. "Then again, that doesn't explain how you are here inside my... heart, whatever, either," he waved a hand around. "A Yin-based mind technique, like the Yamanaka?" Bolt mused. "Lying dormant until triggered. Deeply ingrained into my own chakra until you manifest in my soul? Not likely."

Bolt hummed in thought. An idea struck him. He thrust his hand forward, calling upon the element that came as easily to him as the blood flowed through his veins, and a spear of lightning lunged forward and impaled the woman in the chest. She looked down, shocked, then amused. With a twitch, the spear dissipated and the woman remained unharmed. "Was worth a shot," Bolt muttered. "So," he began again. "If you're not a rogue Hyūga using an unheard of powerful mind technique, who are you..."

The Hyūga woman tilted her head as if in thought. It was an odd quirk. One that reminded him of his... mother. Bolt narrowed his eyes. "You must be important to me, then," he surmised. For the first time, the woman's expression changed. She appeared... eager. "To appear within my soul would suggest you are of great importance to me. But I've never met you, let alone seen you, so that begs the question... who are you?"

"Who are you?" the woman echoed him.

Bolt sighed and placed his face in the palm of his hand. "A genetic memory, perhaps," he mused. "Like how bloodline users always know how to use their bloodline upon awakening it. You could be some specter haunting my Byakugan."

His inner demon frowned as if disappointed. "So... if you're a genetic memory, it makes sense that you wouldn't be part of my conscious mind. You'd be... down here. But that doesn't make my task easier, either. You're a powerful female of the main branch of the Hyūga clan who lived between the birth of our clan and now. That's not a small list, by any means, though it does narrow it down. The clan records don't keep photographs or paintings of people born that long ago, but I'm willing to bet you were a princess of the main branch at some point or another. There would definitely be an account of your life, including a physical description."

Bolt waited expectantly. He waited, and waited, and...

"It's pointless to remain silent, you know," he said. "I _will_ figure out who you are. It's only a matter of time. Gaining access to the clan records will be no small feat, but it is not beyond my current capabilities. If you are a genetic memory, surely you have some message or will you wish to pass on?"

"Who _are_ you?" the Hyūga asked, again.

Bolt sucked in a breath, angry, and then froze. "Is that your message?" he asked. She tilted her head, smiling. "I mean you no harm," Bolt added reassuringly. "If your will is at all possible, I will see it done. Just tell me who you are..."

The woman sighed, pouting and puffing her cheeks in a surprisingly childlike manner. Bolt wanted to strangle her. "Who am I?" he muttered under his breath. "Who am I? What a good question. Truly a debate that will boggle the minds of philosophers for ages. Who am I? I am..."

Bolt attacked the question from every angle. There were many things he was. Not all of them good, either. There were the obvious things. His names and titles, his family and clans, his lineage, his deeds and achievements. The technical bedrock of what made him, well, him. But there was more to a person than just that. Little things, nuances, the unique blend of nurture and nature that painted the canvas of his life. All of that and more. The answer to the woman's question could be any one of them. Not only was it nigh impossible to list them all, but Bolt was having a hard time putting to words exactly, precisely what made him him. A second opinion, perhaps Hikari's, would make the process easier, but the string of words needed to fully encapsulate him would be at least several pages long.

No, Bolt decided, the woman must want a specific answer. Perhaps it was a password of sorts? She wouldn't speak save to ask her question. Unless he answered it, she wouldn't speak with him. Bolt had never heard of a genetic memory with security, however. Normally, a bloodline lay dormant until need awakened it. That in itself was a sort of security, but still...

Bolt sighed. He was getting nowhere and he could wrestle with the question for days— weeks— and not have an answer. "I am me," he breathed, resting his face in his hands and rubbing at his eyes.

When he raised his head, Bolt found that the Hyūga woman had come closer, almost uncomfortably so, a wolfish grin parting her lips. The unearthly glow hidden behind her eyes unnerved him and he took a step back. "Is... is that the right answer?" Bolt ventured.

Her grin was eager and she seemed to push him forward. And, slowly, the question repeated in his mind, and so did his answer, and a unfathomable horror dawned in his mind. "I am me," Bolt repeated. "And you... are also me."

The Hyūga woman had a beautiful smile. Wide, full of teeth, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

"I don't accept that!" Bolt spat, watching as her joy turned to ash. "I refuse! Those— those insipid, foolish monks and their false religion!" He should have never even thought of them again. Bolt refused to believe, to even consider, that he was simply one variation of the same soul, the current model in an endless series of lives. That he had existed before, lived before, loved before, only for it all to be nothing, mean nothing, only so the next variation could do the same thing, and then the next, and the next, and the next... an endless cycle of meaningless existence. Until not even the dust from the most ancient parchment recording his name, his deeds, his legacy, existed.

No, Bolt refused to accept that. He refused to believe that his life was meaningless. That everything he had done and seen and felt didn't matter. That _he_ didn't matter. He was alive and his words and deeds were changing the lives of millions of people. Bolt refused to believe that there wasn't something more to him. That he wasn't destined for this. He was burdened by that purpose. No one else had been strong enough to wage the war for peace. No one but him.

And Bolt wasn't about to let this figment of his imagination convince him otherwise. He was the master of this place. His ability to shape it was proof of that. And if he could create a house... he could just as easily destroy it, too. Bolt glared at the woman, brows furrowed, a snarl on his lips. He wanted her _gone._ In an instant she was screaming, hands fisted in her hair, an unearthly agony echoing all around him.

Then it wasn't her screaming, but him, and the dark abyss of his soul turned white with pain.

"What are you doing, idiot!" Bolt blinked and through bleary eyes saw his Light staring down at him in consternation. "Are you trying to kill us?!" his Light demanded.

"Get off me," Bolt snarled, pushing the child he once was away and climbing to his feet. "It was a mistake to come here," he told his other half, mind hazy from the pain as the world around him became blurry and indistinct. His Light looked at him sadly and the world faded from black to white.

Bolt was immediately assailed by an older, more familiar pain. That of his ragged body. Lightning danced before his eyes as he continued to breathe it in and out, healing his wounds slowly but surely. It would take some time before he was able to fight his war once more. But, hopefully, he prayed, his new healing technique would allow him to rejoin the fight before his father and the Leaf launched their next attack. He had to be ready. He couldn't allow himself to fail again. The Empire could not let itself lose its first major battle lest they be destroyed.

He stood and stretched, pleasant pops echoing in his ears. Bolt reached out with that sixth sense only he had, felt the electricity coursing through the walls, inside the wires, and took control, causing the diodes to stop releasing lightning and for the chamber to part its maw. He stepped out, ducking his head to avoid one of the upper teeth of the chamber, and it felt strangely like stepping out of a hot shower into the cool air. Bolt took a deep breath, held it, and then softly exhaled.

"Young master!" Katasuke exclaimed, waddling over to him. "I'm glad to see you're alright! I was worried I was going to have to exhume your charred remains," the scientist laughed nervously.

Ah, yes. Katasuke. "How have you progressed on the Sword of Muramasa?" Bolt asked pointedly.

"Ah, well, y-you see," Katasuke stuttered, pushing his glasses up his nose. "It's not ready yet. There have been some problems—"

Bolt might not have been in the best physical shape. Hell, he was willing to bet Katasuke could give him a good run for his ryō in his current state if he used his beastie. But Bolt didn't need to be the Thunder God to deal with Katasuke. He called on that burning spark of energy that burned in his chest and fused it together, forging link upon link of chain. A single burning white chain whipped forth and wound around Katasuke's neck. Bolt commanded it to tighten, to choke, and he lifted the scientist from the ground. Katasuke gagged and flailed, hands flying to his neck where they dug at the chain, feet kicking air futilely.

"Do I need to remind you the cost of failure, Katasuke?" Bolt asked. It would be easy. Too easy. Just _squeeze_ and wring the life from him. Whip the chain to the side and snap the neck.

Katasuke choked on his words and his glasses fell to the ground. His skin turned a mottled beet red with protruding veins. When his eyes were a little too wide, a little too glassy, Bolt released him. Katasuke fell to his knees, gasping for breath, hands blindly groping for his fallen glasses. He found them soon enough, trembling fingers guiding them to his face. "I-I will not fail you, sir!" he managed to spit out.

"Wise, Katasuke," Bolt intoned. " _That_ would be a mistake."

* * *

 **June 12th, 0025 AIT**

 **Maelstrom Bay, Land of Fire**

 **Strait of Storms**

 **07:00**

 **The Siege of Muroran**

* * *

Katsu Hamasaki, colonel in the Imperial Army, gazed down at the beaches, inhaling deeply as he took a drag of his cigarette. Muroran was a pathetic spit of sand at the very apex of the mainland peninsula that the former Land of Water laid claim to. It sat atop a great mound of sandstone, overlooking the straight to the east, the bay to the north, and the plateau to the west. It was the strongest defensible position for hundreds of miles, overlooking the beaches to the north and east. He had his men anchor depth charges offshore, bury mines beneath the sand, and scatter I-beam hedgehogs up and down the shore. Fortified bunkers overlooked the beaches, reinforced with seals, allowing his men to rain hell down upon anyone foolish enough to run the gauntlet and attack them from the sea.

Muroran might have been a pathetic spit of sand, but it was a pathetic spit of sand that Katsu had been personally tasked with defending by the One Shadow himself. And, by the Sage of Six Paths and all that was holy, Katsu would sacrifice every man, woman, and child under his command to hold the port city if that was what was called for. The One Shadow had seen fit to choose Katsu, among all his many followers, to oversee the defense, and he would not let his lord's faith in him be in vain.

Katsu gazed out upon the crashing waves and recalled the summons as clearly as if it had been earlier that day. The One Shadow radiated power and a certain... nobility. He commanded respect and Katsu found he had been unable to resist giving it to the man. Katsu had seen a lot of bad shit in his life— fifty-six years of bloodshed under his belt. He'd served under a lot of commanders, been a commander himself, and yet he had never been in the presence of a commander that inspired absolute victory like the One Shadow did. When the One Shadow told him he would defend Muroran, that was that. Like there was no other choice. Katsu _would_ defend the city and he _wouldn't_ fail. Like it had already been decided, decreed by the gods themselves.

Katsu chucked under his breath, coughing up smoke. In a way, he thought, it might even be true, considering their leader was the Thunder God.

"Colonel," Asami spoke hoarsely. His second-in-command was white as a sheet. "You shouldn't smoke, sir."

Katsu laughed quietly, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "When you're as old as I am, kid, you don't care," he shrugged. "What's the problem?"

Asami pointed to the northwest where, just barely dots on the horizon, Katsu could make out the shape of sails. "Ah," he hummed. "They're here."

Asami blinked at him. "Y-you knew, sir?" she asked.

"Just an old man's hunch," Katsu said, exhaling smoke. He ground out his cigarette on a nearby rock. "The One Shadow was leading an invasion into the Land of Sound today. The perfect time to launch a counter-attack."

"B-but," Asami sputtered. "If the One Shadow isn't here to defend us, then—"

Katsu waved her down. "I'm sure he knows," he shrugged. "Or was at least aware of the possibility. He's got to have spies in every village, by now."

"So you think he'll come for us?" Asami asked hopefully.

Katsu smiled fondly at the girl. "Afraid not, kid," he said, hating the way her face fell. Really, she was too young to be on a battlefield. Too smart, too. Had a mind for seals and weaponry. "There's probably dozens of other attacks commencing right now. The One Shadow will go to the front he's needed most."

"T-then it's up to us?" she asked shyly.

"That it is," Katsu smiled. He could see the whites of her eyes as she stared blankly over the waves. "Don't worry, girl. I got my men through the Fourth War fighting literal monsters. Fuckers came up out of the ground growing like trees. I'll get us through whatever these bastards throw at us."

Asami nodded nervously. "I believe you, sir," she smiled.

Katsu patted her on the head. "I want you to take command of the mortars," he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. "Keep raining death down on them and don't stop. If they take the beaches, start dropping the bombs on the bunkers."

Asami gaped at him in horror. "But—"

"—And if they break through the bunkers, I want you to keep shelling them. And if they take the mortars... I want you to surrender. You're too young to be a hero, kid. Let the old men do that," Katsu said.

"But— but sir, our own men will be—"

"It's a risk everyone here was willing to take," Katsu said. "Every man and woman stationed here was told Muroran would be a high priority target. You wanna know what they said?"

Asami nodded her head slowly.

"Everyone volunteered," Katsu grinned. "Whole room, on my honor. Had these two young officers get into a fist fight about who should get a station here."

"Really, everyone?" Asami asked.

Katsu nodded. "Course, the One Shadow chose me, because I'm the best," he smirked.

Asami laughed lightly, some color returning to her cheeks.

Katsu sobered. In the early morning light, she looked almost like his granddaughter. "Why'd you volunteer, kid?" he asked.

Asami tucked a stray strand of inky black hair behind her ear. "Ishigaki Island is my home, sir," she said simply.

"Ah," Katsu said, turning his head to gaze out across the Strait of Storms. Dark storm clouds hung overhead, perpetual and angry, but even still Katsu could see the shore of Ishigaki in the distance. It wasn't even that far. Even a fossil like him could make the run if the waves didn't swallow him.

The ships had drawn closer. Alarms were blaring loudly now, drowned out by the sound of boots striking stone. "Better get to your post, kid," Katsu said, pushing her back towards the mortars.

Asami stumbled and then took a few faltering steps forward. She paused and turned back. "Good luck, sir," she said, saluting him, then ran off.

"You too, kid," Katsu murmured.

* * *

 **June 12th, 0025 AIT**

 **Maelstrom Bay, Land of Fire**

 **Strait of Storms**

 **07:12**

 **The Siege of Muroran**

* * *

"Do you feel them, Kagura?" Lady Mei asked.

Kagura paused, hand on the hilt of his sword, the gentle bob of the ship relaxing him like the calm before the storm. He reached out, became one with the water, felt deeper and deeper... until he didn't. A forest of not-water, deep beneath the waves, anchored and still among the unstoppable force that was the sea. Kagura opened his eyes. "Mines?" he ventured.

Mei shook her head, ringlets of crimson hair ghosting across pale skin. "Depth charges," she frowned. "We'll have to leave the ships. They won't do us any good, anyway," she added, pointing at the shore.

Kagura spied the hedgehogs dotting the beach and nodded. Mei began to bark orders, instructing their men to follow their superiors and avoid the charges. "—As soon as you hit the beach, charge forward!" she ordered.

Kagura's grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. He never really expected to be fighting a war, even with the turmoil the world had been in for the past decade. Peace just seemed so... ironclad. He couldn't imagine anyone ever breaking the Union and, well, someone did. Someone he knew. It was all very... surreal.

The salty spray of upturned, chaotic water left a pleasant taste on his tongue. Kagura led a line of loyal Mist ninja through the maze of depth charges that detonated as they passed. They were getting closer and closer to the beaches and Kagura began to plan a route through the hedgehogs on the beach. Beyond them, looming bunkers with slits just thin enough for a man to peek over awaited them. Kagura could see the glint of dark steel in the sun: Gauntlets.

"Earth-users, prepare to make barriers!" Kagura shouted to the men behind him. He drew his sword, water leaping from the sea to coat the blade.

His group was not the first to reach land. For that, Kagura was immensely thankful. The first handful of men got no more than ten feet from the waves before the sand erupted into pillars of fire. "Mines!" Kagura barked, ducking behind a hedgehog as streaks of lightning and balls of fire raced past him.

"Everyone back!" came the ringing cry of the Mizukage. Their men obeyed and Mei stepped forward. She took a deep breath and spat a colossal wave of liquid rock forth. It cascaded end over end, rolling across the sand, instantly hardening and forming a safe path forward. Where the mines lay, they detonated, creating burgeoning bubbles in the lava that hardened into great domes that made impromptu cover.

"Forward!" Kagura barked, catching a bolt of lightning with his sword, letting the water absorb it harmlessly.

A shrill whistling pierced the air. Kagura's eyes darted skyward where he saw the glint of steel sailing through the sky. "Cover!" he screamed. Those among them who could use Earth Release rushed to create hasty domes of stone that shielded them as best they could. Mei created vast swathes of defensive cover made of vulcanized rubber.

Kagura drew back and took a deep breath before he slowly began to exhale a thick bank of mist. Others saw him and followed his lead and soon the entire beach was inundated with their namesake. Kagura could hear cries of alarm and confusion echoing ahead of him. "Push forward!" he barked. "Make it to the bunkers! We'll be safe in the shadow of their aim!"

At least, he hoped they would be. He and his men darted forward, silent and quick as death, easily navigating the mist. Still, the enemy never stopped raining fire down upon them. Kagura could hear explosions all around him. The Hidden Mist Technique was a double-edged sword: the enemy couldn't see them, but neither could they see the enemy. Kagura could be walking into the line of fire for all he knew.

Only sheer dumb luck saw him make it to the foot of the bunkers lining the sandstone crags. From the angle, the Empire forces within couldn't hit them without dangling from the parapet and putting themselves dangerously at risk of being killed by the Mist forces on the ground. Still, the mortars kept bombarding their men running up the beach and Kagura knew if they wanted to win without sacrificing half their forces that he would have to do something about them.

Kagura peaked around the corner of the bunker only to narrowly lose an eye as a kunai skidded and sparked across the concrete. He ducked back, swore, and drew his sword. He held it aloft, angling it so he could see atop the crags spanning the distance between the bunker he and his men were hiding at and the one not a hundred feet from them. There, atop the rocks, he could see a squadron of Empire soldiers, clad in their black armor, hiding behind a makeshift earthen wall that shimmered with the telltale signs of a barrier.

"Damn," Kagura hissed, back slamming against the wall behind him. What he wouldn't give to have had one of the Seven right now. He might not have completed his training under Chōjūrō, but the Twinswords would be more than enough to see them to victory barring Bolt himself descending to the battlefield.

Kagura took a deep breath, chakra burning beneath his skin. It boiled, bubbling up and into his chest, before cooling and flowing down his arms, through his hands, into the cold steel of his sword. It glowed, green-blue, wispy tongues of chakra licking at the air. His greatest technique, his foray into what he hoped would be his legacy. That would forever mark him as worthy of the title of Mizukage.

Kagura exhaled, stood, and darted out of the safety of cover. He swung his sword and his chakra uncurled and struck, as vicious as any snake. Invisible to the naked eye, the aftereffect of the swing sailed forth, passing through physical matter that barred its path, connecting with the barrier, and then phasing through. Kagura saw it part the mist, the spray of the sea, even the trace water vapor in the air. And when it struck the Empire soldiers hiding behind their barrier, it parted the water in them, too.

Their attacks stopped as their bodies dropped like puppets with severed strings. Blood ran freely, seeping through the sand and around the earthen barrier. Kagura stomped down the rising bile. He had long ago conquered his fears and faced his inner demons. He wasn't Yagura. He never would be. But if he had to take a life to ensure the survival of his countrymen... he would.

"Go, go!" Kagura barked, pointing forward with his sword.

His men charged. The first wave died in a fiery explosion as rods of steel fell as heavy as any torrent of rain. Suddenly, a searing wave of liquid stone soared overhead. It hardened midair, forming a dome of obsidian rock, and Kagura didn't need to be told twice to rush forward before it was destroyed. His men followed behind him dutifully, fearlessly, and they cleared the crags. Kagura signalled for two subgroups to break off and secure the bunkers on either side of them while he and his best moved to take control of the mortars in the distance.

Distance, being the keyword. There had to be at least a thousand feet of nothing but sheer stone between him and the mortars erected just outside the city limits of Muroran. Kagura cast a quick glance back at Mei, who was organizing their landing forces and directing them to take the beaches and destroy the bunkers. He knew he wouldn't be getting any help, this time. He would have to live up to everyone's expectations. He was the next Mizukage. He had been trained by two previous Mizukages. He was the descendant of the greatest and most terrible Mizukage of all time. His entire people's hopes and dreams were carried on his shoulders.

Kagura wouldn't let them down.

He could see his men falter and hesitate. Kagura took up his sword, raising it high, grip so tight he felt the hilt tear his skin. "Follow me!" he cried, first over the threshold and through the gates of Naraka itself.

The shrill whistling heralded their death. Kagura looked skyward, catching the glinting steel in the morning sun, and raised a hand. He could feel the water in the air waiting to become liquid once more. All it took was a small nudge on his part for it to become so. Pools of water formed around the mortars, or before them, stopping them in their path. The explosions sent concussive waves of air crashing down on them and a lingering fine mist of rain.

Kagura gasped for breath, surprised at how much effort the technique took. He looked forward grimly, already hearing the shrill cry of another wave, and the hundreds and hundreds of feet his men still had to clear. Groaning and looking skyward, Kagura could only pray he had the chakra to continue prematurely detonating the explosives— or, more grimly, that the air wouldn't run out of water vapor for him to condense.

Every footfall heralded more chakra, more explosions, and drawing ever closer to ending the battle. Kagura's vision burned, black wreathed in red seeping into the corners. He was dangerously close to killing himself, he knew, but he wouldn't stop. Even if it cost him his life, if he could get his men to the mortars, it would be worth it.

Kagura didn't even realize he had made it as he leapt over a low wall and rolled into the midst of the Empire soldiers manning the mortars. He had already two down, working on his third, when his men spilled over the wall with a victorious roar. The crew manning the mortars was small, obviously not the crack soldiers that guarded the beaches, and the battle was over deceptively quick. They were outnumbered and outgunned, fancy armor or not.

Kagura brandished his sword and approached the last huddled bastion of the Empire's forces: two armored men and a girl that couldn't have been older than twenty. All three looked as if they were ready to die for the cause. "Surrender," Kagura demanded.

Wisely, the girl rested her hands on their shoulders and nodded. As the two men lowered their Gauntlets, the yawning silence was broken only by the crashing waves.

They had won. The first victory of many, Kagura prayed.

* * *

 **July 31st, 0025 AIT**

 **Valley of the End, Land of Sound**

 **Border of the Land of Fire and Sound**

 **00:14**

* * *

Sarada was empty with exhaustion. She was so, so tired. She would give almost anything to just be able to rest. She didn't want to fight, didn't want to guard the fucking Tailed Beasts, didn't want to be away from home, didn't want to be on edge twenty-four-seven. She just wanted to sleep. Forever, maybe.

Sarada shook her head. She couldn't think like that. The fate of their entire planet quite literally rested on her shoulders. She could sleep when she was dead. Not before. The fire danced before her eyes, nothing but a mass of orange-red color that stood stark against the black of night. Despite her mother's best efforts, she was going blind. Fuck, she _was_ blind. Sarada wouldn't lie to herself. She had hopelessly burnt through her eyes' light. Sarada didn't know if an Uchiha lost their ocular powers when their eyes went blind, or if they kept them but just couldn't see... and she desperately, fearfully hoped she would never find out. As bad as being blind was, it would be worse to be blind and bereft of her constant dark companion.

Sarada yawned. Another peaceful day watching over the Six-Tails. She supposed she should get some sleep. The others would wake her if something happened. Not that anything ever did because, you know, twenty-four hour prescience.

Sarada crawled into her tent, collapsing into her sleeping bag, and ended her day as she began it: using her Mangekyō to look for Bolt. With lidded eyes she gazed into the future, unshed tears of blood welling in her eyes, and saw...

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Sarada shot upright, eyes wide and fatigue banished, trying again and again to get her Mangekyō to show her what she wanted. She couldn't see shit. No, she could see something. She could see... fog? A dark, angry gray, like storm clouds, blotting out all of creation and shielding the future from her sight.

"Calm down," Sarada ordered herself. It helped, if only a little. She began to refine her search. Started omitting certain things she included. She could get glimpses of the future if she were to uproot and move their operation to the southwest, until they hit the Land of Valleys and then...

"Oh, shit. No, no, no, that's bad..." Sarada rubbed the palms of her hands against her aching, burning eyes. There was going to be a massive battle tomorrow. The Hidden Sand versus the Hidden Rain and... the Hidden Valleys? Strange, they hadn't been a player on the geopolitical scene since the time of her great grandfather.

But that didn't matter. Sarada wanted to know why she couldn't see the future when she was looking for Bolt. She could get even more glimpses of her own personal future if she headed west to the Land of Earth, but not much else. The fog grew more dense, more powerful, the further northeast she went. Icy fear clawed at her as she realized where her sight was clouded: the heart of the Empire.

"Alright, Sarada, you can do this," she muttered to herself. "The Leaf had been staging an invasion outside the Empire's borders for a month. So they started fighting? If the Hidden Rain was really part of the Empire, of its ally, then that would make sense. The fighting began tomorrow..."

The question was: where was Bolt? He would be in the thick of the fighting, Sarada knew, and if he wasn't coming after the Tailed Beasts, and he wasn't pushing further into the Land of Sound, then where was he? Logically, Sarada knew he had to be defending the Land of Steam. Trying to repel the invasion. Shikadai had gotten reports that Bolt had fled the Land of Sound to fight his father in the Land of Steam. He was injured, and then...

And then what? What was the missing piece of the puzzle that was clouding her vision? Omoikane had said their prescience only worked if they had all the data necessary to make the proper simulation. The only things he couldn't see, if his word could be trusted, were two people, and events beyond the grave.

So... what the fuck did that mean for her? Sarada wasn't under any delusion her power was as great as the original, which made it harder to narrow down what was wrong, but surely it stemmed from one of those two things? Someone so powerful that her mind couldn't comprehend it? Death? So much death that she couldn't handle seeing it all?

Sarada swore under her breath. Whatever it was, she felt it in her bones that it was important. More important than the Tailed Beasts. And she had to be there, had to find out what was blocking her sight, even if it meant risking the Six-Tails.

Sarada leapt to her feet, dressing quickly, and slipped outside into the dead of night. She ran over to Himawari and Shikadai's tent, slapping the flap several times to rouse them. She ducked inside, ignoring a petulant and half dressed Himawari, and levelled her best glare at Shikadai. "We've got a Rainy Day," she told him and she could see his eyes bulge as sleep was driven from his mind altogether.

Rainy Day— a contingency plan for the worst possible situation: a major event that was shrouded from her foresight.

Shikadai had their entire team up and moving within five minutes.

* * *

 **August 1st, 0025 AIT**

 **Kusatsu, Land of Steam**

 **Border of the Land of Fire and Steam**

 **09:00**

 **The Second Battle of Kusatsu**

* * *

Bolt gazed down on the forces arrayed against him. Thousands, many thousands more than he commanded at Kusatsu. They marched steadily and quickly, the second battle commencing after more than a month. He had healed quickly thanks to his newfound technique, but that mattered little in the face of Katasuke's continued failure to produce the Sword of Muramasa. Without it he could not defeat his father. Without it the Empire would fall if he lost here and now. That he could not allow to happen. If he had learned nothing from Hikari, it was that if someone called your bluff, you doubled down.

And Bolt did nothing if not double down. He had a month to call his army from the furthest reaches of the Empire. He had a month to prepare his friends and allies for the coming battle. He had a month to prepare himself for the sacrifices necessary for victory. The day had come. The day when he and destiny decided once and for all who was bound to shape the future of the world: him, or his father.

The opposing army drew closer, so close that Bolt expected their approach to be heralded by explosions of fire. He'd had his men mine the approach and the mountains until there were more explosives than rock in some places. So then why weren't...

Bolt spotted them. Bald heads and white linen robes, so easy to spy amongst the more stealthy ninja uniforms. Monks? Bolt scoffed. The Leaf was truly desperate if they had called upon the Fire Temple to help them, but... but how was the army navigating the minefield without triggering the mines?

Chaos bowed to order as he willed it: the monks were leading the ninja through the minefield unharmed. How... how was that possible? Bolt inched forward, gripping the lip of the low wall meant to give his men some small cover. The rock cracked beneath the strength of his grip as he watched longer and longer.

"Bolt?" Hikari asked softly, faithfully at his side.

"The monks!" Bolt snarled, barking orders. "Kill the monks! Focus on them!"

Word spread quickly and mortars began to fire behind him. Bolt frowned thunderously as the long trail of ninja following the monks were shielded by his father's infuriatingly invulnerable black chakra shields.

With the monks leading the army safely through the minefield, and his father shielding them from above, the army approached unharmed and unhindered. Bolt trembled with rage. He had no delusions about what would happen if the superior skilled ninja clashed in a head-to-head battle with his numerically greater ragtag army of soldiers. It would be a slaughter— one not favorable to him. Still... he had prepared for this. In all things, Bolt had come prepared to sacrifice everything for victory here.

"Hikari. Hidan," Bolt intoned. His love quirked her head and Hidan grinned maniacally, slavering like a dog. "Prepare the Jashinists to attack."

"At once, Lord Jashin!" Hidan howled, skipping like a child to the battalion of white-haired Jashinists that lingered away from the rest of the army.

Hikari hesitated, trailing behind him. "Be safe, Hikari," Bolt told her. "I love you."

"I love you too," she mouthed back before turning, back straight, chin held high and her shoulders square. Bolt could only pray she focused on the battle and not on him.

"Tsuchigumo, use your puppets to reinforce the army where it's faltering," Bolt ordered. "Manage the artificial jinchūriki and use them to push our advantage. Only reveal Danzō if the Leaf approaches the city. And remember the failsafe?"

The puppet platform Tsuchigumo was currently speaking through nodded its head. "Y-yes, B-Bolt," it chattered.

" _Hibiki, can you hear me?"_ Bolt asked.

" _Loud and clear,"_ Hibiki answered with a warm, smooth lilt.

" _Work with Tsuchigumo and project your illusions through his puppet platforms,"_ Bolt ordered. _"Keep it small. Little things that will tip the scale in the favor of our army. It'll be a marathon, not a sprint, so don't exhaust yourself. I need you for this, Hibiki."_

" _I won't fail you, Bolt,"_ Hibiki promised, in a way that seemed almost disturbingly... loving.

"Tetsu, Kagami, you're with me," Bolt intoned.

"Yes, my lord," Tetsu bowed low, drawing the repaired Thunderswords from one of the seven storage seals on his arms.

Kagami grinned, something wide and hungry as she cracked her knuckles. "You got it, Sparky," she drawled.

Her thirst for bloodshed was contagious. Bolt couldn't help but mirror her grin, and while Tetsu was ever grim and stone-faced, Bolt could tell that he too was looking forward to the coming battle.

"We'll be in the thick of it," Bolt warned them. "I don't know what will happen out there, but it's important that you remember the failsafe. If I get captured, or killed, you know what to do."

"... Yes, my lord," Tetsu eventually complied. Bolt knew his loyal friend and servant loathed to abandon him— to "fail" in his duties— but Bolt trusted in Tetsu to obey and see to Hikari's safety in the event of his death.

Kagami, on the other hand, was not so compliant. "Fuck that," she spat. "I'm going down with the ship, Bolt. You know that. If-if... if you die, I'm blowing this entire place sky high."

Bolt seized her firmly by the forearm. "You know that's not going to help, Kagami," he hissed. "If you want to avenge me, fine—" and Bolt was even mildly touched she would consider him worth avenging. "—but don't be an idiot about it. Retreat, live to fight another day, find a target of opportunity. You know about the failsafe. Be smart. Be who I trained you to be."

There were tears in her eyes and Kagami blinked them away before nodding.

"Don't worry," Bolt said placatingly, moving his hand to rest on her shoulder. "I doubt it will come to that. Now... let's show this rebel scum why they should fear the three of us, shall we?" he added with a grin.

The Lightning Armor provided by the Thunderswords was only as powerful as the first level of the true technique, and Kagami's Explosion Armor even less so, but what it lacked in speed it more than made up for in ordinance. Together, the three of them were still some of the fastest combatants on the battlefield.

Bolt shot forward, wicked grin promising death, and led the charge. Tetsu and Kagami right behind him, his men roared a battle cry and followed them into the maw of the unknown.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Next chapter will be the penultimate chapter in this arc. It will also take some time to write, more so than previous chapters, because it is what I internally dub a "keystone" chapter; it's of critical importance to the narrative of the story. I want it to be perfect, or as close to perfect as it can be, and to do that it needs a little extra time and polish.

Why couldn't Naruto give everyone Kurama cloaks like during the 4th War? Answer: retcon. Tailed Beast chakra is dangerous for even their hosts to use, let alone random jōnin and chūnin. Bee, who was a fully realized jinchūriki long before Naruto, also suffered extreme damage from using the level two cloak. A jinchūriki with sufficient control could probably, maybe, share their chakra with one or two people safely so long as they focused on controlling it for them, but even then, it wouldn't be something the other party would enjoy experiencing. Naruto, Ninja Jesus himself, with all the advantages he has, probably only has another 20-30 years left before he dies of "old age," due to how much damage Kurama's chakra has inflicted upon him. Jinchūriki is a _literal_ title— Sacrifice.

Part of how the Brotherhood fits into the world is broadly tied into religion which is based off of a mix of East Asian Buddhism, Hinduism, and Shinto. I nitpick, taking from here and there, mixing with the established lore of Naruto. When the followers of the Sage of Six Paths split to join either Indra or Asura, a small sect chose to remain neutral and follow the "true" teachings of the Sage. These people eventually became the modern Brotherhood who have safeguarded the world from people who would abuse the power of ninshū. Jashin, who was believed to be a god originating in the Land of Steam, was one such being who sought to use the power of ninshū for his own personal means. As such, he was hunted down and eliminated by the Brotherhood and the world was none the wiser. Regardless, his "teachings" have endured the ages, and echoes of his power still remain to be used by his worshipers.

Also, previously the leaders of the Brotherhood were dubbed _bodhisattva_. This is a Buddhist term for someone who is able to achieve enlightenment and thus cease their own cycle of death and rebirth, but choose not to in order to help alleviate the suffering of other living beings. Loosely, it can mean "saint." Going forward, the "Five Bodhisattva" will be called the "Five Saints." I feel like the title carries more weight in English that way without having to explain it or have readers look it up on their own.


	102. Chapter 102 -- 100 Chapters Q&A

**A/N:** Oops, almost forgot to publish this. Read the previous chapter for the content!

* * *

Q: What would have happened if Bolt didn't leave the Leaf the 2nd time?

A: If Naruto hadn't skipped Himawari's birthday, Bolt would have likely stayed in the village. His relationship with his family would remain strained but would steadily improve over the years. Due to his absence, it's an open secret that the Hokage's son was a rogue ninja for a number of years. Due to his ties with the Hidden Whirlpool and his skills as a seal master, as well as his experience with the mercenary/bounty hunter world, he would come to occupy a position akin to Jiraiya. Sarada and Mitsuki would continue their team under Konohamaru, who would eventually become the Eighth Hokage. Mitsuki would join Torture & Intelligence and Sarada would most likely still go into ANBU. Following Konohamaru's retirement, Sarada would become the Ninth Hokage and Bolt would support her as Sasuke did Naruto, just like he promised.

Q: Will Sarada die? When will Sasuke return? What is the ultimate fate of the Uchiha clan?

A: Alas, I will answer no questions pertaining to the fate of X character. This one will have to remain a mystery until the end of the story. Sasuke is set to return in 3-4 chapters. The Uchiha clan, however, is most certainly fated for extinction in the near future. Even if Sarada and Sasuke were dedicated to rebuilding the clan, there simply aren't enough Uchiha alive. It would require serious inbreeding to keep the blood pure enough to manifest a Sharingan even two generations after Sarda (meaning it is unlikely her grandchildren will manifest the dōjutsu). Ultimately, they will go the way of the Senju before them— breeding themselves into the general populace and functionally ending their bloodline.

Q: Will the Ōtsutsuki invasion take place immediately after the war or will there be a brief period of peace? Will there be new jinchūriki?

A: There will be a brief... armistice, if not peace, while everyone figures out what's going on. I believe I originally stated there would be no new jinchūriki though I'm open to the option now I believe. We'll see.

Q: Is the prophecy really about Himawari?

A: Yes, though the prose may or may not refer to other characters and events that have happened in either the past or the future.

Q: Who would win: Samehada vs. the Progenitor's Bloodsword.

A: Hmm. Tough one. I would say... it would be a close match, _if_ the wielder of Samehada could meld with it like Kisame was capable of. If not, the Bloodsword outstrips it. Heh.

Q: Any interesting one-on-one fights coming up?

A: Word on the street is a certain Uchiha beloved by the fandom makes his return in the near future...

Q: Will Yasuo return after his betrayal?

A: Bolt holds a bit of a grudge. Needless to say, their business remains unfinished.

Q: Who is your favorite next gen character from the manga and anime?

A: From the anime, it's a close tie between Class Rep and Iwabe. From the manga... probably Momoshiki? Kara doesn't really interest me... yet, anyway.

Q: How many more chapters will there be after chapter 100?

A: ~30?

Q: What would Bolt's skill set look like if he hadn't created Thunder God Mode?

A: Similar to his current one, with a focus on seals augmenting the strength of Lightning Armor level 2. He would also make more use of seals in general, using them to lay traps and create situations in which he would have the advantage over his opponents. It's likely Bolt would have pushed his clan's Adamantine Sealing Chains further in this alternative universe.

Q: What would have happened if Bolt had decided to become the 4th Uzukage?

A: Bolt would have surrendered to the Whirlpool's custody and the Uzukage would have negotiated for his case on the political stage. After negotiations, Bolt would have been ferried back and forth between the Leaf and the Whirlpool as he grew up, staying with his family in the Leaf and receiving training in the Whirlpool. After turning 18, Bolt would decide to stay with the Whirlpool permanently, taking only short vacations to visit the Leaf and see his sister and mother. His training would begin in full, likely learning advanced sealing techniques that would have only been available to the Uzukage or high-ranking members of the clan. Around this time, Bolt would have cemented himself as the successor of the Hat and "taken the mask," as the Uzumaki call it, creating his own death mask in the case that he should die before his time. After several years, Akane would retire, and Bolt would become the Uzukage, asking Kohaku to be his advisor. Under their reign, the Uzumaki clan rebuilds itself, eventually recreating much of what was once lost. Whirlpool becomes a minor geopolitical power, much like it was pre-genocide, becoming as prominent as the Hidden Waterfall. Bolt and Sarada become close allies, he as the Uzukage and she as the Hokage, and the two of them prove the age old alliance between the villages is as strong as ever. The two of them grow closer over the years, their villages prospering and coming together to face any threat to world peace, and eventually marry.

Q: Would Bolt have reached his full potential in the Leaf?

A: Full potential? Not likely. War and necessity are close bedfellows. Without true struggle, Bolt would never have pushed himself as far as he has.

Q: How would the lives of the Akatsuki have gone had they never met Bolt?

A: Hikari would have stayed with Eiji, the two of them ruling the high seas until such time as the crackdown where joint operations by Cloud and Mist would have systematically ended in both of their deaths. Tetsu would have continued aimlessly wandering the Land of Rain until finding the honorable death he had been searching for. Tsuchigumo would have fruitlessly continued trying to orchestrate the death of the One-Tail, eventually ending in him challenging the beast in single combat and dying. Hibiki would have continued on his path as a spy for the Hidden Grass in a very normal fashion, likely having several infatuations with other chakras over the years. Kagami and Kagari would have still rebelled against their father and gone rogue, doing whatever they pleased in some empty attempt to find meaning in their lives. They ultimately would have been put down by the Hidden Stone for disgracing the village. Yasuo would have continued his vendetta against Orochimaru, ultimately achieving nothing but wasting the years of his life. Katasuke would have briefly continued his work in the Leaf before hanging himself, disgraced and forgotten by the scientific community.

Q: What would Hawk-style Sage Mode be like?

A: Imperfect Hawk-style Sage Mode would see the user growing patches of down feathers and elongated nails. The eyes take on an amber-yellow coloration, with the skin surrounding the eye and nose taking on a warm yellow color that echoes the hawk's sharp facial features. A perfect Sage Mode would only include the eye alterations. The hawk clan's unique addition to Sage Mode is the ability to channel and control natural energy through the wind, letting them control it to attack, defend, and famously, fly.

Q: What if Sasuke had mentored Bolt like Jiraiya had mentored Naruto?

A: Hmm... tough question. Bolt would be... shaper, more efficient. His skill set would be much more technical. Swordsmanship and Uchiha-style shurikenjutsu would form the base. Powerful and varied Lightning Style techniques would be the keystone of any fight. Sasuke would take advantage of the Byakugan, pushing it to new and more ruthless heights that the Hyūga hadn't dabbled in for ages. Bolt would learn several space-time techniques from Sasuke for the purpose of travelling. Perhaps some techniques leftover from Sasuke's time under Orochimaru would make a reappearance. Summoning techniques, too. Overall, Bolt would become a much more cloak-and-dagger-type character that supported the Leaf by doing the things good men not ought to stain their hands with, just like Sasuke.

Q: Are there any further power-ups or new skills for the cast to learn?

A: There are no "new" powers to be unveiled, as far as I can think of at the moment. There are, however, some further refinements to existing powers. Sarada has yet to unlock the full power of her Mangekyō, Himawari has much to learn about what it truly means to be a Sage, Mitsuki is about to discover what it truly means to be an empty vessel, and Bolt is closer than he realizes to peeking at the man behind the curtain.

Q: Will X character end up in a relationship with Y character?

A: Like the ultimate fate of a character, I'll not be answering any questions about who ends up with who. You'll just have to stay tuned and find out!

Q: What were some of the cut content, characters, or events that you mentioned?

A: Hmm, I'll do one of each, I suppose. Character: Hitomi Inugami. She was introduced... probably 50 chapters ago, at this point, during one of Sarada's early ANBU missions. She is part of the Inugami clan, a rogue element of the Inuzuka clan, who practices an ancient and cruel kinjutsu that creates inugami— dog gods. An Inugami clansmen can create a spirit of a deceased ninja dog by torturing it to death and then taking control of the spirit before it departs to the afterlife. Whilst controlled, the user enters a sort of Sage Mode where the Inugami spirit makes the user more bestial and dog-like whilst giving them access to natural energy. Ultimately she didn't make it into the story as the 10th member of the Akatsuki because there were a bit too many characters to juggle. I'm sure many of you noticed that I tend to favor some characters over the other and that's because their time to shine hasn't come yet or I don't know how to more effectively include them in the comings and goings of events.

Event: Originally, Whirlpool was going to decline Bolt's offer to join the Empire. Akane and Bolt would then duke it out, as seal masters are wont to do, ending in Akane sacrificing herself to temporarily banish Bolt to an alternate dimension. Within that dimension, things proceeded very differently for Bolt, and the world at large, and Bolt helps them through their own political upheaval before discovering a way to return to his own dimension. I still may actually return to this, making an omake, in the future. Who knows? Would you guys be interested?

Q: What were some things you regretted writing into the story?

A: There were a couple things, but not many. The early parts of the story I feel like could have been made a bit better with Naruto not immediately going after Bolt, but I feel like that was sticking true to his canonical character in the movie, manga, and anime. If I could take it all back, I think I would have made Bolt specialize in Wind Style over Lightning. Cool as it is, it's really hard to write and balance fights between speedster-esque characters where they can just blitz anyone slower than them. The Summoning thing with the hawks was hamfisted, in my opinion, and was originally supposed to boil over into a war between Bolt as the hawk summoner and the Brotherhood as the collective owl summoners, the hawk clan's natural enemy. Akane and the Uzumaki clan vs. Orochimaru could have been done a lot better. I have a ton of ideas for techniques in the Naruto universe and no characters to give them to so that often manifests itself in the Uzumaki clan because of the nature of their death masks. The battle still would have ended as it did, but perhaps by less fantastical means. I don't regret the death masks themselves, and in fact think that's one of the better ideas to come out of the story. In every Uzumaki clan fic I've read, very few if any give a credible reason for genocide.


	103. Chapter 103

**July 19th, 0025 AIT**

 **Kusatsu, Land of Steam**

 **Border of the Land of Fire and Steam**

 **10:51**

* * *

"We need a plan, Naruto," Shikamaru said firmly. He would not have Naruto run headlong into another battle only to lose his nerve at the crucial moment. Cold as it was, Shikamaru knew that when push came to shove Naruto didn't have the ruthlessness in him to sacrifice lives. Shikamaru didn't blame him for his gentle heartedness. It was one of the qualities Shikamaru thought made him a good leader and an even better friend. But Naruto was not a warrior, not a commander of men.

"What if we go around," Naruto continued, fruitlessly trying to convince him and Konohamaru not to launch another attack on Kusatsu. "We can go through the mountains and—"

"The mountains are steep with no path through them, Naruto," Shikamaru sighed. "It would take months of hiking to move all our men and supplies through the mountains. And that's if we're unimpeded. The Empire would fight us, you know they would, and it wouldn't be on an open field where we have the advantage."

Naruto breathed a long sigh. "What about underground?" he offered instead.

"Wouldn't work," Shikamaru said. "Even if we did have the time to dig the tunnels, Bolt has the entire area around the city nulled with seals. That's why no one was able to use Earth Release to destroy the trenches— even you. If he found out we were digging, he could collapse the entire thing. We'd lose hundreds. Maybe even thousands."

Naruto visibly deflated. He looked more defeated than Shikamaru had seen him in a long time.

"If I may," Sentoki interjected. Shikamaru still wasn't entirely comfortable with the upper echelons of the Brotherhood, but they were their allies in this war and they brought much needed manpower. The Five Saints— or four, as they were, seeing as Bolt killed the fifth when he was going through his "terrible teens"— were as good as any Kage.

Shikamaru had high hopes that with the Brotherhood's support they could end the war swiftly. "Go ahead," he nodded.

"My monks and I have been able to discern the location of several swathes of the minefield," Sentoki said, speaking for the Saints and the collective Brotherhood. "We believe we should be able to safely lead the army through the minefield if you, Naruto, are able to shield us from the mortars."

Naruto nodded eagerly. "I can do that," he said.

Shikamaru quirked a brow. Sentoki gave him a small smile. Ninshū, then, Shikamaru deduced. He didn't exactly like relying on a power that he didn't understand but circumstances forced his hand. The Leaf, quite simply, could not afford a prolonged war with the Empire. They were larger, fielded more men, and had more resources. Time was on their side. That, and Shikamaru knew that if Bolt was anything he was the master of giving as good as he got. If they gave him time, he would find a way to make them hurt. The memory of his own wife's abduction and his clan's genocide were painfully raw in the back of his mind.

"Then what?" Shikamaru prodded.

"Then my brothers and I will... subdue the One Shadow," Sentoki said. "We have a vested interest in bringing him to justice. I have the utmost faith that the four of us will be successful. Naruto would then be free to protect our combined army and assist in arresting enemy combatants with minimal loss of life."

Shikamaru nodded. "It could work," he agreed.

"I should be the one to fight him," Naruto protested. "He's my son and—"

"—No," Sentoki disagreed sternly. "It is of the utmost importance that my brothers and I be the one to face him. If you will not agree to this, I am afraid we will be unable to assist you in this battle."

Shikamaru didn't like it. Not one bit. He knew Sentoki was afraid any interference on his part could spur Bolt to awakening his own nascent ninshū, but there was something... more. Something sinister. The Brotherhood wasn't telling the whole truth on why they wanted to be the ones to deal with Bolt.

Unfortunately, they had no choice. Not one that Shikamaru could see, anyway. Not one that wouldn't lead to defeat. They couldn't retreat and they couldn't advance without the monks' help. Shikamaru sighed. He wished, very briefly, that Sasuke was there instead of Naruto. Crazy as the bastard was, he had no moral objection to mass slaughter. Sasuke would destroy all opposition in a single fell swoop if it saved the Leaf.

"Alright," Shikamaru reluctantly agreed.

* * *

 **August 1st, 0025 AIT**

 **Kusatsu, Land of Steam**

 **Border of the Land of Fire and Steam**

 **09:14**

 **The Second Battle of Kusatsu**

* * *

Bolt made it to the frontlines first, easily, with Tetsu lagging behind him, and Kagami bringing up the rear. Mercifully, Bolt had remembered where all the mines had been placed. It was difficult, even for him, and he had designed the strategy, to remember where they all were. The fact that the monks so easily navigated the maze of explosives was beyond infuriating.

There was some small part of him that couldn't deny it: he liked war. He was good at it. Better than most people at it. It came to him easily. It all happened so fast. Dash forward, lead the charge, roar a battle cry. The sound of his men's boots behind him and the gleam of fear in his enemies' eyes before he cut them down. It stoked something primal deep inside him. Made him smile.

Bolt grinned as he ceremoniously removed the head of three men with a single swipe of his arm. Lightning danced at his fingertips, cackling happily, and like a farmer reaping wheat, Bolt cut down everyone that stood before him. It was like the tide: unstoppable. They saw him coming, saw their death, and still they met him in battle anyway.

And any that escaped his watchful eye were felled by Tetsu and Kagami. Loyal friends and servants, those that chose not to die by lightning fell to steel and explosive fire.

It was glorious. So much bloodshed that he could smell copper in the air. The stink was so powerful that it seeped into his pores. Bolt would never be able to get the smell out. He was born in the red, and the red he would sow, and the red he would die in.

The first worthy opponent he stumbled across was a clone of his father. Bolt steeled himself. He knew fighting the original and emerging victorious wasn't likely. But he chose to believe he could handle a single clone.

The clone dodged a swing of the Gentle Fist and kept running. Bolt frowned as he paused in the no man's land between his army and the enemy's. His father's clone focused on shielding its underlings with its black chakra and protecting the monks leading the charge. That was... odd. It sparked a distrust somewhere deep inside him.

The question was... did he follow his father's clone, or did he wreak as much death as he possibly could before his father was forced to confront him? Bolt narrowed his eyes as he glared at the monks. He chose the latter.

Bolt surged forward, finding a small cluster of monks who appeared to be highly ranked adepts, and slaughtered them. Tetsu and Kagami had spread out, zeroing in on their own targets. That suited Bolt just fine. He was instead reinforced by a detachment of his own army comprised of the most elite mercenaries, rogue ninja, and operatives from his empire.

He had barely begun the slaughter before it was brought to an end. Bolt froze as Sentoki calmly approached him, flanked by three other ostentatious monks, and the sea of warriors around them parted. Bolt spied Tetsu and Kagami continuing his work and glared at the abbot of the Fire Temple. He had been lucky to escape their last clash with his life, but Bolt was confident about facing Sentoki again after seeing the monk's techniques firsthand.

The monks, eerily enough, moved strangely as one as they spread out. Sentoki stepped forward. "I was hoping to speak with you, Bolt," he yelled to be heard over the din of combat.

Bolt eyed the other three abbots as they circled him. He inclined his head.

"I know there is goodness in you still, Bolt," Sentoki said. "I have seen it firsthand. This path that you are on can only end in death and destruction. Surely you must see this?"

"And from the ashes will rise a new world. My world. A world of peace and goodness that will blot out the very memory of the death and destruction that led to its creation in the first place," Bolt countered, keeping an ever wary eye on his opponents. "You cannot ask me to stop now because I cannot. Not after all the lives that have already been lost. Their deaths will have been in vain. That is something I will not allow."

Sentoki's face visibly fell. "I see," he said, resigned. "I was afraid you would say that. In your next life I pray that you find redemption and peace, Bolt."

Bolt quirked a brow as two of the monks, standing to his left and right, clapped their hands and laced their fingers as if in prayer. They erupted into a great fountain of golden light that soared through the heavens. The light wove through the sky as if guided by the hand of god. It formed a dome as it coalesced and fell back to Earth and Bolt was trapped before he could so much as move. The two monks' hands remained clasped as the strange golden chakra constructs that their order favored encased them within their light.

Sentoki and the largest of the abbots began marching forward. He was a mountain of a man, easily rivaling Tetsu in size, all bronzed skin, sun-bleached blond hair, and rippling muscle. Bolt knew immediately that he hailed from the Land of Lightning and that piqued his interest. After all, he had a special sort of twisted relationship with the Land of Lightning and its ninja. The Raikage had honed him like a fine blade, pushing him further and further, and Bolt could only wonder what lengths the abbot of the Lightning Temple would drive him to.

Bolt closed his eyes and breathed deep. He could feel the burn in his chest where his chakra flared and rose to the challenge. There was something in the air. Something solemn, or sacrosanct, something that made his blood boil in anticipation. It felt like coming home. It felt like destiny.

Bolt was eager to meet it.

And as Sentoki and the other abbot glowed with a golden inner light, summoning their constructs, it seemed they were as well.

* * *

 **August 1st, 0025 AIT**

 **Kusatsu, Land of Steam**

 **Border of the Land of Fire and Steam**

 **09:20**

 **The Second Battle of Kusatsu**

* * *

Sarada could hear the battle before she could see it. That was the thing, wasn't it? The tales never spoke of how _loud_ war was. Thousands of men and women all coalesced into a single place. They were loud just living. The sound of their footsteps, their breathing, their heartbeats. The sound of steel being drawn from its sheath, or steel clashing against steel, or the sickly squelch of a blade piercing flesh and catching on bone.

War was terribly, terrifying loud— and Sarada hadn't even counted the sounds of the screams.

What she could see, however, was a massive dome of golden energy that loomed above the distant battlefield like an executioner's axe. It sparked something that ached behind her eyes and Sarada knew, almost instinctively, that it was at least part of why her Mangekyō couldn't accurately predict the future.

"C'mon!" Himawari barked, leading the charge. She was the strongest, the fastest, and her brother was in danger. There was no force in Heaven or on Earth that could stop her from going to him. Then again, nothing would stop her, either. Sarada dared someone, anyone, to try. She would take great perverse pleasure in destroying them. Bolt was important. To the future of the planet, yes, but Sarada could also admit, deep in her heart, where no one could see, that she still loved him. Maybe it was a dark, twisted sort of love, crafted by her clan's cursed eyes to torment her and drive her further into the madness that plagued her family, but it was a love all the same.

And Sarada would not relinquish it so easily.

"We're— almost— there," Shikadai gasped between breaths. Of the three of them, he was in the worst shape. He was a thinker, like his father, and it showed. He preferred to orchestrate his battles, or end them quickly with a complicated stratagem if he had to fight himself. Shikadai wasn't made for long-distance sprints across the country.

Sarada could feel and see the chakra in the air. It all weaved together in a sort of chromatic kaleidoscope of colors. But, through it all, she could pick out one chakra signature she knew intimately. Her stomach fell into her boots as she realized Bolt was inside the golden dome.

"We need to hurry," Sarada hissed, pushing herself to go faster. Himawari was all too happy to oblige.

They got their wish, funnily enough. A rearguard spotted them, hailed them, made to stop them, and Himawari ruthlessly knocked his ass out before continuing onward. The three of them eventually reached the rear of the army and Shikadai spoke up. "I'm going to get my father," he huffed. "Fill him in. I'll meet you guys there. Don't do anything stupid. Or at least wait until I'm there..."

"We'll be fine," Himawari grunted.

A look of pain crossed Shikadai's features. A grimace, almost. "Be safe, Hima," he tried to whisper, but came out as more of a soft hiss. "I love you. We'll fix this, promise."

Himawari nodded, never slowing. "Love you, too," she said.

Sarada tucked in her chin to hide her small smile as she followed Himawari through the ranks of nervous Leaf ninja. The fighting had lulled, almost paused, and everyone, even those fighting for the Empire, seemed to hold their breath in solemn anticipation of whatever was happening inside the golden dome.

Sarada spotted the Seventh Hokage just a few steps away from the barrier wall. Everyone seemed to give him a wide berth. He only had eyes for his son and they were fearful to distract him from the sight and draw his ire. The Seventh must have seen them because he blinked, turned, and stared. "Hima?" he asked dumbly.

"Dad!" Himawari threw herself into her father's arms. "What the hell is happening?"

That, Sarada thought, was the question. Bolt was inside the dome with Sentoki and another older man who looked like he had arms as thick as her waist. Oddly, they both seemed to... almost glow, with an inner light, golden like the barrier. Two elderly monks stood guard at the furthest northern and southern ends of the barrier, keeping it aloft. The fighting hadn't started yet but Sarada could feel the tension in the air.

Bolt saw her and a momentary flash of surprise crossed his face. Then he grinned, brows narrowing and lips a little too wide and showing a little too much teeth. He straightened and folded an arm over his belly before bowing theatrically. Sarada rolled her eyes. Bolt was, if nothing else, a showman. Still, she was worried. If something big wasn't happening here then her eyes would be working. Sarada had the utmost faith that Bolt would win, but... but what if he didn't? The thought sent cold dread clawing up her spine. Suddenly the barrier between them felt a whole lot more like a cage.

"The monks seem to think they have the best chance of arresting Bolt," the Seventh said. "I... reluctantly agreed."

Sentoki and the other monk inched forward slowly as golden light spilled forth all around them. Bolt stalked forward, the very picture of predatory grace, and Sarada's heart hammered in her chest. Bolt removed the ceremonial cream-colored robe of the One Shadow, neatly folding it over an arm before it winked out of existence. He was left garbed in the dark gray-blue uniform the Akatsuki favored. Bolt wore silvery greaves over his boots, running from his ankles to his knee. It vaguely reminded Sarada of her ANBU uniform.

The golden light of the monks reached skyward and coalesced. It formed a great chakra construct that was larger than anything she could make with her Susano'o. It was two-faced and many-armed, dual visages of inner peace and unadulterated rage. The monks were safely ensconced within the base of the construct and if it functioned anything like the Uchiha's, Sarada knew they could ascend to a more defensible area like the skull or ribcage.

Bolt stopped opposite them, radiating chakra from every pore. It formed a nebulous, wispy shroud of chakra that covered him from head-to-toe. Lightning sparked to life, dancing across his skin, and it made Bolt's already naturally wild hair stand on end. The scars on his cheeks became more prominent; darker and inflamed.

The whole battlefield held its breath.

Sarada's heart hammered in her throat.

The monks threw the first fist.

Bolt lunged.

There was a thunderous crack as a golden fist rent stone asunder. Before the arm could withdraw, Sarada saw Bolt dash up the arm up to its elbow before lunging down at Sentoki and his ally. An open palm came up and smacked Bolt away like he was no more than a fly. He tumbled through the air before crashing to the ground. The moment his feet touched dirt he was gone again as he lunged at the monks.

The golden fists, innumerable in number, attacked again, turning the air gold with their light. Some distant part of Sarada, the warrior within, was thankful that today of all days her eyes at least allowed her to see. To miss such a battle would be considered a sin by anyone who had ever held a blade. To see the so-called Thunder God in action. Now, not being on the other end of it, Sarada could admit that Bolt wasn't entirely a megalomaniac. There was something... _otherworldly_ about seeing him.

In the void between one thought and the next, Bolt changed. Flesh and blood and bone became lightning, as easily as breathing, as quick as, well, a Thunder God. There one instant, gone the next. Even with her Sharingan, Sarada had difficulties in following the battle. The monks would attack with their many-armed construct and Bolt would dodge, ephemeral and fleeting, neatly taking a step forward with each swing and miss.

Bolt worked his way closer and closer, taking as few hits as possible, and Sarada thought he had victory in the palm of his hand. It was too easy, she thought, and so it was. The air shimmered behind the two-faced visage and a semi-circle of war drums blinked into existence behind them. Bolt looked skyward, eyes narrowed and razor-sharp, as he deftly avoided another barrage of golden fists. He did not, however, dodge the wave of... thunder, for that was all Sarada could describe it as. One of the many-armed construct's fists slammed against one of the drums and it was as if every legend told about thunder to frighten children was made real. It boomed, echoing throughout creation, as if heralding a god itself. It was omnidirectional and all-powerful. There was nothing Bolt could do save for being blown away.

Sarada held a fist to her chest as her heart hammered painfully. Bolt rolled to a stop, dirtied, bloodied, and bruised, slowly rising to his feet.

" **You are not the first to proclaim themselves the god of thunder,"** the bronze-skinned monk spoke. Sarada's eyes ached painfully as he talked. The man's voice was warped and distorted. When he spoke, it was with a thousand echoes, as if a thousand voices clawed their way from a single pair of lips. **"I am Meishū, the once Thunder God."**

The battlefield was silent as the grave. The silence was broken as a low laughter echoed from within the gilded cage. Bolt stepped forward and stumbled, footing uneven, his head bowed and his shoulders quaking. He straightened, gleeful laughter escaping his lips, a fierce fire burning in his eyes. "The Thunder God..." Bolt rasped. "There is only one." Tendrils of inky lightning burned across his skin like a brand. They spread through every pore, blackening the skin, even the eyes, leaving him a sickly, mottled gray. It painted the white eyes of the Hyūga in a twisted contrast. "Behold the Thunder God," Bolt spat. "On your knees, dog."

Their battle resumed with an almighty clap of thunder. Meishū beat upon his drums, unleashing blast after blast of thunder, and Bolt charged, smile wide and gleeful, eager to meet him head on. He burst through the first wave, and the second, and the third, before breaking upon the fourth, and the fifth smited him like a boot and an ant.

But Bolt was in a fury. There was a certain zeal Bolt had, Sarada had found, when he really got into something. First it was that dumb collectable card game he and Shikadai liked as kids. Then it was being the smartest ass in their class. Then it was being the laziest ass in their class— a feat which, Sarada thought, was not easily claimed, considering they had Shikadai there. Now, later in life, as a rebellious teenager and young adult, he liked fighting. So he fought. Like nothing and no one Sarada had ever seen before. Bolt simply didn't— stop— coming.

He was trying to break through by sheer brute force, Sarada realized. Force Meishū to use as many blasts as he could, endure them, and then break through and kill the two monks. A foolish plan, Sarada thought, but one that Bolt would find attractive nonetheless. That's what he was: the tip of the spear.

Clearer heads prevailed, though. That was always Bolt's problem. Always too eager to fight, to prove himself. Always so afraid of being the failure. He never stopped to think about the bigger picture. That was why Sarada saw it. That Meishū wasn't tiring. That he didn't even look concerned, let alone afraid. Bolt's plan wasn't working. Worse— it was working in his opponents' favor.

Did she tell him? Sarada looked around. The Seventh was nearby, tense and ready to leap into the fray. Himawari was standing near him. However, not five paces from her, stood Shikadai and his father. Not to mention the hundreds of Leaf ninja within shouting distance. There was no way she could help Bolt without getting found out.

Bolt skipped across stone like a rock across a pond. He rolled to a stop, his shirt reduced to little more than shreds of fabric dyed red by a thousand bloody cuts. And yet Bolt rose again. The fire in his eyes was raging and hungry, Sarada could see, and Bolt grinned something wolfish. "Block this," he growled before shooting skyward.

Bolt reached the apex of his gilded cage in an instant and hung there as time yawned. He erupted, burst into a thousand sparks, wild energy unchained and released. Sarada watched in awe as she saw something she never thought she would see: it rained lightning. Each spark set aflame another until they became a raging fire as they descended. Lightning fell like rain until a thousand thunderbolts crashed down on Sentoki and Meishū.

Meishū unleashed rapid bursts of thunder that the raining lightning easily pierced. Sentoki thrust forward a thousand golden fists. Together, the two abbots managed to block most of the raining lightning. The stray bolts that they missed crashed harmlessly against the golden body of their avatar like waves against the rock. But, Sarada thought, where was Bolt? She looked skyward, trying to find a trace of him, only to catch a blur of movement in the corner of her eye. If she hadn't been so used to his lightning-quick fighting style, Sarada never would have caught it. Bolt slipped out of one of the stray bolts of lightning that had gotten through the monks' defenses. Bolt was face-to-face with Sentoki and Meishū, separated by a thin barrier of golden chakra.

"Got you!" Sarada heard Bolt roar triumphantly. He lunged at the two ensconced monks, tearing at the golden armor that stood between him and his enemies. But Sarada knew from experience that such armor was thick and difficult to shear through. The Thunder God was not one to be denied, however. Bolt got a single arm through to the inside, much to the monks' alarm.

Sarada had to bite her tongue to avoid cheering. She expected Bolt to unleash a torrent of lightning and cook the monks inside their nigh invulnerable bulwark. Instead, Meishū lunged forward, leaving the safety of his avatar, and punched Bolt square in the jaw. Bolt flew from the avatar before being swatted by a golden fist that sent him skyward. Two more golden fists clapped them between their palms before releasing him to be struck by a wave of thunder that sent Bolt careening into the far side of the barrier before sliding to the dirt.

Bolt was slow to stir. "Get up," Sarada whispered under her breath. "Come on. Get up, Bolt. I know you can do it."

He did. Bolt rose slowly, blood weeping from thin cuts along his ribs and chest. The fire in his eyes was brighter and more angry than before. Sarada began to worry anew as more fear and doubt clawed at her heart. What if, like the candle that burned too bright, Bolt's fire would only burn for half as long? Her fear and doubt warred with her foreknowledge. Omoikane had said Bolt was key to the coming war. He had shown her. She had foreseen it. He couldn't lose here.

Or could he?

Was the future set in stone or was it something constantly in motion? Something that changed with every action and reaction? If Bolt was the key to the coming war with the Ōtsutsuki then he couldn't lose here.

Bolt tore at his ruined shirt and discarded it and started a slow stalk forward.

" **Please reconsider, Bolt,"** Sentoki pleaded and he too, like Meishū, spoke with a thousand echoes. Sarada's eyes ached. **"It is not too late for you to redeem yourself. You can do good if you choose to. I have seen it."**

Bolt paused. When he spoke, the haunted tone made Sarada shiver. "Stand among the bones of the countless thousands I've already murdered and ask them if I am redeemable. The silence is your answer," he said.

" **The fact that you are haunted by your actions tells me that you are redeemable,"** Sentoki countered. **"I have gazed into the heart of the truly evil, Bolt. The truly evil do not feel guilt over their sins."**

Bolt was quiet for a moment. "I feel guilt," he said. "But not regret."

Sentoki smiled sadly. **"Then you must die here,"** he and Meishū said as one.

"... What?" Sarada gasped. She turned to the Seventh. "I thought you said they were arresting him!"

Naruto was staring through the gilded cage, wide-eyed, mouth parted in confusion. "They— I— he said!"

The battle began anew. The shroud of the Lightning Armor erupted with a newfound intensity. Before, it clung to him lazily, a calm wisp. Now it exploded outward as if expelled by some great inner force. Bolt darted forward, faster than ever, phasing between flesh and lightning, piercing through a drumbeat of thunder and slamming into the open palm of a golden fist. The air around the collision combusted and erupted into a burst of heat and light. Then Bolt was gone, retreating, before attacking again, a furious barrage of clashes heralded by a hundred explosive bursts.

Beside her, the Seventh snapped. Sarada recoiled as he slammed into the golden barrier and tried to punch through. It didn't work. The barrier didn't so much as ripple against his strength. The Seventh retreated, cupping his hands as a large Rasengan began to form in the palm of his hand. Sarada ran, as did many others, joining Shikadai and his father as they watched Naruto sprint at the barrier and slam the Rasengan into it. The explosion of pressure and light was devastating and when the dust cleared the barrier was none the worse for wear.

Inside the gilded cage, if it was even possible, Bolt seemed to be getting even faster. Sarada could hardly see the three combatants through the haze of exploding chakra. Sentoki and Meishū had been forced to begin mirroring their avatar's movements with their physical bodies and it seemed as if the strikes of the golden fists increased in speed.

"Is everyone else seeing this?" Shikadai whispered in awe next to her. "If he was this fast at the Valley of the End..."

Sarada was sure she would have been able to stop Bolt from taking the Six-Tails, but Shikadai was right, it would have been much harder—

"He's not faster," Shikamaru said abruptly, a scowl marring his face. "He's just getting better."

"Better?" Sarada echoed.

"Shit," Shikamaru swore. "Sentoki fucked up," he hissed. "They're so afraid of him they're making him into the one thing they fear most and Bolt is using that to win."

Sarada didn't know what the elder Nara was talking about. She had a feeling she wouldn't like it even if she did. Inside the gilded cage, Bolt careened away from a particularly violent clash and knelt after rising where he had fallen. He was breathing harshly, chest rising and falling rapidly, skin stained pink by weeping blood. The storm of lightning he wrapped himself in was tame and calm. Bolt was running out of chakra, Sarada realized. And the monks looked like they were hitting their second wind.

Bolt took a deep breath and his Lightning Armor dissipated. Sentoki and Meishū were wary and cautious as they began the battle once more. A single golden fist shot forward, intent on grinding Bolt into the dust. The chains came, then, tongues of lavender fire forming link upon link of the chain. Atop the chain, like a crown, sat a wicked looking hook. Bolt commanded the chain to shield him and it encircled his body. The hook sank its teeth between a link of the chain and it pulsed once to create a shimmering barrier. The golden fist struck with a crack of stone upon the barrier but it did not break.

Safely ensconced within his barrier of chains, Sarada saw Bolt frown and his brows narrow as he gazed hatefully at the fist of the monks' avatar. Sentoki and Meishū increased the pressure and tried to grind Bolt and his barrier into the dirt. Another chain winked into existence, clawing its way from his lower back, and it shot forward and wrapped around the arm of the avatar and strangled it. The second chain had a spearhead, not a hook, and it bit deep into the golden chakra of the avatar. Bolt grit his teeth in frustration and concentration for a long moment before the arm began to rot and die.

By the looks on Sentoki and Meishū's faces, Sarada didn't think they had considered the possibility that their avatar could be dispelled by the Uzumaki clan's chains. Truthfully, she was still more than a little confused about the technique. Kohaku had been less than forthcoming with its exact abilities.

Bolt's victorious grin after dispelling part of the arm had been downright predatory. More chains sprouted from his lower back and the battle raged anew as Sentoki and Meishū began to launch a barrage of wary attacks on Bolt. They broke upon his shield easily enough, sending ripples echoing through the lavender chakra, and Bolt used his free chains to counterattack. The monks were careful and kept more than enough arms in reserve to intercept and block the chains before they could reach the main body of the avatar.

Sarada continued to back away, flanked by Shikadai and his father, moving further away from the Seventh as he continued to assault the barrier with larger and larger Rasengans. None of them worked any better than the first and it only served to agitate the former Hokage.

"That's it!" snarled Naruto. Sarada watched as he erupted into a brilliant plume of flaming golden chakra. He raised his hands and summoned a Truth-seeking Orb. The sphere of black chakra bulged and collapsed in on itself as it formed a spike. The Seventh pulled his arm back, fist clenched, and then threw it and the spike forward at the barrier.

Sarada fully expected the barrier to pop like a balloon. The spike hissed through the air, struck the barrier wall, and the two forces collided with a clap of thunder. The spike dug harmlessly into the barrier, sending ripples echoing across it, like a pebble dropped in a pond. But the barrier did not break. Naruto looked at the barrier, dumbstruck. "N-natural energy?" he said.

His confusion only lasted a moment before he calmed and sat with his legs crossed beneath him. Sarada had seen Himawari do the same thing enough times to know that the Seventh was going to try gathering natural energy. Speaking of Himawari... Sarada found her best friend stalking the perimeter of the barrier, glaring angrily at the monks, clearly enraged by their declaration to kill her brother. Sarada moved to join her, to try to calm her down, reassure her that Bolt wouldn't— couldn't— die here.

Inside the gilded cage, the duel continued. Bolt hurled chains with such force they shattered stone and pierced the monks' avatar. In return, Sentoki and Meishū continued their onslaught of thunderous drumbeats and golden fists. Bolt was no closer to dissolving the core of the avatar with his chains than the monks were to breaking his barrier and crushing him. Sarada kept one eye on the battle and one eye on Himawari.

The Seventh leapt to his feet abruptly, eyes wider than Sarada had ever seen them. "It's... it's not natural energy?!" he mumbled to himself panickedly.

Sarada made her way to Himawari and grabbed her by the wrist. Himawari snarled at her like an animal but withered ever so slightly upon seeing her. "He'll be okay, Hima," she said. "I promise."

"If they—" Himawari tried. "If they so much as..."

"I know," Sarada said. "I know."

The fighting stopped and that was immediately cause for concern. Sarada whirled around to see what was happening. The monks had stopped their onslaught and Bolt's chains had reared up behind him like serpents. Still, Sarada was worried. She could see that Bolt was running dangerously low on steam and Sentoki and Meishū still appeared no more tired than when they began.

The two monks glanced at each other, nodded, and Meishū gestured forward. One of the drums was set free and it gracefully sailed forward to loom overhead. Bolt watched it warily and all his chains came back to him and joined with the barrier. Meishū raised his arm with a clenched fist. He opened his hand, palm down, and then thrust it towards the ground. Sarada screamed as an ungodly loud clap of thunder rang in her ears and across the battlefield. Her eyes burned as they were seared by a blinding iridescent light that beamed from the drum. The beam bored into Bolt and he was lost among the sea of white as everything around him disappeared in an all-consuming explosion.

"Bolt!" Himawari screamed, rushing forward and hitting the barrier so hard her fists bled.

Sarada blinked away painful tears as her eyes smarted and the light faded. The ground beneath Bolt had been reduced to dust but he alone remained standing in the crater the attack had left behind. He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat trailing down his brow. What few chains were left were flickering like a candle in the wind and Sarada knew he was on his last legs. Meishū gestured, again, and another drum drifted forward. Sarada did not see the one that had fired the beam. It must have faded, she noted.

"Stop!" the Seventh roared, rushing forward and slamming against the barrier with his fists. "I said stop!"

Neither the monks nor Bolt appeared to have heard him. Sarada desperately searched for a way to help Bolt. She tried her Mangekyō, again, knowing it wouldn't work. All she saw was fog. She didn't understand why her eyes wouldn't work. Now, when she actually needed them. When their very source was being threatened.

The drum reached its apex and Sarada gasped as Bolt let his chains fall and dissipate. "Bolt, no!" she screamed, just as Bolt raised a hand to cup his face before being obliterated in a sea of white light.

Sarada choked on her tears as the light dissipated. She expected to be met with a scene from the deepest pits of her nightmares. Instead, Bolt was safe and sound behind a whirling barrier of flowery, translucent cloth. Covering his face was a porcelain mask of a woman. Her face was obscured by a veil, leaving only smirking lips and a sharp chin visible. A single horn protruding from her forehead made her appear inhuman.

A death mask, Sarada realized with relief. Bolt held a hand contorted in the half-Ram sign and four clones appeared behind him, instantly donning their own masks. The monks physically recoiled as if struck. Sarada thought it was odd. Most everyone knew Bolt employed a technique similar to the old leader of the Akatsuki's. They had spread the intel after his attack on the Leaf. Sentoki and Meishū were shaken— surprised, rather— more than they should be. Sarada narrowed her eyes.

The Paths quickly assumed a formation: Bolt himself at the rear, the two barrier-creating clones at the fore, and the scythe-wielder and summoner in between them. The summoner immediately knelt, pressing both palms to the ground, and all manner of monstrous creature erupted from geysers of wispy smoke. A black tortoise as large as a house, a golden snake longer than any street in the Leaf, a vicious white tiger whose fangs were as tall as Sarada herself was, a crimson bird with a large wingspan, and some sort of strange amphibious creature that resembled a blue seahorse.

The golden snake, white tiger, and blue seahorse shot forward while the crimson bird took flight and the black tortoise remained by Bolt's main body. Meishū slammed a golden fist against one of his remaining drums and a wave of thunder roared forward. The scythe-wielder dashed ahead of the charging beasts, nearly as fast as Bolt with his Lightning Armor, and, amazingly, cut the thunder down. Sarada's mind struggled to wrap itself around the feat as the thunder dissipated. It turned into nebulous wisps of golden energy that hovered around the scythe-wielder before careening at Bolt who had hidden behind the black tortoise.

Bolt clawed at his chest and the monks cried out in alarm as the golden energy sank into him. Bolt barked an order at the scythe-wielding clone, instructing him to discard the energy, and focused on creating and controlling the strangely beautiful and ornate lengths of fabric that had replaced his chains.

Meanwhile, one of the avatar's golden fists had struck the summoned snake and the beast was now constricting around the arm of the avatar as it worked its way towards the body. The white tiger was lightning-quick and nimble, almost as fast as Bolt himself was, and it deftly dodged each punch thrown its way. The blue seahorse had stopped some ways back and was covering the other two beasts with blasts of compressed water so powerful that it looked like it was spitting steel. The scythe-wielder had moved forward, not fast enough to dodge the avatar's fists, but fast enough to cut them down as they approached. The resulting golden energy from the reaping was discarded without being absorbed. Any attacks that Sentoki or Meishū managed to make through the assault of new opponents was easily caught and blocked by the barrier-creating clones, who raised their staves and combined their abilities to form a vaguely circular barrier of purple energy.

Sarada grinned. Bolt might have been down, but he wasn't out. He had a chance. A good chance. The Paths had surprised the monks. If Bolt could capitalize on it... he could still win. Then he would be safe. Arrested, no doubt, by the combined forces arrayed against him, but safe nonetheless. Sarada could work out her next move after that.

The struggle between both sides continued for several long minutes. Sentoki and Meishū had been initially overwhelmed but were beginning to recover and fight back. One of the avatar's countless arms had grabbed the golden snake by its throat and bodily hurled it to the far side of the barrier while another swatted the crimson bird from the air and sent it careening into the ground. The white tiger harmlessly harried the pair of monks at the base of their avatar but its claws weren't capable of shredding the armor. The blasts of water from the seahorse fared little better and the beast was sent rocketing across the battlefield and slammed into the barrier by a particularly powerful slap.

The scythe-wielder was caught out, bereft of his bestial allies and overpowered by the wrath of a thousand golden fists. Sarada thought for sure she would see the breaking of a second death mask but, at the last moment, the ornate fabric that Bolt commanded appeared from beneath the stone and formed a protective barrier around the clone. It immediately fell back, putting as much distance between itself and the avatar as possible, and the black tortoise reared back with a roar and put itself between the avatar and the retreating clone. The avatar's punches, amazingly, did not seem to harm the tortoise, though it was slowly skidding across the rock as the monks continued their assault.

Sarada's earlier hope became more and more distant as the monks began to once more take control of the battle. The summons were dispatched after having been nearly killed and the scythe-wielder alone simply couldn't survive outside the protection the two barrier-creating clones provided. Bolt, it seemed, realized this too, as he scowled. Sarada could make out the smallest amount of fear in his eyes and it made the icy claws of doubt tear at her heart once more.

Eventually, Bolt gave up entirely. The scythe-wielder, the summoner, and one of the barrier clones disappeared with a wisp of smoke. Bolt removed his own mask before donning the mask of the barrier clone he had dispelled. Sentoki and Meishū, sensing his weakness, pushed their attack. Meishū used his third of five drums and it lumbered forward and prepared to deploy its devastating payload. Together, Bolt and the other barrier clone raised their staves and conjured the familiar cubic barrier that he had employed during his attack on the Leaf. Sarada clasped her hands together as Bolt endured a third all-consuming blast of white light.

Mercifully, the barrier held. Sarada breathed a sigh of relief. Bolt and his clone were empty with exhaustion, she could see, and Sentoki and Meishū were eager to press the attack. Still, no golden fist and no drumbeat of thunder could shatter the barrier and it held fast. After realizing they could not breach the barrier, and that Bolt could not or would not leave, they stayed their hands, unwilling to use another blast of the drums. The battle lulled, momentarily.

Bolt seemed to breath a sigh of relief. He steadied his breathing, closed his eyes, and formed the Tiger sign. Sarada could see, with her Sharingan, as Bolt rapidly depleted the large storage of Yang chakra he held in reserve. His many cuts and scrapes weeped a wispy steam and ever so slowly began to close.

"How long can he stay in there?" Himawari asked through gritted teeth.

"That barrier doesn't allow gases to pass through," Sarada said. "He has until he runs out of air. Less, because he doesn't want to start fighting with oxygen deprivation."

Himawari slammed her fists against the gilded cage helplessly.

The relative solemn silence was shattered by the roar of the Seventh. "Kurama!" he cried, _something_ writhing beneath his skin. Sarada watched as skin split and tore and blood-red fur sprouted. The Seventh bulged inhumanly as he transformed into a monstrous demonic fox, large enough to tower over a city. Everyone— Leaf, Empire, and monk alike— paused in their battle to marvel in awe as the Nine-Tailed Fox roared its fury to the world. The Nine-Tails parted its maw, rabid bestial fury burning in its eyes, and orbs of black-violet and blue-white chakra began to gather at an almost glacially slow pace.

"Come on, Bolt," Sarada whispered under her breath. "Hang on a few more minutes." The Seventh Hokage was charging up for an attack the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Fourth War. She had faith he would get through.

Soon, far too soon, Bolt opened his eyes. He dispelled the clone and his own mask and the barrier fell. Air rushed back in and Bolt took a deep breath before calmly striding forward. The monks eyed him warily.

"What is he doing?!" Himawari hissed next to her.

"I... I don't know," Sarada answered fearfully, watching Bolt march to his death.

Bolt got closer, and closer, and closer, and then the monks had had enough waiting. A golden fist reared back and was thrust forward. Sarada and Himawari cried out in alarm as it crushed Bolt without resistance. Bile rose in her throat as the dust settled and the fist retreated to reveal the mangled corpse of her beloved. Only... Bolt was fine. Another Bolt, rather. He was incorporeal, standing next to the crater, and he flickered in and out of existence like static. Sarada looked back at the corpse only to find that it was gone.

"What...?" Himawari whispered in confusion.

Sentoki and Meishū attacked without mercy. One Bolt was crushed, only for another to take its place, only for it to be crushed as well, replaced by another ghost. The monks faltered after several waves of attacks. They sensed the futility of it, Sarada thought. Bolt never moved from where he stood, though. He just stood there and flickered in and out of creation like a bad television signal. It was only when one Bolt, then another, and another stepped forward into existence that Sentoki and Meishū began to move once more.

"A god should be omnipresent as well as omnipotent, don't you think?" Bolt sneered.

The clones erupted into bolts of lightning and lunged at the golden avatar. Most were blocked by quick palm strikes but others managed to weave their way through. For the first time, Bolt drew blood. He struck the avatar in its chest, shearing away some of the golden armor, before retreating.

It was like life had been breathed into a thunderstorm, Sarada thought. Bolt became a storm of lightning, obscuring half the battlefield with waves of electricity, a veritable sea. And like the tide he crashed against the golden avatar of the monks and tried to break them. He reared up, lances of lightning snapping down on his enemies like the maw of some great beast. Sentoki and Meishū struggled to stay afloat.

To Sarada's horror, the monks began to recover. They blocked more and more of the clones, launched more and more attacks of their own, some of which went wide or weren't even aiming for Bolt in the first place. Sarada wrinkled her nose in confusion. What were they aiming for?

Whatever it was, Bolt didn't want them to hit it. The sea of lightning began to move, actively dodging one or two of the strikes that were aimed at seemingly thin air, and Sentoki and Meishū ever so slowly began to narrow down their target.

When they hit their target, Sarada knew it. Bolt cried out, a thunderous echo, and he appeared out of seemingly thin air where the avatar had hit. He skipped across the rocky ground like a pebble across a lake before coming to a rest near one of the early formed craters. The clones dissipated and the battlefield was quiet at last. To Sarada, however, the silence had never been louder. Her heart hammered in her chest and her blood thrummed in her ears.

The earth beneath her feet trembled and shook. The Nine-Tails had completed amassing its chakra and the burgeoning orb of vile chakra was collapsing on its own weight. The Tailed Beast swallowed it, bulging grotesquely.

None of that mattered, though. Sarada only had eyes for Bolt. He rose slowly, favoring his right leg and cradling a broken left arm. It was over, Sarada realized. Bolt had lost. Meishū gestured and a fourth drum lumbered forward. It hung over Bolt like the executioner's axe. He raised his head skyward shakily.

Sarada screamed as he disappeared into the white light. Himawari screamed as she watched her brother be executed. The Nine-Tails roared in pained bestial fury.

The light faded and Bolt was there, on his knees, the shattered remains of one or two chains trailing behind him. He fell forward and collapsed face-first in the dirt.

"No," Sarada whispered. She didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. "No, no, no, no..."

The golden avatar of the monks faded to nothing and Sentoki and Meishū paled violently as their energy left them. Sarada had never wanted to kill someone more in her entire life. **"It is over,"** they intoned.

Sentoki and Meishū moved to join their fellows who allowed the barrier to fall. No one dared to move. No one dared to breathe. Then Sarada stumbled forward on unsteady legs, tripping over her feet, while Himawari made a mad dash to her brother's side. Opposite them, on the far side of the barrier, Hikari and Tetsu were doing the same.

Bolt rose.

Sarada couldn't believe her eyes. The monks couldn't either, apparently, for they stared at Bolt in clear disbelief and shock. She blinked away tears, thinking she had been caught in some sinister illusion. But, no, it was reality, and Bolt rose, alive. Her hope was short lived. Bolt's eyes were empty and glassy. His body rose, but there was nothing inside.

Bolt screamed, a thunderous roar full of rage and fury. He erupted with chakra, cataclysmic in his wrath. It was like nothing Sarada had ever seen. Normal chakra wasn't even visible to the naked eye. Extremely powerful ninja, like her or Bolt, had chakra that could been seen even by untrained civilians when expelled in significant quantities. But this... it was as if the chakra had been given a life of its own. It was as solid and real as flesh and blood. It wasn't wispy or nebulous, but defined and concentrated. It kicked up a wind that burned the skin and the earth trembled and crumbled underfoot. Bolt's chakra loomed over him like a specter, forming a poor imitation of his Lightning Armor, and almost as if it really had been given a life of its own, strange bestial visages formed. They were at once both canine and feline in appearance, maws full of gnashing fangs and eyes brimming with bestial rage.

Sarada sobbed. That wasn't the power of someone's last resort. That was the power of someone who was already dead and had nothing left to lose. A dying will made manifest.

The monks cried out in alarm— and to no small amount of Sarada's perverse pleasure— fear. Bolt lunged at them, crossing the distance as fast as he was as the Thunder God, hand raised as if it was the sword of God Himself, and moved to cut them down. The monks weren't going down without a fight, though. They moved to defend themselves, conjuring half-formed golden limbs and armor of their avatars. Bolt tore through them like a rabid animal and slashed them to ribbons.

Sarada grinned and some small dark part of her was gleeful to watch as Bolt beared down on Meishū. Still, Sentoki and the two other monks weren't about to let Meishū be murdered in front of them. They caught Bolt as he charged, holding him fast, and Bolt thrashed and struggled under the grip of their golden fists. But he would not be denied. If anything, his imprisonment only made Bolt rage harder.

Bolt _roared_. In that moment, Sarada truly believed. The crack of thunder that left his mouth couldn't have been made by anything other than Raijin himself. Meishū caught the blast of thunder in his chest and simply burst into a mist of blood, bone, and meat. Sentoki and the other monks were blown away by the force of the blast.

The monks were terrified out of their minds as they regrouped and began to glow with a soft golden light. Bolt took one menacing step forward, faltered, and then another, before he fell to his knees. The bestial Lightning Armor dissipated and with it so too did the last dregs of Bolt's chakra.

Sarada froze, her Sharingan burning the sight into her memory. The precise moment Bolt _died_. It burned in her brain like molten steel. Every fear and terror she had ever harbored in the furthest reaches of her mind roared to life and every hope and shred of love she had ever felt withered and died with Bolt. It would haunt her, Sarada knew, every waking moment of her life, and she would not find reprieve even in her dreams.

Something within her snapped and broke.

Himawari screamed.

The Nine-Tails roared.

Sarada screamed.

The One Shadow died.

The Thunder God died.

Bolt Uzumaki died.

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 **A/N:**

The author actually killed the main character? The absolute madman!

So, I lied. This chapter was not the penultimate chapter of this arc. The next one will hopefully be that... I underestimated how long some of the events I had to write were. We still need to cover a few more things before this arc can officially be called at its end. There is good news, though! Over, like, a fourth of the next chapter is already written. It was originally intended to be a part of this chapter... but I wanted to torture you guys with the cliffhanger. Cue evil cackle.

Bolt uses two (one, really) new technique this chapter.

1) Thunder God Mode: Omnipresence, which effectively distributes his electrical body amongst the air, allowing him to make "clones" using the same process he uses during Thunder God Mode. In reality, the clones are all simply one big mass of electricity that Bolt manipulates and shapes as if there were multiple clones in order to confuse his enemy.

2) Lightning Armor: Dying Will Mode (a nod towards _Reborn!_ ) isn't really a technique, per se, but rather a literal definition. A person's last stand before their death drawing out their power at its full potential. Occasionally in the series a character will use a technique that is denoted with a more classical Japanese art style where their chakra is given a more solid physical form. The Hyūga's Twin Lion Fists, Sasuke's Fire Style: Great Dragon Fire Technique, Kirin, and Night Guy to name a few. The actual "beasts" that compose the armor were referenced many chapters ago and won't appear in the story itself for many more, but eagle-eyed readers will know what they are.

In the original draft of this story, Bolt masqueraded as Pain for far longer. The death masks and his "Paths of Pain" therefore played a much larger role. Ultimately, that never happened. The death masks are still part of Bolt's arsenal, but not one that he likes to use often. As powerful as their abilities are, they are too easily destroyed and Bolt values the information they hold far above their prowess in combat. He still regularly consults with the spirits within, notably the Divine Summoner and the Sage of the North and South, who help him advance his fūinjutsu.

Meishū (the real one) was one of the baddest motherfuckers in warrior monk history. Excerpt from "The Tale of the Heike": And loosing off his twenty-four arrows like lightning flashes he slew twelve of the Heike soldiers and wounded eleven more. One arrow yet remained in his quiver, but flinging away his bow he stripped off his quiver and threw that after it, cast off his footwear and springing barefoot on to the beams of the bridge he strode across. [...] With his naginata he mows down five of the enemy, but with the sixth the naginata snaps asunder in the midst, and flinging it away, he draws his tachi, wielding it in the zig-zag style, the interlacing, cross, reversed dragonfly, waterwheel and eight-sides-at-once styles of swordfighting, thus cutting down eight men; but as he brought down the ninth with an exceedingly mighty blow on the helmet the blade snapped at the hilt and fell with a splash into the water beneath. Then, seizing his tantō, which was the only weapon he had left, he plied it as one in a death fury.

In the days of yore, before his awakening, Saint Meishū also dubbed himself the Thunder God for his prowess in Lightning Style and his unique ability to create actual thunder.


	104. Chapter 104

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. This chapter has been done for awhile now but I've been rewriting and editing it in an attempt to be happy with it. The good news is I spent the extra time working on the next chapter and it's almost 3/4th finished! Also, largest chapter so far, I think? 16k words. Enjoy!

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 **August 1st, 0025 AIT  
Kusatsu, Land of Steam  
Border of the Land of Fire and Steam  
09:35  
The Second Battle of Kusatsu**

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Chaos.

That was what happened after the barrier fell and Bolt was killed. An army reacted the same way to an attack as any other person would: fight or flee. To Hikari's pride, her army fought. They fought with zeal and fervor when Bolt fell to the monks. They charged forward without hesitation or thought for their own safety. Bolt was their leader, their hope, and now he was their martyr. The world had committed the one sin it should have never committed if it ever desired peace again: they killed the one man that had united over half the world under his banner and in doing so they had proved him right. By killing Bolt, they had made him more powerful than they could possibly imagine. They made him more than just a man. He was a symbol, an idea; eternal.

Hikari didn't share in their glee. She hadn't moved since the barrier fell. She felt cold and numb and deaf to the world. Bolt had once remarked how scared he was about their relationship. That his heart was now walking around outside his chest. Hikari had been angry and annoyed with him at the time even if it was a little poetic and endearing. Now, though, she knew how he felt. It had taken more than a decade for her to find her heart again after the hunter corps had killed it. Bolt had played a large part in her recovery and she had given him her heart for it. Hikari wasn't afraid of her heart walking around outside of her chest. Bolt was the strongest ninja she knew. Even in her darkest nightmares she had never imagined that he would be killed in battle.

Now he had.

For the longest time, Hikari had lived in a world of black and white. Slowly, ever so slowly, Eiji, the Crimson Tide, and Bolt had shown her a world of color. And now everything she had loved had been taken from her and the color had faded from the world. The color drained from her world and plunged her back into the waking nightmare of black and white. Hikari hated it with every fiber of her being. After being shown the world of color, life wasn't worth living without it.

Hikari waited for the inevitable summons to come. She contemplated resisting. Why should she live when her reason for living was dead? There wasn't a point. So she waited. The two armies crashed against each other in great waves. Still, even in death, none dared to approach Bolt. He remained on his knees, head hung and shoulders slumped, but even in death he refused to fall completely. How very prideful. Just like he was in life.

Hikari waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Where were the summons? Hikari raised the back of her hand where the seal had been placed. Why had it not activated? Bolt had died. The failsafe would activate any second. Bolt hadn't created a failed seal in years. It should have worked. Bolt was dead and the seal should have activated.

Hikari didn't care. It was for the best. She would stay and fight, she decided, squaring her shoulders. She would kill as many monks as she could before dying herself. Either to the monks or to the failsafe. It didn't matter to her.

But... Bolt hadn't created a failed seal in years, her thought echoed back to her. Not since shortly after they had left the Crimson Tide. He would never risk her life or the lives of their friends with an untested seal. And if the seal hadn't activated, it meant the conditions of its activation hadn't been met. Bolt hadn't been captured so he had not manually activated the failsafe. Yet he was dead and neither had the failsafe activated automatically—

Hope _burned_. Hikari felt it boil her blood and sear her bones. Color returned to her world violently and she hurled herself into a sprint. It was the fastest Hikari had ever ran in her entire life. She heard Tetsu call her name but she ignored him. Nothing else mattered but getting to Bolt. She killed anyone that got in her way. Ninja, soldier, monk— it didn't matter. Hikari burst into the clearing, the sacred ground, that no one had dared to tread upon.

No one except two people.

"Please, no..." Himawari sobbed, her brother's body cradled in her arms. "Bolt! Oh, Bolt, n-no, no! Please n-not you!"

Hikari skid across upturned, bloodied gravel as she came to a stop next to Bolt's sister and Sarada. The Uchiha looked as numb as she had felt. Tears of blood fell freely from empty eyes that had had their fire extinguished.

"Bolt... why?" Himawari cried, sobs wracking her body. She could hardly breathe such was the power of her grief. "I l-love you so much! How can y-you be dead?!" she pleaded as she rocked her brother's body back and forth.

"He's not," Hikari said as she stepped forward.

Himawari looked up at her, blind with tears, unable to speak as she sobbed. Sarada blinked and came back to life. "What?" she asked, hoarse with grief.

"He's not dead," Hikari said, again, with more force. She kneeled and placed a hand on his chest that erupted into the crystalline green fire of the Mystic Palm. "Bolt created a dead man's seal. If he died it would have activated. Bolt hasn't created a failed seal in years and he isn't about to start now. That means he is still alive."

Hikari desperately searched for any sign of life. He had no pulse, wasn't breathing, had no brain activity, and had no chakra. Bolt was, for all intents and purposes, dead. Hikari quickly corrected that. She forced his heart to beat, to pump blood, and stimulated the diaphragm, forcing him to breathe. Still, she continued to search for the smallest spark of life in him.

"He's... dead," Sarada intoned gravely. She sounded haunted. "I saw his chakra leave him."

Hikari had been treating Bolt since he was a child. She was intimately familiar with his body almost as much as her own. If it was anyone else, they would have missed it. The barest spark of a dying ember of a roaring inferno that had burned itself to cinders. Hikari cradled that spark of chakra as if it was the most precious thing in all of creation. In that moment, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Golden and raging even against the dying of the light. Hikari cried, for the first time since before she had become a hunter, and shed tears of joy. "He's alive," she choked. "I can bring him back."

Behind her, someone roared a battle cry. Hikari saw a Leaf ninja lunge at her out of the corner of her eye.

He didn't even get close. Tetsu, who she hadn't even noticed following her, hit him low, and Himawari had entrusted Bolt to her and hit him high. In that moment, Hikari could see Bolt in his little sister as she wielded the Gentle Fist as he did. The Leaf ninja was torn apart and scattered to the wind by the ferocity of their combined attack.

Hikari looked up at Sarada. "Please," she begged. "I can save him. I swear it. But I can't be interrupted. The process will kill us both if it's stopped before completion."

She saw the fire grow in Sarada's eyes. All righteous fury and blood as veins crawled through the whites of her eyes towards her Sharingan. She turned her gaze on Himawari and the two of them nodded. Hikari shivered as orange-red tongues of fire gave birth to the monstrous skeletal Susano'o. It sheltered her and Bolt while Tetsu and Himawari took up post outside the avatar; Tetsu with his Bloodsword drawn and Himawari with her Sage Mode.

Somewhere, the Nine-Tails released an earth-shattering roar. It unleashed a blast of chakra so powerful and vile that even Hikari, untrained in sensing, could feel its taint. The blast hit some far-off target and an explosion the size of a veritable mountain destroyed a large swathe of land. They would have to redraw the borders of the map.

Hikari gave Sarada a grateful nod before crossing her hands over Bolt's heart. She took a deep breath.

"Kishō Tensei!"

Hikari gasped as she felt her life ebb and wane as it passed down her arms, into her hands, through her fingers, and into Bolt. She found that cinder of chakra and stoked it, pouring her life into it so that it might catch fire once more. It felt like someone was sucking her heart through a straw. Hikari grunted and even though her eyes were open all she saw were shapes and shadows. Tsuchigumo's family kinjutsu could bring someone back from the very cusp of death at great cost to the user. According to the puppeteer himself, it could even bring the souls of the dead back to life if she gave up her life in exchange.

Hikari hoped it wouldn't come to that. She wasn't afraid to give her life for Bolt's. On the contrary, if it was necessary she would die for him without hesitation. No, Hikari was afraid of what Bolt would feel when he came back only to learn that she had given her life for him. She knew he would blame himself. Hikari wanted to spare him that pain, but if it came to it, she would rather him be alive and in pain than dead and at peace.

Her mind drifted away as she let the pain consume her.

* * *

 **August 1st, 0025 AIT  
Kusatsu, Land of Steam  
Border of the Land of Fire and Steam  
09:35  
The Second Battle of Kusatsu**

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In the bowels of their shared mind and soul, Naruto writhed in agony.

Kurama's fury was apocalyptic. How _dare_ these tiny, insignificant ants bite the hand that feeds? Their lives were but a blink of an eye to a being such as him. Kurama would think nothing over burning them until naught but the ashes of their souls were left. Today, the monks that had so foolishly clung to the dying teachings of his father would meet their end for hurting Naruto. Naruto was _his_.

The Nine-Tailed Demon Fox did not allow what was his to be hurt.

Bolt may have been an arrogant little shit. A meat sack who fancied himself a god. But he was Naruto's little shit and Naruto loved him. Kurama didn't understand why, but he did. And Kurama had watched, through Naruto's eyes, as his son had fallen into madness and darkness. Through those same eyes Kurama had watched a boy grow up against adversity and hate and overcome every obstacle and sneer and hateful glare. Kurama had seen him become a hero. Kurama had seen him become a legend. Kurama had seen him become a husband and a father. And though Kurama had seen Naruto in pain, he had never seen him broken.

The monks broke Naruto.

Kurama would break them. He would scorch countries, rend mountains, boil seas, and poison the very air. He would use their bones to clean the flesh from his fangs. The monks would rue the day they had not fallen in line with Indra or Asura.

Kurama didn't care about the foolish mortals he trampled underfoot as he stalked across the battlefield. He felt a red haze burn through his mind that he hadn't felt since Hashirama. It had been a century since the wrath of the Nine-Tailed Fox had been unleashed. A century since humans had forgotten what it meant to be truly in awe of a higher being.

Kurama would show them. The three abbots who had escaped their assassination of Naruto's son were making themselves scarce. Fleeing like the rabbit before the fox. Kurama _growled_. He had hunted humans for eons when their kind was not so diminished as it now was. That they thought, with all their parlor tricks and hymns, they could escape him, the mightiest of all hunters?

Kurama's maw parted as the blast of his and Naruto's combined chakra escaped his fangs with an unearthly howl of agony.

Kurama laughed.

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Bolt blinked as he came to. The night was dark and the moon was strangely absent from the sky. Not even the stars breached the oppressive cover of the clouds. The one small spark in the darkness was a soft, warm golden glow in the distance. Bolt walked over uneven ground as he made his way forward, feeling grass wet with dew tickle the tips of his toes. As he drew closer to the light, he saw that it was streaming from uneven windows of a shoddy wooden hut. Bolt frowned. He could have sworn he knew the building from somewhere...

The name came to him as he approached the door and saw the old rusty sign swaying slightly in the breeze. Bolt smiled. "The Rusty Kunai," he whispered.

The old bar was much the same as it had been when he left it. Well, before it had been destroyed. It was a favorite of the Crimson Tide's, the only bar on a pathetic spit of sand that was host to pirates, smugglers, and mercenaries. Bolt shrugged and opened the door. He was hit with the smell of salt, alcohol, and sweat. Faint music wafted through the air as the owner's daughter sung softly in the corner of the bar. Men and women talked in hushed whispers of dark dealings and boisterous laughter echoed through the room from drunks who had drank far too much.

Bolt stood in the threshold, marvelling at how little had changed— and how much had. He knew, somewhere deep inside him, that none of this was real. That the Rusty Kunai had been destroyed by Cloud ANBU and everyone inside had died. He couldn't be there because the bar no longer existed.

"... Am I dead?" Bolt wondered aloud.

"Heh," a hauntingly familiar voice laughed loudly. "Got it in one, kid."

Bolt turned slowly to face the bar and the man who sat at it. "Eiji," he whispered.

Eiji raised a cup, spilling some of its contents, and grinned. "Take a seat," he said, patting the stool next to him.

Bolt moved mechanically and sat down at the bar. A faceless man— literally, for Bolt could not see his features save for a blinding white light— appeared before him, placing a jug of rice wine and a cup on the tabletop. Bolt realized, as he gazed around the room, that he couldn't see the other patrons' faces either. Not even the owner's daughter singing in the corner.

"Why can't I see their faces?" Bolt asked his once mentor.

"They ain't here for you, kid," Eiji said, sighing in pleasure as he downed his drink.

"And you are?" Bolt asked.

"Well, of course!" Eiji boomed and Bolt smiled fondly as he recalled how boisterous the man was in life. "Might be kinda presumptuous, but between you and me, I tell all the spirits I was the one who taught you everything you know. You're my legacy, kid. You n' Hikari."

Bolt laughed and blinked away tears.

The bartender slammed a gloved hand on the counter, startling the both of them. Bolt couldn't see but he got the distinct impression the man was shaking his head at Eiji. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," his mentor grumbled. "Sorry, kid. I'm not supposed to talk about the whole, you know, afterlife business."

Bolt glared thunderously at the bartender before the man— spirit, whatever— faded into obscurity. He blinked away unshed tears and sighed. "Why not? I'm dead, aren't I?" he asked.

Eiji got real quiet and took a long drink.

"Aren't I?" Bolt insisted.

"Well... about that," Eiji sputtered. "You better have a drink."

Bolt glanced at the untouched rice wine and Eiji burst into boisterous laughter. "What?" Bolt demanded sourly.

"Nothin'," Eiji grinned. "Just reminded me of the first time we were here. You didn't drink then, either. Or anytime after, come to think of it..."

"I don't like the taste," Bolt shrugged.

"Heh. You always did have a sweet tooth, kid," Eiji smirked.

"Can we even get drunk?" Bolt asked as he poured himself a small amount of wine. "You know, being dead and all."

"Huh," Eiji paused, unseeing eyes gazing into the distance. "I don't think so. I do it mainly for the nostalgia."

Bolt smiled around his cup as he drank. At least he would find out if spirits could get drunk in the afterlife. "So, about my death being complicated?" he pressed.

Eiji hummed in thought. "Well, you've been on the brink of death before, right? Where you're not really dead but you're not really alive either. S'called limbo," he explained.

"I'm in limbo?" Bolt asked with a frown.

"Heh, no, sorry," Eiji laughed. "You're dead. Sorta. Like I said, it's complicated. Probably easier to just think of yourself as not alive."

"Alright..." Bolt murmured, taking another drink. "So where are we, exactly?"

"Well, think of this place as, like... a limbo between limbo. Only you're on the far side. You're between death and limbo, not life and limbo. That make sense?"

Bolt nodded slowly. "I'm here before I die the true death, then?" he asked.

Eiji clapped his hands. "You got it, kid," he said, raising his cup in a toast.

"So what's the point? Why am I here?" Bolt asked. The rice wine was as dry and bitter as he remembered.

Eiji sighed and Bolt saw the life— or what passed as life, here— drain from his mentor. "You've got a hard decision to make, Bolt," he said gravely.

"Oh?" Bolt raised a brow.

Eiji nodded and threw a thumb over his shoulder. Bolt glanced behind them to find that the bar was now strangely empty and eerily silent. The patrons had departed and in their place loomed three identical nondescript doors. Bolt sucked in a breath.

"I'm here to help you, Bolt," Eiji said. "But I can only show you the door. You're the one that has to walk through it."

Bolt swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and tongue swollen. "And what's on the other side of these doors?" he asked. Despite himself he couldn't help the small amount of fear that colored his tone.

Eiji stood, solemn and quiet, taking with him his jug of rice wine. Bolt followed him as the two of them came to stand before the doors. The sight of them inspired a deep, primal fear in Bolt that he felt in the bones of his very soul.

"You take door number one," Eiji explained softly. "You wake up in your mask, just like you planned."

Bolt nodded stiffly.

"You take door number two and you pass on and die the true death and whatever fate awaits you for your sins and virtues in life," Eiji said, barely above a whisper.

Bolt waited and waited. Still, Eiji didn't speak. "And door number three?" he pressed.

"... I can't tell you," Eiji said, defeated.

Bolt frowned. "Why not?" he asked.

"Only you can know, Bolt," Eiji said cryptically.

His mentor had no more words after that. For a long time Bolt said nothing. He didn't know how long the two of them stood there. It could have been minutes. It could have been eons. There was no way to tell. At long last, Bolt mustered his courage. "Which one do you think I should take?" he asked softly.

Eiji, too, was quiet for a long time. His mentor glanced back at the bartender, who had reappeared and was cleaning a dirty glass. Eiji returned his gaze to the doors and sighed, long and ragged. "I can't make this decision for you, Bolt," he said at last. "The only thing I can tell you is... door number three will be the most difficult thing you will ever do. But if you do it..."

When Eiji made no move to speak further, Bolt prodded. "What?" he pressed. "If I do it... what?"

When Eiji said nothing, Bolt turned to face his mentor and Eiji was gone. It was just him and the creepy fucking bartender. Bolt stared daggers at him. Still, the doors loomed over him like the executioner's axe. He had a decision to make. The greatest that could ever be asked of any mortal: the fate of their soul.

He could dwell within the refuge of his death mask as he had planned for. As was expected of him by his pact with Death and the tradition of the Uzumaki clan. He could be with Hikari again in some strange, small way. He could continue to lead his empire, albeit from the shadows. He could live again. A half-life. A cursed life. But a life nonetheless.

Or he could take door number two. He could be... well, not at peace. Bolt didn't deserve peace. Not after all the death and destruction he had wrought in his quest. He didn't believe, not as the monks did, but Bolt knew for certain that his soul would go to Naraka for the sins he had committed. For a long, long time. He wouldn't be at peace... but he could repent. He could let the world return to its false peace for a time. Before the next great war ravaged the land.

Eiji had said door number three would be the most difficult thing he would ever do and Bolt was inclined to believe the spirit of his deceased mentor. And when Eiji said _ever_... Bolt knew he wasn't speaking metaphorically. "But if I do it..." Bolt muttered under his breath.

The longer he stared at the third door the more Bolt felt something burning in his heart. Like a long dead ember finally having new life being breathed into it. It was stupid, Bolt thought, as he took a faltering step forward. He should take door number one. It was the logical choice. But something behind the third door called to him. It promised answers that Bolt hadn't even known he had been asking the questions for.

Bolt came to stand before the door, hand outstretched to touch the handle. He took a deep breath, eyes falling to the floor, and gazed upon the golden light that spilled from beneath the threshold. Bolt cast one last glance at the bar, the bartender, and the other doors before turning the handle and stepping inside.

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Bolt blinked. He stared down at his hands, wondering where he was, what he was doing, because he certainly didn't remember using a kunai to deface his Leaf headband. Yet, the scarred steel stared up at him angrily, a long, jagged line tearing through the emblem of his home. Behind him, the door to his room opened unceremoniously. Bolt could only look up dumbly as his mother entered his room without so much as a whispered warning or knock.

Hinata's eyes found him quickly before they fell to his latest handiwork. She frowned thunderously, angrier than Bolt had ever seen her in his life, and marched up to him. Bolt doesn't even have time to hide the defaced headband before his mother saw it.

"Mom, I, uh—"

Bolt's cheek stung as a dull heat spread across his face. He raised a hand to his jaw and blinked owlishly. His mother had slapped him. Bolt swallowed and opened his mouth to explain and earned himself another slap. He stumbled back from the force of the blow, eyes open but unseeing for a few moments. Bolt looked up at her and blinked away unshed tears. His mother had never slapped him before. Never raised a hand against him or his sister— ever.

"You are such a disappointment, Bolt," Hinata said icily.

Her words cut deeper than any slap ever could. They slipped between his ribs like daggers of ice and found his innards.

"You were always troublesome as a child, Bolt," his mother continued without a care. "Always causing trouble for your father and I with your pranks and jokes. You were selfish, too. Everything always had to be about you. Your father was too busy with this, your father should do that, your father should give up the greatest honor a ninja could achieve because you were too petulant to understand the nobility of duty and sacrifice!"

Bolt could only stare at his mother as she raged at him.

"Nevermind what your sister felt as she watched her brother turn on her father and tear her family apart. Nevermind what your mother felt as she watched you belittle her husband that she had loved since the day she laid eyes on him," Hinata said, her anger building like a crescendo.

"I— I just wanted—"

"That's exactly the problem, isn't it?" his mother sneered. "It's always about you, Bolt. You want everything to go just how you like it, never caring about what others want. Did you ever stop to ask your sister what she wanted? Maybe she accepted your father being the Hokage? Maybe she understood what it meant to wear the Hat? Maybe all she wanted was to be happy with you and me?"

Bolt hung his head. No, he hadn't asked his sister what she thought about their father. He just saw her sad and had to do something. Maybe he was wrong all along?

"I'm— I'm sorry, I just wanted to—" Bolt looked up into the cold, unforgiving eyes of the Hyūga. There was no forgiveness there. No understanding. No warmth. No love.

"I wish you had never been born," his mother said steelily.

If her earlier words had been daggers slipped between his ribs, that statement had been a sword running him through. Bolt lurched and fell to his knees. It felt as if a vice held his heart within its grasp and was mercilessly wringing the life from him. "You— you don't mean that— Mom, I—" Bolt saw a glimpse of his mother's purple-black hair as she fled the sight of him in disgust.

"Wait!" Bolt cried out, lunging for the door and slipping through it before it closed.

Bolt emerged into the hallway of his childhood home— only he didn't. Gone was the window that should have been on his left and the stairway to the first floor on his right. The hallway was stretched thin and yawned into eternity, dotted with countless doors surrounded by lit candles and funeral incense that painted the walls in a dim, eery light.

"What the _fuck_?" Bolt hissed. "Mom?" he called out hesitantly. His words echoed down the hallway, repeating and repeating, growing softer and quieter the further they traveled, and Bolt shivered as his words crept up from behind him and whispered in his ear before they dissipated.

Bolt heard the scratch of a lighter and whirled on the sound. There was someone knelt before a door in the distance, lit only by the warm glow of fire as they lit an incense. Bolt crept forward slowly, eying each door he passed with suspicion. As he drew closer, Bolt could make out the man's features. Pale skin, blond hair, and charcoal eyes. He was a Cloud ninja, that much was certain, garbed in the familiar one-armed white uniform the village favored.

"Hey?" Bolt ventured nervously. "Who are you? Where are we?" he asked.

The blond man looked up, sorrow in his eyes. Bolt recoiled as, suddenly, a ragged hole was punched through the man's chest. His pristine white uniform was stained red as his wound gushed blood that pooled beneath him. "You don't remember me?" the man asked.

Wide-eyed, Bolt looked closer. There was something hauntingly familiar about the man. From the darkest depths of his memories came the answer: the ANBU agent that had been about to kill Eiji— his first kill. Bolt nearly jumped out of his skin as something warm and wet splattered against his hands: blood, rich and coppery.

"W-What are you doing here?" Bolt demanded, taking several hasty steps away from the ghost.

"So you do remember me," the man smiled. "My name is Cee. You should know it. I was your first, after all. We never forget our first."

Bolt reached for his chakra. This couldn't be real. It was an illusion. A nightmare. Something, anything. For the first time since he was born his chakra lay dormant and lifeless, as if Bolt had never had it at all.

"Y-You can't be here," Bolt said. "You're dead."

Cee laughed, something shrill and cold, and Bolt felt the icy claws of terror paw at his spine. He stood, and Bolt could see now that he had been kneeling before his own portrait, lighting his own funeral incense, and Bolt was assaulted by a profound feeling of the perversion of life and death. Cee locked eyes with him and in them Bolt saw nothing. They were empty, glassy, and cold. Bolt couldn't so much as breathe as Cee stalked forward. Unbidden, his arm rose and his hand twisted into the finger-strike of the Gentle Fist. As Cee approached, all manner of gore and viscera rose up behind him, flowing together and filling the wrecked chest cavity. Bolt gagged and retched as Cee's ruptured heart reformed around the tips of his fingers.

"We never forget our first," Cee said. "The loss of innocence. Once you cross that line, there's no going back. You stained your hands red with my blood and you've spent the past ten years trying to wash it away with even more blood."

Cee retreated, laughing, and walked through his door, disappearing into a blinding, radiant white light. The spell was broken and Bolt was free to move again. He immediately fell to his knees and vomited. When his stomach no longer felt as if it was trying to crawl free of his throat, Bolt stood. The hallway was, once again, empty, quiet, and still. Bolt shivered. Something was profoundly _wrong_ with the hallway.

Bolt knew one thing: he had to leave. He couldn't stay there. Something deep within him told him that if he stayed he would suffer a fate worse than death. Bolt cast one final look at the door Cee had left through. He wouldn't be following. The farther he was from the first life he had taken the better. Bolt picked a door at random. It, too, had a portrait and was surrounded by candles and funeral incense. The photo depicted a portly man with a bulbous nose and full cheeks. He smiled happily, a chef's hat adorning his head. Bolt swallowed thickly and cautiously opened the door. He was blinded by the radiance of what lay beyond but whatever it was it was better than staying in that damned hallway.

Bolt stepped through the door, eyes closed, opening them only when the light had faded, and found himself back in the same hallway.

"No," Bolt hissed. "No, no, no..."

The drip of water was painfully loud in the solemn silence. Bolt felt something cold and wet pelt his hair. Looking up, Bolt squinted, as heavy teardrops of rain fell through the ceiling. They came slow at first, seeping through the boards and plaster, then faster and faster, until the rain fell as a torrent and quickly began to fill the hallway.

Bolt yelped as a low, furious bellow erupted behind him. He whirled on the sound. The portly man whose door he had entered rushed him. He must have been a cook, Bolt thought, or a butcher, for he wore a stained apron and his hair was held back with the same hat he had seen in the portrait. The cook brandished a cleaver as he charged and drew it back sloppily as if to lop Bolt's head from his shoulders.

Bolt didn't even have time to think let alone react. Still, his hand came up, crackling with lightning, and he easily sidestepped the cook's slash, before he cleaved the man from shoulder to hip and opened him up. The cook dropped to the floor with a heavy thud and a splash of water. His cleaver loosed a metallic ring as it clattered before growing still. Bolt swallowed as blood spilled from the dead man. It mixed with the pooling rainwater, dying it crimson, and still the torrent of rain fell unendingly. Bolt began to panic as the bloody water rose to his shins and then his knees. Bolt turned and fled, loping through the water with long strides, quickly reaching the first door.

It was locked. Bolt swore under his breath and cursed whatever gods there may be before wading further down the hallway as the water began to rise even further. Impossibly, the water grew more and more red, the pungent scent of copper rising and filling his nose, until Bolt wasn't sure if he was wading through water or blood.

Bolt didn't know who the cook was. He couldn't remember him like he could Cee. He was just another faceless dead. Someone he had killed during the Land of Rain civil war? The unending torrent reminded him strongly of his time in the country.

Bolt began to swear as the water rose and rose until the hallway had become a river of blood and he hadn't found a single unlocked door. Taking a deep breath, Bolt slammed his eyes shut and dove into the crimson as he blindly fumbled for the handle of the nearest door. Miraculously, it opened, and Bolt gasped as he was hurled across the threshold with a wave of viscera.

Sick to his stomach, Bolt scrambled forward and stood on unsteady legs as he found himself once more in the unending hallway. "What," he hissed. "The fuck?"

There had to be a way out, Bolt reasoned. A sequence of doors that would lead him... somewhere. Anywhere was better than the damn hallway. The only problem was that the doors were fucking endless. Bolt angrily stalked forward, eying each door, trying to discern if there was something different or special about them as the blood trickled off him and dyed his skin pink as it dried.

Bolt caught something in the corner of his eye: a family photo. It hung neatly on the wall, collecting dust, depicting a much younger Uzumaki family. Bolt vaguely remembered the scene. It had been a celebration of his father being selected as the next Hokage. He was too young to understand the ramifications at the time.

Bolt smiled wryly. But it wasn't the photo that had caught his attention— it was a reflection in the glass. Bolt leaned forward, peering into the glass, and the face that stared back at him wasn't his. Bolt yelped and leapt back. He crashed into the wall, back knocking another photo to the ground, but Bolt didn't care. He looked down. He had... breasts. And his hands were thin and delicate. And his hair was long and black and—

"This isn't real," Bolt told himself, closing his eyes. "It's an illusion. It's an illusion. It's not real. Take a deep breath. When you open your eyes, this will all be gone..."

When he opened his eyes, things were different. But not in a good way. Bolt blinked as he found a much younger version of himself, Hikari, and Tetsu standing resolute several paces away from him. The rain returned, seeping through the ceiling, and not-Bolt grinned wolfishly. Bolt stared dumbly down at his own hands that had seemed to produce a thin, light sword from nowhere. Not-Bolt inclined his head towards Tetsu.

"Wait!" Bolt managed to scream, high and shrill. He didn't even have time to get his sword up before Tetsu's katana cleaved through his chest. It was all an illusion, Bolt chanted, trying to force his mind not to focus on the mind-destroying agony that coursed through his body as his lifeblood weeped through his opened ribcage. His heart spasmed painfully in its death throes as if it could crawl from its bony prison.

Then his heart slowed, each beat longer than the last, until it stilled and darkness clouded his sight and Bolt felt no more. The last thing he saw as he died was his own face staring down at him with a wicked grin and merciless eyes.

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Bolt gasped as he came to. A hand flew to his chest where his heart was hammering against his sternum. He was still in the endless hallway, lying on the ground, and still alive as far as he could tell. His fingers traced his skin, looking for a wound that wasn't there. There wasn't even a scar. "What the..." Bolt mumbled dumbly.

Bolt lurched as he stood, ground warping and ebbing like he was standing on the deck of a ship, before everything stilled and righted itself. Feeling his stomach churn, Bolt urged himself forward as the ever looming shade of the hallway pervaded his senses. He had to get out, he knew, he just didn't know how.

Bolt found another door, picked at almost random. The acrid smoke of the funeral incense irritated his nose and the portrait captured a masked man with the emblem of the Hidden Stone proudly displayed on his headband worn around his neck. His hand trembled and shook as he reached for the doorknob and Bolt cursed himself. He forced himself to open the door and quickly slipped through. His eyes were wary of another attack, by the dead or by his not-self.

Bolt quickly rushed over to the same photograph and checked his appearance in its reflection. As he had feared, he had become the very man he had seen. Muttering under his breath, Bolt stalked forward, low to the ground with eyes wide and ears open. He would not be caught unawares again.

In his defense, Bolt wasn't taken by surprise by his not-self. He was halfway— or what would have been halfway had the hallway not been endless— and happened to glance out through a window. Bolt gaped at the yawning darkness that seemed to stretch into eternity and then some. But it wasn't the darkness that Bolt was startled by— it was the giant fucking person on its hands and knees looking through the window with a single colossal eye.

Bolt screamed and threw himself against the opposite wall.

The giant was androgynous. Bolt couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. But it had an unnatural, deathly pallor about itself. Its skin and hair were as white as bone. The giant was deathly thin with gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes. The single great eyeball that peered through his childhood home's window was bloodshot with blackened veins and the iris was cloudy and white.

The giant reared back and held one of its titanic limbs aloft before tapping on the glass like Bolt might have an aquarium. The endless hallway shook violently and Bolt yelped before sprinting down the hall. He was so busy running that he didn't even see his not-self until it was too late. Bolt gasped as he found a spear of hissing lightning lodged deep in his chest. It had been so very long since he had developed a resistance to the element that he forgot what it felt like to be harmed by it. Blood boiled and flesh cooked and charred as his muscles spasmed outside of his control. The current shifted and lashed across his heart and it thrashed violently against his ribs in its death throes as it grew weak and weary before stilling altogether.

Bolt looked up at his not-self, flanked by Hikari, Tetsu, and Kagami and Kagari. A timid and somewhat charred Hibiki was sequestered behind Tetsu.

"W-Why?" Bolt managed to gasp.

The cold, uncaring stares of the beginnings of his personal army were all that he received in answer.

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Bolt woke calmly. Coming back from death the... Bolt couldn't remember how many times he had died— or killed— before coming back. He had lost count in the hundreds and now he must be well into the thousands. Each door led to another death, another victim, another life cut short either by his word or deed. And yet, the agony he felt upon each death did not lessen. If anything, it grew more great and terrible. There was something building within him. Something unspeakably heavy and cold.

It terrified Bolt more than anything had in life or death. In the furthest depths of his soul, he knew what it was, but he could not bring himself to speak its name for fear of making it real with the very act of uttering it.

Bolt grunted as he stood and fished out the old wrinkled calendar he had pocketed sometime after his first handful of deaths. The pencil that had dangled from an ornate braid of black fabric had become alarmingly small as he continued to mark the days. It was impossible to tell the time within the confines of the endless hallway but, by his rough estimate, Bolt thought he had been trapped for no more than ten days. Frowning, he crossed out the eleventh. As he did, Bolt forced the creeping darkness back into the depths from whence it came. His mind whispered to him, told him it was hopeless, that he would be trapped for all eternity here, damned to suffer the pain he had caused in life. And every day that passed was one that, slowly, Bolt began to agree with the voice.

Still, Bolt held onto hope. Hope that he might yet return from his damnation and continue his quest. To make the sacrifices he had made at the altar of peace mean something.

Sighing, Bolt moved to open the next door. The next in a seemingly endless sequence of doors of which he could see no end in sight. Bolt stepped through, not even balking at the blindingly white light, and waited for his death to come.

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Bolt ran a hand through his beard and tried to comb some semblance of order into it with his fingers. The Hyūga men were generally incapable of growing a full beard and Bolt would have loved to shave but, bereft of a blade, was left with no choice but to let it grow. The small pencil that had been attached to the calendar had long since been whittled down to nothing. He marked the passing days with small creases on the parchment.

As Bolt stared down at the calendar, the uncomfortably heavy weight in his chest settled in his boots. By his estimate, today marked the second year of his damnation. He was twenty-four. Or he would have been, Bolt supposed, had he still been alive. Somewhere along the line he had stopped caring. Weeks and months had gone by in the blink of an eye and Bolt had realized that even if he did escape his damnation it wouldn't matter. He was dead. He had been dead for two years. His people had been left bereft of a leader. His empire would have been dismantled piece by piece by his father and the Leaf. His friends would have died futile but valiant deaths in a vain attempt to defend his life's work. Even if he crawled from his grave right that very second, it wouldn't matter. His time had come and gone and he had failed.

The lies he had told himself and the painful truths he had willfully ignored became self-evident. Bolt had been no "god." He scoffed at the very notion. He was not even particularly noteworthy in the grand scheme of the universe. There had been more powerful men before him and there would be more powerful men long after the dust from his bones was gone. He had been a lost, scared little boy all alone in the cold world, bereft of purpose and direction, and in his loneliness he had started down the path of destruction in the name of his "peace." Bolt had just wanted to help, he said, and he had. He did want to help. He just didn't know how. The only things he knew were anger and fighting and in his arrogance he had chosen to use his anger at his father, at the world, to build whatever peace he could. Even if he had to kill to get it. Even if he had to wage war to build peace.

And look where it got him?

An eternity of damnation, doomed to suffer every death he had caused. He deserved it too. A broken laugh escaped chapped lips as Bolt shambled over to the next door. "I deserve it," he laughed as he walked through. The thing in his chest named itself, then: guilt. He was an enormously guilty man.

Bolt walked through light and shadow and blinked owlishly as was freed from the endless hallway and was thrust into the bowels of Naraka. Towers and mounds of mangled, bloodied corpses reached for the eternal darkness that loomed above them. Each footstep he took sent ripples echoing through a thin pool of blood that stretched between one macabre effigy and the next. Carrion crows squawked and circled overhead and the sheer punch of pungent copper slammed into Bolt so hard he gagged.

"Oh, no," Bolt whispered in horror, a fist held between his teeth to keep the bile down. "Oh, no."

He whirled on the door behind him only to find that it was gone. Instead, he came face-to-face with a wall of the dead and the dessicated visage of a long-dead man whose jaw had slackened to reveal an unfurled tongue and whose single remaining eye dangled loosely from its socket. Bolt yelped and hurled himself away from the nightmare. His heart was hammering angrily against his ribs, demanding it be set free, and Bolt happily turned and fled the only direction he could: the valley between one mound of corpses and the next.

The minutes passed him by agonizingly slowly. The only company Bolt had was his raging heart, the wet echo of his footsteps, and the haunting caw of the crows circling above. The more he walked, following the winding, twisting valley between the mountains of corpses, the more Bolt came to understand his new damnation. It was a maze, he realized. A maze of the dead. Bolt dared not gaze upon the faces of the corpses for fear of seeing the men and women he had lived and died as in the endless hallway.

Here and there the maze broke down into branching paths that wrapped around a mound or two of the newly dead. They, above all, Bolt could not bear to look upon for fear of seeing some of the faces that freshly haunted his nightmares in life. Eventually, for no apparent reason that Bolt could fathom, the maze became wider, and for the first time Bolt had room to breathe where he wasn't face-to-face with the dead.

As it turned out, Bolt would have rather the maze continue as it was. He rounded the corner of a mound of corpses and bumped— quite literally— into the one creature he had never hoped to see again: Orochimaru. Bolt stared up at the slitted, bestial eyes of the snake.

"Ah, Bolt," Orochimaru cooed, raising a hand to cup his cheek. Bolt shuddered. "How proud of you I am. For hating me so very much, you became quite like me in the end." The Sannin laughed with a wry smile. "After all, imitation is the greatest form of flattery, isn't it?"

Bolt turned and ran. He didn't get more than three paces before long, sinuous white limbs wrapped around him and crushed his back to Orochimaru's chest. "We're going to have so much fun, you and I," he hissed slowly, sensually, dragging his forked tongue from the hollow at the base of Bolt's neck to his earlobe. "After all, I have an eternity to teach you how to be a better, well... me."

Bolt screamed as Orochimaru's fangs found his neck and sank deep. His blood flowed in rivulets to join the endless pool of blood beneath his boots. The agony of the snake's chakra burned through him and all Bolt could see was white. The pain was all there was, all there had ever been, and all there would ever be.

When the white receded, it was replaced by red. Bolt blinked through eyes hazy with pain and stared into his reflection in the pool of blood. His body burned and ached and Bolt couldn't even find it in himself to care that he was lying face down in a pool of blood. His reflection stared back at him, his face from before the endless hallway, haggard and young. Bolt groaned and forced himself to his knees. He was met by the sight of the maze of corpses but the bile didn't come. The horror of death paled in comparison to the monster that Bolt now knew lurked around every corner.

Even in death, Orochimaru was a sick bastard.

Bolt stood, not under any desire to escape or clean himself of blood, but out of sheer spite. He might have been dead but, as in life, Bolt would never allow the snake to best him in death. If it was the last fucking thing he did, Bolt would get out of this maze just to show Orochimaru what a freak of a failure he was.

Bolt moved slowly through the maze. It felt like he had a sunburn that was bone-deep. Every footfall made fire pulse through him. But Bolt took smooth, measured steps, kept the watery echo of his footsteps quiet and soft. He didn't blink as he carefully checked and rounded each corner. Bolt had no intention of falling prey to Orochimaru again.

The crows squawked loudly overhead, circling, ever looking for their next meal. Bolt shivered. Strange, too, he noted, that he could see the crows even when the sky was black as pitch. It was dark but he didn't have trouble seeing _things,_ like the crows and the corpses, but everything else was shrouded from his vision.

So preoccupied with his thoughts and the strange duality of the maze, Bolt nearly rounded a corner without checking it. He did, though, and it saved his "life," for Orochimaru was grinning devilishly and lurking up and down a stretch of the maze. Blood thrummed in his veins. Bolt reached for his chakra only to find that he was once again bereft of it. Bolt swore. The maze might have taken his power, but it could never take his wits. Bolt crouched low to the ground, slinking silently across the thin pool of blood that coated the ground, moving swiftly when Orochimaru had his back turned.

Bolt took slow, even breaths as he heard the snake's footsteps recede and go back the way Bolt had just came. Daring a quick peek, Bolt saw that Orochimaru once more had his back turned to him and he quickly slipped by and deeper into the maze. He walked quickly with loping steps as he put as much distance between himself and the dead Sannin as possible.

In his haste, however, Bolt had abandoned his cautiousness, thinking his enemy behind him, and in doing so strode knee-deep into the midst of another foe. Bolt gaped down at a sea of beady black eyes that brimmed with malicious intelligence and glared at him hatefully— Nara children.

Bolt managed to suck in a breath before the children had their hands forming the Rat sign and the darkness swarmed him. It seeped through the wall of corpses like blood, shadow so thick and viscous it had a weight to it all its own. It was fast, too, swallowing Bolt before he could so much as take a step. Unlike Orochimaru, the children had no taunting words. They only had hate. As the darkness swallowed him whole, tongues of shadow licking and devouring him, the only thing Bolt could see was the children's hateful eyes.

The darkness receded and Bolt was blinded by the sheer brilliance of the red. He huffed and didn't bother picking himself up as his reflection stared back at him from the pool of blood. Bolt had had more than enough deaths in the endless hallway to get used to the constant limbo between life and death.

Still, spite. Bolt would escape the maze for sheer spite if nothing else. "Fuck you, Orochimaru," he grunted.

Bolt got up. He steeled himself, now wary of the dangers that lurked around every corner of the maze, not just Orochimaru. This wouldn't be easy, Bolt understood, and he willingly embraced the challenge.

"Bolt~!" the snake's slimy sing-song echoed through the maze. Bolt nearly leapt out of his skin, looking around wildly for Orochimaru. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" he laughed.

It was the single most terrifying thing Bolt had ever heard. Orochimaru hadn't found him, though, even if Bolt did think the snake was going to leap out of the darkness at him. He continued on, with a much healthier fear of what was around the next corner. Bolt had been expecting to run into the Nara children again. He didn't. What he found instead was almost as bad.

Kagari Akiyama.

The dead younger sister listlessly stalked the maze, her cupped hand holding a hunk of molten rock. "Bolt!" she screamed, loud and shrill. "Come out and face me, coward! This is all your fault!"

Bolt swallowed thickly.

"Your sister did this to me!" Kagari shrieked. "She tortured me! Killed me! Made me leave Kagami!"

Bolt didn't think he could bear to listen to her accusations. He fled, quickly and quietly, skirting around her and deeper into the maze even as Kagari's screams echoed after him.

"Bolt!" an old woman's roar sounded behind him. It carried, powerful and commanding, and Bolt hid behind a small mound of corpses before casting a fearful gaze from where he had come from. Granny Tsunade stomped out from some other limb of the maze, Uncle Kakashi trailing after her sullenly. "Come out, brat!" Tsunade bellowed angrily. "I'm going to give you a beating your ancestors will feel!" she roared and stomped a foot, causing the entire maze to quake.

Kakashi simply stood at her side, eyes lidded but razor-sharp, ghosting over every corpse as he held a kunai so tightly that his knuckles were white. Bolt forced his heart to slow and his breathing to still as he sneaked away from the two deceased Hokage. He was so focused on the two deceased Hokage, who had been his family for all intents and purposes, that he didn't notice the two Raikage behind him until he bumped into them. Bolt gasped and looked up at the pillars of muscle that towered over him. Ay and Darui stared down at him with icy steel in their eyes.

Bolt ran. He sprinted, one of those life-or-death sprints where he wasn't sure how he was able to run so fast or so hard, but he did anyway. The two Raikage were right behind him, lightning dancing across their bronzed skin. Bolt didn't even bother checking the corners. He saw a glimpse of several heads of black hair and felt the whip of shadow sail behind him as he narrowly avoided the Nara children.

Bolt tripped over the jutting leg of a corpse and a blade of shimmering blue-white chakra cut through the space where his neck had been. Chōjūrō stepped forth from the maze, blood dripping from his blue hair and running around his goggles. Bolt rolled with his fall and managed to find his footing as he continued his mad dash through the maze.

Bolt looked up as he saw a beam of golden light cut through the darkness. It was gone, then appeared again, before fading. In the distance, over the walls of corpses, he could see a lighthouse. Freedom, Bolt thought, hoping it meant he was closer to the exit. He was close. He had to be.

Bolt yelped as a pale hand grabbed him by the shoulder. The arm it was attached it was lanky and unnaturally long. An older, grisly Mitsuki glared at him coldly. "You hurt Mitsuki," Log hissed, reeling him back in.

Bolt could see the mob of people he had killed. A mob that hated his guts and wanted nothing more than for him to suffer eternally. Bolt knew he deserved it, knew he was a monster of the foulest nature, and he couldn't deny that a part of him just wanted to let go, give up, and let Mitsuki's older brother drag him back to suffer and atone for his sins. "I'm sorry," Bolt said, raising his arms and allowing his shirt to slip free, and the words seemed to echo through the abyss. "I'm so sorry. But I'm not ready to give up. Not yet."

Shirtless, Bolt sprinted forward and lunged for the exit of the maze. The dull roar of all those that he had wronged thundered behind him. The maze of corpses came alive, eyes rolling in their sockets as their owners had need of their sight again, arms and legs lashing out in an attempt to bring him down. Bolt leapt and dodged, cleared the exit, and rolled to a stop before a path that led higher into the darkness where the lighthouse stood in its vigilant guard against the darkness.

Bolt climbed. He scrambled up that hill and cast fearful glances back the way he had came. Back to the maze and the mob that lurked within. One day, Bolt promised, he would be back, and he'd let his victims have their revenge. "But not today," he hissed.

Bolt slammed the door shut as he threw himself over the threshold and into the lighthouse. It had a single set of spiralling stairs and Bolt took them two at a time. At the very top, cradled within a nest of glass, burned a golden fire. It was unspeakably beautiful and warm, like coming home after a cold winter's day, and its light banished the darkness of the void for miles and miles.

Bolt smiled and reached for the glass, compelled, and his hands trembled. Bolt closed his eyes as his fingers pressed against the glass and the warmth crept into him. Freedom, he thought, and opened his eyes.

He was back in the maze.

Bolt froze. "No," he whispered.

Laughter echoed all around him. The corpses, lolling tongues and slack jaws, hacking up giggles as they stared at him with dead eyes. His nightmares were there too: Orochimaru, the Nara children, Kagari, Tsunade, Kakashi, Darui, Ay, Bee, Chōjūrō, and Log. More joined them. Karin, Jūgo, and Suigetsu. His mother. Cee. The elderly Ōnoki.

They all laughed.

"No, no," Bolt repeated, taking a step back. "This can't be possible. I was out. I was..."

Orochimaru slithered forward, loosing raspy laughs as he smiled with a maw full of fangs. "Despair is all the sweeter when it is served with a side of hope," the snake cooed.

He was never getting out, Bolt realized. The maze had never had an exit. There had never been a chance that he could go free. This was his damnation, Bolt reminded himself. This was his fate for destroying so many lives. They had toyed with him, given him the false illusion of hope, his fate a cruel joke for their entertainment.

The mob descended on him, murder in their eyes and laughter escaping their lips, and there was nowhere for Bolt to run. They wanted their pound of flesh and Bolt couldn't do anything to stop them.

His mouth parted in a silent scream as Orochimaru sank his fangs into him again.

The scream came, then, high and shrill, as Tsunade crushed one of his legs and turned it into a bloody pulp, and Kakashi worked on carving the other up with his knife.

Bolt choked on his blood with a gurgled scream as his chest collapsed, bones snapping, cracking, and breaking as Ay and Bee slowly— agonizingly slowly— decapitated him with their famed lariat.

Death didn't come for him this time, even as his head rolled to a stop at the feet of the Nara children. They stared down at him with their hateful, beady eyes, and in them Bolt saw a gleaming malicious and joyful intelligence. The children raised their hands as one and the shadows came. Thick, ugly, oily darkness, bubbling like tar, crawling towards him. Bolt couldn't even scream as the shadows drowned him.

Still, he didn't die.

Molten stone melted his bones. A sister's furious screams.

Still, he didn't die.

He was flayed. Carved up. Cut into pieces. Legendary swordsmen turned butchers.

Still, he didn't die.

He was crushed. Pounded and ground into the bloody floor. Savage cries of delight as fists broke his body over and over and over.

Still, he didn't die.

A new horror, a new torment. Soft arms wrapped loosely around his neck, even softer lips and warm breath ghosting across his ear. The darkness receded, barely, and Bolt could see strands of crimson hair falling down his shoulders. Foreign thoughts, darker thoughts. Nightmares.

Hikari.

Bolt blinked away unshed tears as he looked up at her. He was—

Hikari sunk to her knees, bowing. A grating chuckle, a dark laugh, one that Bolt hated.

Orochimaru loomed over her. "You'll be perfect, my dear," the snake hissed, pleased. "You have the same strengths I loved in Bolt but none of his... weaknesses."

"Bolt was a child," Hikari said, raising her head as Orochimaru cupped her cheeks and pulled her to her feet. "He was weak. Daddy didn't love him enough so he threw a tantrum, started a war, and became a monster. I only stayed with him because I was afraid of what he would do to me if I left."

Orochimaru smiled, a forked tongue snaking through sharp teeth. "Don't worry," the snake hissed softly. "I will protect you."

Bolt tried to scream as Hikari bared her neck to Orochimaru and the snake bit down.

"Himawari!" Bolt breathed, all at once, his sister's stern countenance staring down at him. But... he could have sworn... it didn't make sense—

"I'm so disappointed in you, Bolt," Himawari said, shaking her head. "You're so smart, so strong... you have all this power and you don't even know how to use it for good. You're just a kid who found his dad's kunai. You think you know how to use it but all you can do is cut yourself."

Bolt tried to explain himself. Couldn't. Couldn't find the words. There weren't any, Bolt knew, in this or any tongue.

Himawari frowned and shook her head. "All that power... it's not fair," she said. "It should have been me. I've always hated you, Bolt, always been jealous." He gaped at his sister and she smiled. "I'm glad you're dead."

"Sarada?" Bolt croaked, head spinning as the world folded and shifted in the darkness. Where was his sister?

Sarada wrapped her arms around Hikari's neck, pressing their lips together. Bolt blinked owlishly at the pair of women. Sarada pushed Hikari down onto a bed and straddled her waist. She pressed open-mouthed kisses up Hikari's jaw and down her neck. "Wow, Sarada," Hikari gasped, and Sarada slipped a hand under Hikari's shirt. "Bolt doesn't know what he missed out on."

"Ssh," Sarada shushed her with a kiss. "Don't talk about Bolt. Let's talk about... us."

Hikari smiled and kissed her back.

Pain blossomed in his cheek. Bolt didn't bother to hold back the tears. They had been falling for some time now. His mother loomed before him imperiously and shook her head. "I wish you had never been born, Bolt," his mother said and then slapped him again. "You're the real war. The very peace you say you desire... you're the one who will destroy it forever. I should have had an abortion."

In the darkness, Bolt sobbed.

He died a thousand deaths. Ten thousand. One hundred thousand. One million. For every death, there was a nightmare, and for every nightmare, there was a death. The wrathful shades of those that had killed in life came for him in waves. And, like the ocean, they swallowed him, drowned him, crushed him, dragged him into the depths where not even the light could reach him.

Every second was a lifetime and every lifetime was an eternity of agony. Bolt had always been a good student and now the greatest teacher of all— pain— was giving him a thorough lesson in damnation. His soul was the parchment, his mind the pen, and his blood the ink.

"Please," Bolt begged, prayed, hoarse and raspy, to anyone and everyone. "Please. Let me die."

The darkness was resplendent in its silence and its agony.

"Please," Bolt whimpered.

And, still, he didn't die.

Pain was a cruel master. It consumed him, until Bolt could think of nothing else, and then slowly set about whittling him down, grinding him into dust, breaking him. And, little by little, Pain succeeded. With every death and every nightmare, Bolt lost a little more of himself. Walls fell and shields eroded as Pain drew ever closer and closer to that steel core that Bolt hid within deep inside his heart.

Bolt knew he was breaking. Knew he would break. He begged and pleaded. For release, for death, for an end to the agony, even if he didn't deserve it. His nightmares circled him like a pack of hungry dogs, snapping at him with gnashing teeth, laughing and retreating into the darkness, belittling him, reminding him the penalty of his deeds, despite his pleas, was agony.

He was the Lord of Pain and this was his kingdom. He was damned to rule it for all eternity.

Bolt sobbed and cried until he had no tears left to shed. When the tears stopped, something began to build inside him. Pain ate at him from without and the new feeling building in his chest, hidden with him in the steel core he had retreated into to spare himself some small measure of Pain, ate at him from within. It was a pressure, Bolt felt, expanding and building, great and terrible in its power. It wouldn't be stopped, Bolt realized, as the shelter he had forged to weather the storm began to crack and break, and the Pain and pressure mingled as one and threatened to crush the life from him.

Bolt had had enough. "I know I'm a monster!" he screamed at the darkness, at the Pain, at the pressure. He was breaking. "I know I don't deserve mercy! Is that what you want to hear?! Huh?!"

At some point during his raging, Bolt didn't know when, he became more than just a decapitated head. He had a body, and legs, and arms. He was being pulled forward, urged on, led through the darkness.

"I tried to help!" Bolt screamed. "I only wanted to help! I only wanted to do the right thing! I used my power for the greater good!"

The darkness reared up, almost like a snake, pooling in on itself. It roared back, full of anger and hate and Pain. "Stop playing innocent!" his mother hissed. "You're a fucking hypocrite!" his sister screamed. "You left a trail of death and suffering behind you!" his father yelled sternly.

"Don't listen to them!" his own voice said.

Bolt blinked and looked down at the hand clutching his wrist— his hand. His Light looked back at him, as terrified as Bolt himself was, tugging him forward and urging him on. "Don't listen to them!" his Light pressed.

Bolt nodded, feeling strangely comforted by his "better" half, and the two of them sprinted through the darkness. In the distance, Bolt could see the lighthouse again.

"We can do this," his Light gasped. "We can make it. We're almost there. Come on. Keep running!"

Bolt lagged. "What's the point?" he muttered. The lighthouse was a trap. He already knew that. It was pointless.

"I am _not_ going to leave you here!" his Light yelled, hoarse with emotion. "You saved me in the Land of Rain and now I'm going to save you! Come on!"

Bolt was strangely touched by the genuine affection. He hadn't always been the nicest to the other tenant of his soul. Maybe... maybe they could do this. Maybe this time they'd escape. Bolt took a deep breath and began to run. He caught up with his Light and the two of them shared a small smile as they raced for the lighthouse in the distance.

The moment their feet touched the hill the dirt beneath them shifted and warped as gravel and stone became corpses and blood. Bolt could hear the roars of his nightmares behind him and scrambled up the mountain of the dead. His Light tripped on a leg that was as hard and cold as stone in death. Bolt whipped around and grabbed him before he could fall. The two of them helped each other climb, strong where the other was weak, and together they overcame any obstacle. Bolt kicked down the door to the lighthouse and ushered his Light inside and the two of them sprinted up the spiralling staircase. At the top, they stood side by side, breathing heavily, staring at the golden fire.

Bolt looked to his Light and smiled. "Same time?" he asked.

"Same time," his Light grinned.

Bolt truly believed this would be the time he escaped. He couldn't have done it without his other half. He had been wrong about his Light. He— it?— was strong in its own way. Together, the two of them reached forward with trembling hands.

* * *

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* * *

He was back in the maze. Bolt was back in the maze and he was going to have to suffer _that_ all over again and— and he wasn't alone. His Light was there, too, standing next to him, looking just as terrified as Bolt felt. No, Bolt thought, this time his torment would be much greater. Because it wasn't just him suffering. Now it was his Light too. His breaths came rapid and shallow.

That _laugh_. Orochimaru sauntered into the center of the maze, the mob of his nightmares behind him, laughing and smiling. "Didn't I tell you, Bolt?" he hummed softly. "Despair is all the sweeter when it's served with hope?"

His Light trembled with wide, fearful eyes.

Bolt broke.

Something in him snapped into place with a furious roar of anger and spite; a righteous guardian that would not allow his Light to suffer as he did. A missing piece that Bolt hadn't known he was missing but had found anyway in the most unlikely of places.

Bolt broke and shattered into a thousand pieces.

"No," Bolt said.

Orochimaru wasn't laughing. "No?" the snake questioned.

The pressure that had been slowly building inside him since his torments began was building and growing once more. Bolt couldn't contain it any longer. He didn't want to contain it any longer. He stopped fighting, let it burst free, and it was gloriously warm.

In his heart, a fire burned.

Cinders that had new life breathed into them. Embers that roared back to life. It was apocalyptic. The fire grew into an inferno that even the flames of Naraka would balk from.

"No," Bolt repeated, firmer, more powerful. "We are done and we are leaving— now."

Orochimaru paused and then burst into raucous laughter. "No," the snake hissed back. "No, I don't think so. I still have so much to teach you, Bolt..."

Bolt stepped in front of his Light, shielding him, and stood his ground as Orochimaru stalked forward. The fire in his heart _burned_ now. Bolt felt it boiling his blood, searing through muscle, and melting bone. Bolt inhaled sharply as the inferno devoured him from the inside out. It didn't even hurt. When the first tongue of fire burst from his chest, burning through his sternum, Orochimaru froze and didn't dare move an inch.

When Bolt looked down, he knew why: the fire was gold.

He was burning away. He was burning out, like an old candle, his body charring and turning to ash. But Bolt didn't care. His body was far and away the smallest part of him now. Larger was the fire.

Bolt immolated himself willingly. Sacrificed his blood at the altar of flame. Chanted hymns and invited the inferno in. He dug deep, reaching further into the fire, the power, and the fear he saw in Orochimaru's eyes cemented his decision. Bolt delved deeper, far deeper than he ever had in life or death, and realized that there was no bottom, no end to the fire. He was burning with the power for the well he drank from was inexhaustible.

Bolt drank greedily and deeply. Orochimaru took a fearful step back as the golden fire spread and devoured him. It began at his hands and feet and spread to his arms and legs as it slowly consumed him completely and fully. Limbs turned to dust and ash and scattered to the wind. Bolt bathed himself in the fire, submerged himself in it. The broken, shattered pieces that the Lord of Pain had lost were forged into something better, something stronger. He was, at once, both the sculptor and the chisel. Still, Bolt dove deeper. Crawled over his own ashes. He was at the tipping point and there was no going back, one way or the other.

So Bolt tipped the scales.

Suddenly, he _knew_. He _understood_.

His eyes were empty and wide, timeless and ancient, and Bolt howled as they burst into flame. Gilded tongues of fire licked at his eyelids from scorched sockets and Bolt was blind to the world. Yet still his eyes saw more than any mortal gaze ever had. Bolt saw before him the greater order of creation; the duality of order and chaos woven into a single pattern that shaped all things. The nature of the cage had become clear to him. No power could break it and no cunning could escape it.

They were, all of them, puppets, unable to even see their strings.

Bolt came to know the nature of freedom, then. Freedom was not something given, not something earned. It was something taken. The lighthouse could not have granted him his freedom because it did not have the power to do so. The fire was not there, in the lighthouse, illuminating the abyss, but here, in his soul, waiting for him to grasp it.

So, too, did Bolt grasp his strings, and the golden fire eagerly devoured them.

The puppet cut its own strings. Walked on its own two legs.

Orochimaru had retreated. The snake didn't dare approach. Bolt smiled. Good. He would burn the whole world down if he had to. The maze faded and a door appeared before him. Bolt held the stump of an arm aloft, marvelling at it as the golden fire destroyed him. He didn't even have a hand to open the door. Couldn't open it without burning it to ash. He turned to his Light. "Go," Bolt said.

His Light blinked away unshed tears. "No," he said. "No. I won't. Not again. Never again."

Bolt smiled fondly. "I saved you. You saved me. We're even. Well, sort of. I was in control for ten years. Didn't do such a good job after all, huh?" he mused. "It's your turn, now. Do some good. Real good. Not like me. I... tried."

His Light shook his head angrily. "No," he hissed, ever the petulant child. "I am _not_ leaving here without you! I already told you that!"

Then his Light did something Bolt did not expect, though in hindsight, he should have known. They were the same person, after all.

His Light lunged forward and embraced him.

The golden fire happily and hungrily found its next victim. Bolt smiled sadly. He was unable to return the embrace. His arms were gone. Legs, too. All burned to ash. And the fire kept burning. It was just above his navel now. Not much longer and it would join its brethren at his chest and shoulders.

"Together, then," Bolt said, leaning into his better half, trying to comfort him.

"Together," his Light promised with a nod.

The fire gorged itself on them. As light and darkness embraced, Bolt saw Orochimaru and his nightmares draw closer. They watched. Nothing more. Bolt blinked in surprise. Behind them he saw the Hyūga woman. His past life, or one of them, if the woman was to be believed. More and more men and women appeared, people Bolt didn't know the names of but felt as if they were long-forgotten friends. They too were slowly being consumed by gilded fire, smiling happily, and their cinders and his burned as one.

Bolt gasped as the fire ate through his heart and began its climb up his spine. It was time, he knew. His Light shook as he cradled the dwindling cinders of his darker half. The pain was unspeakable. Bolt screamed. He couldn't help it. His Light joined him in their shared agony as the golden fire licked at its plate and finished the last scraps of its meal.

Ash. That was all that was left.

And yet...

Still, he didn't die.

The fire remained.

Bolt screamed, louder than words, not with his body, but with all his heart and soul.

In his final moments, Bolt Uzumaki reflected on his life. The fire had burned away more than just his body. Gone were the lies and masks. Only the truth remained. He had done so many, many horrible, atrocious deeds, and at such great and terrible costs. He shielded himself from the horror of his actions by hiding behind the lesser evils he committed in the name of the greater good. He had become cruel and cold, especially to those that he had claimed to have loved the most.

What had the Uzukage said, all those years ago? Something about him running, and running, and running, but he could never outrun the world? Well, Bolt mused, he had finally been caught. He had ran and ran until he could run no further. The world had caught him.

It was time for him to stop running.

In the bowels of Naraka, a trial was held. Bolt Uzumaki judged himself for his crimes. He found himself guilty of each and every one; no excuses, no platitudes. For his crimes, he sentenced himself to a lifetime of service, of mending, of restoration.

Bolt reached the apex of understanding and stood at its summit in a single moment of glorious, radiant truth. As the fire burned away the last dregs of Bolt Uzumaki, he realized that he had gotten it wrong— well, the monks had gotten it wrong. As he gazed upon his past lives, he realized that he wasn't looking at them. He was looking at himself. He was not the newest amalgamation in a long line of souls. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They had always been him, been leading up to him. He was not even, technically, Bolt Uzumaki. He was— he was...

Memories came unbidden. Some familiar, some foreign; some good, some bad; some warm, some cold.

He played in the garden with Himawari.

He helped his mother cook in the kitchen.

He "trained" with his father on the rooftops.

He watched, confused and hurt, as his father donned the ceremonial robes and hat of the Hokage.

He explored the sprawling city with Sarada. They became friends, bared their hearts, brought together by their shared misery of their absent fathers.

He was angry when his sister cried on nights when their father promised to come home but didn't.

He was drowning in his studies at the academy, hanging out with Shikadai, Inojin, and Mitsuki, desperately trying to forget his quiet, empty home.

Long days spent training in the forests of his homeland with Sarada, Mitsuki, and Konohamaru.

The dreaded Chūnin Exams, his greatest mistake, and his haunting dishonor. Him defacing the symbol of his loyalty to the Leaf in a fit of fury.

Staring up at the Fire Lord's palace and finding his first wanted poster.

Helping refugees from the Land of Frost slay their demon bear and learning the simple joy of helping people.

Meeting Akane, Kohaku, and the rest of his clan. The fierce pride he felt as he began to learn fūinjutsu and help his clan recover some small part of their heritage.

Eiji threatening to cut his hands off in a damp storage room in the Land of Water.

Meeting Hikari and seeing her sea-green eyes for the first time.

Taking his first life, losing his innocence.

Learning the Lightning Armor under Eiji's tutelage and the joy of mastering his element.

The bitter taste of cowardness as he and Hikari left Eiji and the Crimson Tide to their fate.

Finding the old Akatsuki hideout and reading Konan's diary in the Land of Rivers.

Meeting and dueling Tetsu; his electric footsteps among the Land of Rain.

Fighting in the civil war; killing. Finding his dream of peace— the start of his quest.

Helping Tsuchigumo and infiltrating the Wind Temple to steal the Kettle. Bonds of friendship forged in the fires of battle against the monstrosity of the One-Tail.

The first time he saw Hikari's face and felt her lips.

Clashing with Kagami and Kagari explosively near the outskirts of the Land of Earth.

Hibiki, charred and singed, his hair dishevelled, as he pressed his lips to Bolt's own.

Exterminating abominations in the Land of Sound only to be captured by Orochimaru. The feeling of his blood boiling as the snake's chakra mingled with his own.

Sacking the Hidden Cloud and dueling Darui. Watching as his mentor died in front of him.

Facing his father atop the crags, letting go of old angers, seeing his friends in chains. Faking his death, stealing the masks of the dead; growing stronger, growing darker.

Recruiting Katasuke and forming the beginnings of the Revolution with nothing more than a handful of farmers and fishermen.

Rescuing his friends and breaking their bonds. Hunting for the old Akatsuki's rings.

Forming the new Akatsuki. Attacking his home. Unleashing Thunder God Mode. Dueling his sister.

Showing the Hidden Cloud his Wrath. Slaying Darui. Vengeance for Eiji.

Captured by his father and imprisoned beneath the Leaf. Rescued by Sarada. Finding her worthy of being his rival.

Engineering the Stone-Sand war and allying with a woman that had spat on his name at the Chūnin Exams.

Dueling Sentoki and stealing the monk's arm in a furious battle of lightning and gold.

Stepping forth from the shadows and declaring the formation of the United Shinobi Empire.

Defending his life's work.

Dying.

Damnation.

Life.

He lived, he died, he lived again.

His first— and last— second chance.

Himawari.

"I'm s-sorry, Bolt," she sobbed, holding him close. "I'm s-so sorry..."

Bolt smiled up at her. He couldn't speak, didn't know what she was sorry for, but it didn't matter. Himawari was his sister and he loved her. He reached up with the last of his strength and pressed a bloody finger to her forehead before allowing gravity to carry it down.

He forgave her.

He was not _just_ Bolt Uzumaki.

He was...

He was...

For those he loved, he would be Lightning.

For those that followed him, he would be Thunder.

And for his enemies, he would be...

Death.

* * *

 **August 1st, 0025 AIT  
Kusatsu, Land of Steam  
Border of the Land of Fire and Steam  
09:44  
The Second Battle of Kusatsu**

* * *

Shikamaru had seen a lot in his short life. Grown numb and cold to a lot of the horrors that plagued their world. But there were some things that made even his eyes grow wet. Watching as his son tried and failed to comfort Himawari as she brokenly sobbed over the corpse of her brother was something he wouldn't soon forget. Shikadai looked to him for guidance and for once he didn't have any for his son.

The look on Hikari's face wasn't any better. Shikamaru had seen that one a lot during the aftermath of the Fourth War. Widows that had lost their loves. The girl might have been his enemy but he could sympathize with her.

Naruto was broken and empty. He had regained control of Kurama just before the beam was fired— thank the Sage of Six Paths, Shikamaru had been _shitting his pants_ as the Nine-Tails raged across the battlefield. Now, Naruto just stared at the corpse of his son.

Bolt was dead. Now there would be peace. Shikamaru thought he would have felt... not happier, but better? Bolt killed his entire clan. Kidnapped his wife. Tried to kidnap Shikadai. Killed so many people that they couldn't even count the bodies. The world shouldn't mourn Bolt Uzumaki. But, looking around, it did.

Hikari straightened, wiping at her eyes. "I— I can bring him back," she stuttered, tripping over her own words. Her hands glowed crystalline green.

Shikamaru sighed and reached for a cigarette as the girl tried and failed to breathe life back into Bolt. He eyed the abbots, who had surrendered and resigned themselves to the Leaf's custody. Shikamaru should have known. He had a rapport with Sentoki but that didn't mean he trusted the monks. He should have known they were up to no good, demanding they be the ones to "deal" with Bolt. If Shikamaru had seen their move coming, he could have stopped it. Planned around it. Saved Bolt, spared everyone involved the heartache. That was what he was good at. Now... now Shikamaru felt like he had failed, that he was useless.

"W-Why?" Hikari hiccuped. "Why— why c-can't I bring him back? It's— it's supposed to bring him back! My life for his! Why?!"

Shikamaru averted his eyes and gazed at the horizon where the Leaf forces were driving the Empire back to Kusatsu.

"Let— let me help," Himawari said suddenly. "T-Two lives, a little of both, for one. That will work? Right?"

"Hima, no!" Shikadai exclaimed, horrified.

When his son tried to pull Himawari away she punched him. And, bless her, that girl had an arm on her. Shikadai groaned from where he landed several yards away. Shikamaru moved to stand next to Naruto as Hikari tried to bring Bolt back, again, this time with the help of his sister. Their faces were frozen in pain as their chakra left them like the tide.

"Hey," Shikamaru said softly, resting a hand on Naruto's shoulder. He didn't get a response. He didn't expect one. But Shikamaru stood there anyway and offered his silent support.

Shikamaru nearly pissed himself right there when a crack of thunder boomed overhead. His heart was already halfway out his throat before he managed to calm himself. It was just weather. Yeah, Shikamaru reasoned, a thunderstorm in the afternoon. Right after the so-called Thunder God had died. Just weather his ass. Thunder boomed, again, even louder, if such a thing were possible. More people took notice. The monks, especially, Shikamaru noticed, looked like they were about to soil their robes.

When the very atmosphere seemed to suck in and hold its breath, Shikamaru knew something was afoot. The air whispered, a raspy, unnatural sound, and carried words on the wind that made Shikamaru's skin pebble.

" _I... am... Lightning."_

Just then, a bolt of lightning seared across the sky. It danced across the clouds, leaping from one to the next, and it was joined by dozens of its brethren. The monks were panicking. They were bone-white and terrified. "He is Awakening!" they screamed in warning.

" _I... am... Thunder."_

Thunder _clapped_ and it felt like that time his mother had told him the thunder was the sound of Raijin's war drums. The stone beneath their feet trembled and pebbles danced and skittered. The monks were rushing forward and glowing with gilded chakra. Naruto growled and stood before them, halting their advance.

" _I... am..."_

Shikamaru shivered. He felt a hand trail up his spine, cold as ice, and warm breath against his neck.

" _... Death."_

Shikamaru whirled around, seeing no one, and then rounded on the group that stood vigil over Bolt. The corpse was looking a lot more spry than Shikamaru was used to dead people looking like— open eyes, for example. Here and there, a stray arc of golden lightning would dance across unnaturally pale skin.

"B-Bolt?" Naruto managed to choke out. Hikari and Himawari were already tugging the formerly dead man into their shared embrace. Sarada looked shocked but pleasantly surprised and something knowing gleamed in her blood-red eyes.

Shikamaru, however, had bigger concerns. Like the two armies that had suddenly realized their leaders were gearing up for round two. That, and the fucking monks.

"We will stop you, Bolt," Sentoki said, powerful voice carrying over the distance.

"... You will try," Bolt managed to say, hoarse and weak. Shikamaru barely caught it.

There was a squeal and scratch that echoed from his radio. Shikamaru grumbled and held it away from his ear. Damn thing—

" _Attention, all Empire forces!"_ Bolt said, powerful and commanding. Shikamaru's stomach fell into his boots. He was looking right at Bolt. The man wasn't even capable of speaking a whole sentence let alone broadcasting on an open channel to the entire battlefield. _"This is the One Shadow! All forces, retreat to the city of Kusatsu!"_

Shikamaru heard his battlefield commanders let loose cries of victory over the radio and order their men forward. "Retreat!" Shikamaru screamed into the radio. "All forces, retreat! It's a trap!"

He looked to Bolt, saw the small— but strangely sad— smile he wore, saw his hands clasped in a strange sign, and saw the inky black bars that burned across his heart: a seal. The Akatsuki members, Bolt, and, oddly, Himawari, all disappeared in wisps of smoke and that was when Shikamaru knew something terrible was about to happen.

"Hima!" Shikadai let loose a strangled yell.

The ground began to rumble. Not a little tremble like the thunder earlier, or the quake when the Nine-Tails had erased a mountain, but a deep rumble that echoed through stone. "W-What the fuck?" Shikamaru hissed, nearly tripping over his own feet as the rumbling blossomed into a full blown earthquake.

Naruto _blanched_. His skin was as white as snow and he looked like he was going to vomit. "Naruto!" Shikamaru yelled over the sound of cracking stone and distant panicked screams. "What the hell is going on?!"

Naruto stared at the ground dumbly, pointing at it. "The... the..." he gulped.

"The what?!" Shikamaru demanded.

"The... volcano..." Naruto managed to choke. "It— it can't be..."

No.

Shikamaru couldn't— wouldn't— believe it. Bolt might have been a monster but he was a cunning monster. He wouldn't resort to such drastic measures. There were... there had to have been close to a quarter of a million people living in or near Kusatsu between the ninja, the monks, the Empire forces, and the citizens of Kusatsu that hadn't evacuated. The majority of which were his own people. His own soldiers.

The Land of Steam was made famous by its numerous hot springs, owed to its many volcanoes dotting the mountains that separated it from the Land of Fire and the Land of Frost. Kusatsu was unique in that it sat in the valley between two such volcanoes. Shikamaru looked skyward and saw the twin mountains belching fire and smoke.

"My God..." Shikamaru breathed. He really did it. He rigged the volcanoes with explosives.

The last thing Shikamaru saw before one of Naruto's Truth-seeking orbs swallowed him whole was the image of the twin volcanoes exploding.

* * *

 **A/N:**

The key difference between Buddhism and Hinduism is their belief or disbelief in the self. In Buddhism, there is no self, and in Hinduism, there is. The monks follow the beliefs of the former and Bolt has chosen to believe in the latter. There are good concepts in both. I like to think that the path is either or. You can choose based on what you believe.

I was a little nervous about these chapters as the sanctity of death is something I've tried very hard to preserve. I really hate stories that go the Dragonball route with death where it becomes cheap and "easy" to reverse. The only ways I approve of death being avoided are particularly cursed methods. Escaping death shouldn't be a pleasant thing. Orochimaru is the one character whom I've taken a sort of Voldemort-esque path with, where he is almost entirely incapable of dying but his existence isn't something you would wish for yourself. Even the Uzumaki death masks aren't a glamorous existence considering you are trapped in an easily destroyable vessel, unable to ever interact with the physical world again, doomed to an eternity of servitude to a "god."

Some clarifications on the meta of last chapter are below. As part of my "overhaul" to the series, using the mnemonic of shouting the names of techniques before using them has been largely phased out. Thus, many techniques are only named later through character introspection or in my notes.

Re: Lightning Armor: Dying Will Mode — for clarification, it is a one-off technique. It was something I wanted to experiment with for artistic reasons.

Re: The Cursed Seal of Ishvaratva and the Spear of the Thunder God — Bolt used all of the passively generated positive lightning from Ishvaratva to use Lightning Style: Thunderfall, a technique inspired by Zeno Zoldyck's "Dragon Dive" from HxH. Bolt was hesitant to use Spear of the Thunder God for fear of it being overpowered as was seen in his fight with Sarada.

Re: Ninshū, "golden chakra," and the monks' energy beam attack — golden chakra has a name. It will be revealed in time. Golden chakra is not related to natural energy or senjutsu. The monks' energy beam is closely related to golden chakra but comes from a different source. Its official designation is "Smite of the Bodhisattva/Saints." Of all the different golden chakra users and sects, Smite is uniquely a technique of the Brotherhood. Truth-seeking chakra does not null golden chakra because Truth-seeking chakra only counters one type of energy: ninjutsu. If it's not ninjutsu, Truth-seeking chakra is nothing more than a fancy, if powerful, chakra construct. Had Kurama unleashed the beam Tailed Beast bomb, however, they would have pierced the barrier.

Re: Naruto and Kurama — remember, the Tailed Beasts are _not_ human. Their thought process and emotions are not human. The way they experience life is radically different than the way a mortal human mind does. It is only through the union of man and beast that Kurama becomes greater than the sum of his parts. That is why jinchūriki are often more powerful opponents than Tailed Beasts. The human mind tempers the bestial strength. So the way Kurama cares for Naruto, and by extension Bolt and Himawari, is very different. For the most part, Naruto uses Kurama's chakra as he is seen doing in the series. However, he is also capable of "tagging out" and letting Kurama drive, unlocking access to much more powerful and destructive techniques like the beam TBB, at the cost of control and refinement. **Chiefly: Naruto did not sense the monks' deception because the monks are capable of countering empath sensing.** This has been displayed before when Shikamaru and co. infiltrated the Land of Frost.


	105. Chapter 105

**August 2nd, 0025 AIT**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **Eye of the Storm**

 **11:34**

* * *

Himawari certainly hadn't anticipated being suddenly summoned. The pull had snuck up on her, overwhelming in its strength, and familiar with the electric buzz of her brother's chakra. She hadn't even been able to decide if she should fight the call before she was whisked away.

What really pissed her off was that no one would tell her where they were nor was she allowed to freely explore the castle she found herself in. Not that anyone could have stopped her if she chose to press the matter, Himawari thought. The only one who could hold a candle to her here was Tetsu and maybe— and maybe the girl whose sister she murdered.

The moment Himawari had seen the woman's face she had averted her eyes. She couldn't stomach seeing the sheer loathing and hate Kagami held for her. It didn't help that Himawari still hadn't forgiven herself for botching the True Gentle Fist. The technique was rooted in non-violence and pacification. If only she had studied more, been more cautious, then maybe Kagari would still be alive. But in her haste to find Bolt she had pushed forward and taken a life. Himawari didn't know if she would ever forgive herself.

A soft knock echoed at the door of the quarters she had been assigned to. "What?" Himawari called tersely.

The door opened smoothly to reveal the now unarmored towering man that was her brother's loyal... bodyguard? Himawari wasn't exactly sure of the specifics. "My lady," Tetsu bowed. He did have good manners, though, she smirked. "If you would follow me, please."

Himawari shrugged and launched herself off the bed. Anything was better than staring at the redwood ceiling even if it was beautiful. Tetsu led her to the main atrium of the castle where many quite frankly, in Himawari's opinion, creepy puppets had assembled along with several members of the Akatsuki.

"Ah, good, you're here," Hibiki hummed coldly. "Time to go now, little girl." He smiled unpleasantly.

Himawari frowned thunderously at the thin man. She could snap his spine in the blink of an eye and there was nothing he could do to stop her. "I'm not leaving until I see my brother," she stated hotly.

"Well, that's too bad," Hibiki sneered. "Bolt—" Himawari didn't like the _longing_ with which the man said her brother's name. "—is currently indisposed and not accepting visitors."

"I'm his sister," Himawari growled. She was family. There was no way she was letting these lap dogs chase her away.

"My lord would not wish us to be so inconsiderate of his sister, Hibiki," Tetsu intoned. "She stays."

Himawari grinned triumphantly. Hibiki grew red in the face as veins protruded from his brow. "Well, if it's going to be like that, then we need to choose a temporary leader," he hissed angrily.

Himawari blinked. Where was Bolt? He was the leader of the Akatsuki— and the Empire? Or the Empire? Himawari wasn't sure which. If he was indisposed, as Hibiki had said, where was Hikari, his second-in-command? "What do you mean?" she asked.

Hibiki ignored her. "My lord and Lady Hikari have fallen unconscious," Tetsu informed her and Hibiki scowled. Himawari froze. "They have not yet awakened."

"Who the fuck is in charge then?" Kagami growled.

Between the three of them, none of them seemed to have a strong claim, Himawari thought. One of the puppets, thin and gangly, lumbered up and spoke. "In the event of both the incapacitation of both himself and Hikari, Bolt left instruction that command was to fall to Tetsu until such time as his return," it chattered.

"What is my lord's will, puppeteer?" Tetsu asked.

The puppet chattered loudly. "Defend the Empire until he returns. Do not make proactive moves," it said.

Tetsu nodded solemnly. "Lady Himawari is free to stay as long as she wishes so long as she does not attempt to attack or spy upon us," he intoned. "Or until such time as my lord awakens once more."

Hibiki and Kagami looked irritated but nodded nonetheless.

"I want to see my brother," Himawari stated firmly. "And why haven't you called a healer if he didn't recover immediately!"

Hibiki scoffed. "Well, we _were_ going to send you home and then call for the best we have, until someone decided to change the plan," he glared at Tetsu.

The puppets began to chatter as they darted around the room and Himawari cast wary glances at them. "The time is now," the puppet who had spoken earlier said.

Tetsu guided her away from the center of the atrium and back to a nearby wall. The puppets, tall and thin things with bodies that were made of furled scrolls, stood in a circle in the center of the atrium. They glowed white-blue with chakra and Himawari blinked as she seemed to see the air bending and dancing like a mirage in the desert. No, not air, Himawari sensed, but _space._ With a sharp _snap,_ the space rushed in and stilled and in its place a man had appeared out of thin air.

The man looked around in both awe and terror in equal measure. He was young, Himawari thought, and couldn't have been more than a year older than her. Himawari didn't think he looked much like a healer. He was thin and mousy, almost cute, with tanned skin, curly brown hair, and warm brown eyes. In a way, he reminded her of Principal Umino. "Um, h-hello," he gave them a jerky wave.

"Hanatarō Nakano?" Tetsu asked in that gravelly, commanding voice of his.

Hanatarō squeaked. "Y-Yes, sir?" he replied.

"This way," Tetsu bade, waving for the healer to follow him. Himawari turned and followed the swordsman. There was no way she was staying with Hibiki or Kagami. Unfortunately, she didn't have a choice. Himawari heard their footsteps behind her own.

Tetsu led them deeper into the castle. Underground, Himawari thought, trying to remember the path they had taken in case she ever had need to escape. They entered through a redwood door that had had neat, flowing fūinjutsu script burnt into its surface. Himawari expected an infirmary. Instead, she stepped across the threshold and into the strangest workshop she had ever seen. Half was a veritable library, full of scrolls, books, and stacks of loose-leaf parchment. Inkwells and brushes were scattered messily around the room. The other half looked like equal parts botanical garden and terrarium. Pots of planted herbs, flowers, and weeds were neatly ordered and labeled on the shelves. Around them, numerous glass habitats caged all manner of amphibian, reptile, or insect.

"In here," Tetsu instructed Hanatarō, whose head had been on a swivel as he took in the workshop.

Himawari followed Tetsu and the healer into another room where Bolt was lying unconscious on a bed. She sucked in a breath and rushed to his side. "We did not move them for fear of worsening their condition," Tetsu explained to Hanatarō and only then did Himawari realize that Hikari had been laid down next to her brother.

"That was p-probably for the best, sir," Hanatarō said. He sounded more confident but still well out of his element. "May I?" he asked, gesturing for her to move. Himawari reluctantly did so.

She held her breath as the healer's hands glowed a warm green color that reminded Himawari of spring. Unlike the other times she had seen the Mystic Palm, Himawari noted that Hanatarō's chakra was not fiery, but rather calm and cool, like water. He placed his hands over Bolt's forehead, running them from head-to-toe. Hanatarō was quiet in his work for several long, tense minutes.

"Well?!" Kagami demanded impatiently and Himawari jumped a little at the sudden bark.

Hanatarō squeaked, again, eyes wide and startled. "Um, he, uh, has s-suffered several very serious injuries—" Himawari sucked in a breath. "—the m-muscles and tendons in his legs have, strangely, somehow torn themselves from his bones. I've never s-seen a case quite like it. Medically, I'm n-not sure why he hasn't woken up. His pulse and respiratory rate are s-stable but incredibly slow. It's m-more accurate to say he is comatose, not unconscious."

"During his last stand, my lord used a powerful technique that augmented his speed far beyond that a physical body is capable of withstanding," Tetsu explained.

"Ah, y-yes, that would explain the legs," Hanatarō stuttered. "Fortunately, t-those are rather simple to heal. It will take t-time, though. And t-therapy."

"And the bad news?" Hibiki asked cooly.

Hanatarō swallowed nervously. "It a-appears he received emergency treatment almost immediately upon d-d-death," the healer struggled visibly. "There is a-almost no brain damage from oxygen deprivation. That is g-good. From, um, r-reports, it seems as if he was d-dead for no more than a few minutes. S-Still, he has, um, l-lost several years, unfortunately."

"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that, doc," Hibiki glared.

"Um, f-five t-to ten years, p-perhaps?" Hanatarō squeaked.

Kagami growled as the words left his lips. Himawari was just numb. She had almost lost her brother because some fucking chrome domes had a grudge. Now he was telling her that the monks had stolen five to ten years of her brother's life? Himawari was going to _crush_ them.

"... And Hikari?" Tetsu eventually urged, waving the healer on.

Hanatarō scurried over to the pale and serene woman lying next to Bolt. The Mystic Palm glowed brightly in his hands as he repeated the process and Himawari could immediately tell that something was wrong. Hanatarō's tanned complexion blanched and he was noticeably paler with drawn, tense features.

"She h-has multiple m-minor injuries," the healer told them, much more promptly than he had been with Bolt. "However, s-she has severe chakra exhaustion. Almost t-to the point of d-depletion. I c-can't determine why, b-but her Yang chakra h-has lost a great deal of its v-vitality."

Himawari listened dispassionately as Hanatarō delivered his prognosis. Tetsu, Hibiki, and Kagami were solemn and silent.

"She, um, w-well—" Hanatarō seemed to be at a loss for words. He swallowed nervously, fearfully. "—the t-technique she used must have been f-forbidden. It's, um, i-impossible to say for c-certain, but I would say she has lost t-three or f-four decades."

Himawari's eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. She swallowed thickly. Himawari had a newfound respect for the woman. She had saved her brother at the cost of more than half her lifespan.

"Are they stable enough to be moved?" Tetsu asked. Hanatarō nodded. "Tsuchigumo, transfer them to the medbay. Hanatarō, you will be given quarters here and tasked with the care of my lord. Anything you require will be brought to you."

Hanatarō nodded meekly and Himawari watched as a puppet seemingly emerged from the darkness of the bedroom and created chakra threads to safely carry Bolt and Hikari to the medbay. The members of the Akatsuki filed out of the room, seemingly dismissed, and Himawari was left alone with her thoughts.

* * *

 **August 12th, 0025 AIT**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **Eye of the Storm**

 **14:21**

* * *

Bolt woke.

It was not the same.

He woke as a man does, falling into his dreams blind and waking to a world of vision and color. As if he had awakened a sixth sense that had laid long dormant or discovered a muscle he had never used. It was both glorious and terrifying in equal measure.

Bolt had never felt at once so hopefully full and yet so fearfully empty. He was dissonance given physical form. An impossible weight on his mind, a weight that spoke of secrets and wonders that the mortal mind was incapable of comprehending. A beautiful knowledge that he had but only grasp and take for himself.

Bolt blinked away unshed tears and reached for the knowledge. It drifted through his fingers, caressed them like smoke, and Bolt found that no matter how much fervor and zeal he dedicated to its capture, the knowledge he sought perpetually eluded him. Each swipe of the hand left his skull aching and pulsing with agony. Bolt realized he had neither the ability nor the vessel to comprehend the enormity of what he knew now lurked beyond the edges of creation.

It was a weakness that made him sob in his helplessness.

A meek, mousy man loomed above him and some part of Bolt knew that his behavior was unbecoming of the One Shadow. But he was not the same and neither was the world. Everything was so similar and yet so radically changed.

Bolt drifted. He drifted between waking and dreaming, not knowing which was the world and which was the dream, and decided that it mattered little. He dreamed of a world of gold, pure and good and peaceful and happy and eternal and beautiful beyond compare. It was a world of energy and life but also decay and death. In all things, duality; dissonance. Much like himself.

He understood the nature of the golden world just as he understood the nature of the cage— and even as the thought fluttered through his mind it was caught by the breeze and blown away. The knowledge was tantalizing, tortuous in its deprivation. Between waking and dreaming, Bolt understood. He was the bridge, the connection, the conductor— such a wild inverse from his element. Bolt had been the lightning and now he was the vessel through which it flowed.

It was like an hourglass; one bulb brimming with light and the other horribly, terribly devoid of it. Bolt found himself both the sieve and the vessel through which light could travel to darkness. He had only but open himself to the well that sprung eternal and drink deeply from it— or did the well drink from him?

Bolt didn't know. It didn't matter. He knelt before its shores and cupped his hands. He drank. It was the first breath, so pure and full, as if he hadn't truly tasted air before. Cool and soothing it spread through every vein and drop of blood like a balm on a sweltering summer day. Bolt closed his eyes and knelt in awe before the lapping waves and misty spray of the spring of the water of life.

" _... Bolt,"_ a woman spoke, hoarse with grief. _"Please, don't l-leave me. Please. I l-love you."_

Bolt woke.

Clear and conscious, his first thought was that of disgust. He had not gone a full minute walking the Impure Land before he had taken life once more— and what life he had taken, Bolt thought. Thousands dead, he knew, dying in the fires of volcanism. How many more hundreds of thousands would be waiting for him in Naraka when he journeyed there next? The very thought had terror gripping him in its claws. How many more deaths would he have to suffer? How many more waking nightmares would he have to endure? How many more hungry ghosts would want their pound of flesh?

Bolt was, at once, both disgusted with himself, ridden with guilt, and at the same time, unremorseful. He could not stop now, he knew, not after how far he had come, how many lives he had already taken, how close he was to ensuring that there would never be another era defined by such loss of life.

Because it _had_ to be him. Someone else might have gotten it wrong. And how many people could have— _would have—_ continued on, knowing what awaited them in the next life for their sins? No one. No one but him. Bolt knew he would break, knew he would suffer, and he was going to do it anyway.

Anyone else would have balked from their task; their destiny.

Watery blue eyes welled with emotion, twins of his own, peering down at him. "Hima?" Bolt croaked. Strong arms wrapped themselves around his neck softly and pulled him into a warm embrace. Bolt melted into it. In all things, dissonance. But it was not a bad dissonance. No longer did Bolt deny himself the love he felt for his family.

The dream ended and Bolt woke truly and fully. And, like a dream, his time in the golden world left him, a wispy memory that he was unable to hold onto for overly long. Yet it was not a sad parting. It was the parting of lifelong friends, knowing they were destined to meet again. "Hima," Bolt said, more strength.

"You're awake!" his sister cried, all smiles, squeezing him both gently and tightly.

"... What happened?" Bolt asked, confused. He felt as if he had been pressed into a sheet of parchment, crushed and drawn thin. Then... the pain came. His legs burned as if aflame and ached as if shattered. An agony unique to any he had experienced before. Bolt cried out before he could bite his tongue.

"Are you okay?!" Himawari asked, panicked and afraid. "Hanatarō!" she bellowed.

A timid man came to stand over him. Bolt recognized him from somewhere between his waking and his dreaming— Hanatarō, his sister had said. "Um, h-hello, my l-lord," he bowed low, curly brown hair falling over his eyes. "It is an h-honor to meet you. I am y-your attending physician. Are you in p-pain?"

Pain. The word evoked such imagery. Red clouds and black fields and nightmares and darkness. Yes, Bolt wanted to say. He was the Lord of Pain and it was his kingdom. The words didn't leave his lips and faded from his mind as quickly as he had thought of them and left Bolt confused and bereft of his tongue.

Hanatarō fretted and loomed, wringing his hands nervously. "My legs," Bolt hissed, realizing the healer awaited an answer.

Globules of soft, cool crystalline green energy bubbled above him as Hanatarō weaved his hands over him. It was beautiful, in a way, Bolt thought, and he breathed easier as the pain eased and passed. He attempted to stand and regretted it immediately. Himawari hissed and pressed him back into the warm embrace of the bed and Hanatarō yelped in alarm. "You m-musn't move, my lord!" the healer instructed, firmly and fearfully in equal measure. "Your legs are badly damaged. It will take time for them to recover."

Bolt managed to raise his head to gaze upon the casts that ensconced his ravaged limbs. "How?" he demanded.

"H-How, my lord?" Hanatarō questioned frightfully.

"How was I injured?" Bolt seethed.

The healer squeaked. "You, um, uh, w-were dueling the abbots of the Five Temples, my l-lord," Hanatarō explained. Bolt trawled his memories and found that, yes, he did recall a battle. A great battle. One that he had not expected to survive. But he did not remember damaging his legs so. "A-According to the s-stories, before you f-f-fell, you used a g-great power to strike down Meishū of the Lightning Temple. Your legs were d-damaged from the strain."

Cold fear settled in his gut. His legs were his life. He was the avatar of speed given mortal form. If he had no legs, if he was robbed of his speed... it was as if a bird had been clipped of its wings. A cruel fate. "Can you fix them?" Bolt asked.

"O-Oh, yes, o-of course, my lord!" Hanatarō exclaimed happily, seemingly remembering his bedside manner. "The injury is a severe one but not one that cannot be healed. It will simply take time."

Himawari grasped his hands and laced her fingers through his. She gave him a reassuring squeeze and a warm smile. All of a sudden, Bolt realized where he was. The medical bay in the Eye of the Storm. With... his sister, who should not be there. "Why... how are you here?" Bolt demanded, freeing the healer of his gaze. Hanatarō scurried away.

Himawari smiled down at him. "Well, according to Tsuchigumo, the technique Hikari used to bring you back—" _Back_ , Bolt thought, no. He had returned. Lost in the fire, found in the ashes, born again and forged anew. "—mingled her chakra with yours. I helped her. Apparently there was enough of my chakra in you that when you were summoned back... here, wherever we are, it brought me too."

"Hikari? What happened to Hikari?" Bolt demanded.

His eyes found her, pale and serene in sleep, lying in a hospital bed some yards from him. Himawari moved and put herself between them. "Bolt," she pressed firmly, calmly. "Hikari, um, she used a very powerful technique to bring you back to us. She's drained but alive and stable."

Bolt narrowed his eyes as he looked up at his sister. He sucked in a breath and held it. The unspoken words fluttered through his mind like a butterfly in a tempest. Kishō Tensei— her life for his.

Bolt sat up.

"N-No, Bolt, please," Himawari begged, hands braced against his shoulders and holding him down. "She— she will be fine. I promise. Hanatarō said so. He's young for a healer but he's good at what he does."

None of that mattered. Bolt had _ordered_ Hikari not to learn the kinjutsu. Ordered her never to use it. They had a plan and Hikari had disobeyed him and put her own life in jeopardy. Worst of all, for no reason. Kishō Tensei had not brought him back.

"Hikari wouldn't want you to hurt yourself for no reason, Bolt," Himawari said hotly as he struggled against her.

Bolt stilled, falling back to his pillows, and held his breath. Duality, dissonance. His panic was both real and transient at the same time. The words, softly spoken and whispered in the furthest reaches of his mind— the cage— there and then gone again. It didn't matter. It mattered. It didn't matter. It _mattered,_ Bolt decided firmly.

"I'm sorry," Himawari said quietly. "Um," she paused, lips pursed and cheeks pink. "A-Are the two of you, you know..." she gestured a hand between him and Hikari.

Oh.

A new foe. One Bolt hadn't prepared for nor foreseen. Meeting the... family. "Yes," Bolt answered mechanically.

"Oh," his sister said simply. _Oh._ Himawari looked over her shoulder thoughtfully. She paused. "There were, well, rumors, you know?" she half-said, half-asked. "Never confirmed, though. Just little side notes in your file."

"O-Oh?" Bolt choked. Mercy, he prayed. Kill him now. He was not prepared to have this conversation with his sister— he was not prepared to have this conversation at all.

Himawari nodded. "Mom and Dad know," she said as if it were the most simple thing. Bolt slapped a hand to his face and groaned. Himawari smiled. "Just imagine!" she gushed. "Different world, different you. You'd have to bring her home to meet them!"

"I think I would rather die," Bolt stated firmly.

Himawari laughed and there was a weightless joy in her eyes that he hadn't seen in a long time. "So, what's my new sister-in-law like?" she teased.

Bolt froze and in that glorious instant his cunning was golden in its ferocity. He groaned and winced, shifting as if in pain. "I'm—" he croaked and closed his eyes. He wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared to even begin answering that question.

"Bolt?" Himawari asked, softly and alarmed. "Hanatarō!" she called.

He could feel the healer's soothing chakra flow through him like a babbling stream. Bolt smiled and drifted away. It was easy to fall asleep. He wasn't lying about being tired.

In his dreams there was no meddling sister and no awkward conversations.

* * *

 **August 20th, 0025 AIT**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **Eye of the Storm**

 **09:31**

* * *

Hanatarō and her struck up a friendship born of two lost souls adrift a sea of danger. Himawari decided she liked him. He was young, and timid, but he was a dedicated healer, skilled and kind. He worked tirelessly and without thanks from the rest of the Akatsuki. Himawari made sure she thanked Hanatarō profusely after every time he looked over her brother.

Tetsu was gone more often than not. Himawari tended to scurry through the halls of the castle quickly when she knew he was gone. She didn't like running into Hibiki— or, worse, Kagami— when the swordsman was away. Himawari had reluctantly accepted the puppets' nigh omnipresence in the castle. They were craftsmen and servants both. By extension, she had spoken more than once with the elusive and mysterious puppeteer who controlled them. Himawari knew his name— Tsuchigumo— from his bingo book entry, but not his face, and it seemed the puppeteer was content to hide behind his creations for the duration of her stay.

Bolt was still bound to his bed. Between Hanatarō, herself, and the puppets, they managed to keep him there. He woke for several hours each day before slipping into his dreams to rest. Himawari treasured the small conversations they had as she watched over him. It felt like... for the first time, in a long time, she was talking with her brother and not the angry man he had become.

Hikari, however... her future sister-in-law, maybe, one day, had not woken. It was an effort to keep Bolt focused on his recovery and not seeing to her during the few hours he was conscious each day. In a way, it warmed her heart. Bolt could seem so cold and cruel sometimes that Himawari forgot he was capable of goodness and love.

She smiled as she snuck around a corner and stepped into the medical wing of the castle. Really, Himawari was both awed and curious at how her brother had managed to build such a large fortress without the world knowing. The castle, whose name she had been told was the "Eye of the Storm"— how very fitting and prideful of Bolt— was as magnificent as it was large. There were multiple wings and levels, each dedicated to a certain purpose, with hundreds of rooms to house guests if the need arose. If someone had told her she was staying in the castle of the Fire Lord himself, Himawari would have believed them.

Himawari found herself in the medbay and met a peculiar sight. Hanatarō had Bolt in wheelchair, looking extremely uncomfortable, and was angling to release her brother upon the world. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Ah, u-um, the One Shadow has insisted on an a-alternative healing method," Hanatarō squeaked.

Himawari frowned down at her brother and he stared back at her unwaveringly. She sighed. "Fine," she said, and moved to stand behind Bolt to push him. "I'll make sure you don't do anything stupid."

The look Hanatarō gave her was one that a drowning man gave a lifeboat. _Thank you,_ he mouthed. Himawari nodded. "So, where are we going, dear brother of mine?" she asked.

Bolt held an arm up to point but froze and said nothing. "On second thought, I'll have one of the puppets take me down," he said, lowering the arm.

"Not a chance," Himawari denied, pushing Bolt forward.

"You are not allowed in the lower sections of the castle, Himawari," Bolt said firmly.

She sighed. Bolt hadn't yet resumed his duties as the One Shadow, having Tetsu act as his proxy, but he had been quick to issue commands. He allowed her to stay only because it would be more trouble to remove her by force than it would be to allow her to stay until he had recovered. Himawari had been prepared to fight tooth and nail. One such command: she was not allowed near the lower levels. "Come on, Bolt," she whined. "What could possibly be down there that I can't be allowed to see?"

Bolt got real quiet and Himawari realized what she had asked. She had forgotten for a moment that Bolt wasn't just her brother. He was the One Shadow, leader of the United Shinobi Empire, ruler of half the world, and he waged war on the other half he didn't control. Himawari answered her own question: what was in the lower levels were military or state secrets that Bolt intended to use against them.

A puppet emerges from the shadows and wordlessly mushes to shepherd her brother. Himawari rolled her eyes and shouldered the gangly thing out of her way. "I won't spy on you, Bolt. Promise," she swore.

Bolt looked up at her with steel in his eyes.

"I just want you to be safe," Himawari said. "I wouldn't lie to you," she added, meeting her brother's gaze.

There was something new that stared back at her as Bolt met her eyes. It was an unspeakably cold thing, a frigid ice, and yet being under its gaze _burned_ like fire. It made Himawari freeze and she felt as if she were standing at the front of her class giving a speech and being judged by her peers. His eyes, like theirs, cut through her, broke any mask she might have worn, as if he could see the very truth of her being behind her eyes.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and Bolt nodded. "Fine," he agreed.

Himawari breathed a sigh of relief and followed her brother's directions. She was led through a winding corridor deeper into the bowels of the castle. The deeper she went, the more guarded and fortified the Eye was; security cameras, posted puppet guards, fūinjutsu barriers and locks. Far beneath the ground, Himawari wheeled Bolt into a spacious laboratory with thick cords and wires and towering discs of sparking electricity. They all fed into a single hexagonal container near the center of the room. Behind her, Hanatarō nervously fretted.

Bolt waved his hand and the container opened with a hiss. Himawari peered inside curiously and saw nothing but stark white walls, odd steel diodes, and an ostentatious throne. Guessing its purpose, Himawari moved to help Bolt enter the chamber. Bolt shrugged her off, thrusting his hands forward and sending tendrils of chakra from his fingertips that let him hoist himself through the gap and onto the throne without aid. Himawari quirked her head and wondered when her brother had learned puppetry.

"You may wait here or return to your room," Bolt said. "I won't be more than an hour or two."

Himawari nodded and the chamber slammed shut like the maw of a great beast. Hanatarō nervously settled against a wall and was content to wait. She smiled at the healer and decided to head back upstairs.

Of course, it wasn't so simple. Himawari had meant it when she said she wouldn't spy. She didn't want to get kicked out before she knew Bolt was okay. She treasured the small amount of time they had before the world would call them back to their duties on the opposite sides of the battlefield. It was just... the Eye was much larger than she realized. It was a maze of passageways and corridors and branching rooms.

She got lost.

Himawari was looking for one of the puppet guards she had seen earlier when she stumbled— quite literally— into another lab. It was a strange place, so very different from any other room she had seen so far. Vats of bubbling, sickly green liquid in which hunks of white meat bobbed. Himawari grimaced as she peered through the glass at them. She looked upon the rows of microscopes and machines she didn't know the name or purpose of. At the fore of the room rested a glass container that held a dessicated, bone-thin white arm that looked to be in the process of decomposing. Himawari gagged. Next to it was a strange machine. A long cylinder of glass sat between two steel boxes that displayed all manner of data on bright screens. Inside the cylinder was an odd liquid. It was gray with flecks of silver, almost like the lead of a pencil, Himawari thought, and although the container held still, the liquid appeared to slowly move back and forth within its prison.

"What are you doing in here?!" a man boomed behind her.

Himawari whirled around and came face-to-face with a man she didn't think she would ever see again. "Katasuke," she said, holding back a sneer. The old scientist had been an enabler of her brother's bad behavior when they were children. She had never liked him.

Katasuke frowned thunderously at her. "You are not allowed in the lower levels!" he exclaimed imperiously, shooing her away from whatever demented experiment he was performing. "When I tell the young master about this..."

Himawari sneered at Katasuke. "You do that," she dared him. "He's my brother. What do you think he'll really do?"

She stormed out of the lab and found a familiar looking wall of fūinjutsu that led her back to the castle.

Himawari never stopped to look back at the scientist who wore a wolfish grin as she left.

* * *

 **August 20th, 0025 AIT**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **Eye of the Storm**

 **09:53**

* * *

Bolt breathed a sigh of relief as he bathed in lightning. The tense and aching muscles that had plagued him for the past several days were mercifully numb and pleasantly tingled. Incorporating the charge into his body had required minimal effort the last time. Now, it was as easy as breathing. Effortless. His mind was free to wander and the technique continued without his concentration or forethought. Hopefully, Bolt prayed, it would help speed the recovery of his legs. He was damn tired of not being able to move under his own power. It was infuriating.

As he sat within his— well, Bolt didn't really have a name for it; healing chamber, he supposed— he replayed his memory of the last time he had sat there. It was like he had two memories. One where he was alone, recovering from his wounds, and another where a gilded shadow of one of the abbots preyed upon him. The man was old, far into the last years of his life, with a well-kept beard that went to his navel. He was one of the two monks who had created the golden barrier, Bolt recalled.

The realization that he had been blind to his enemies spying upon him was a deeply disconcerting feeling. Had Bolt not taken the third door, he would have never known. It made sense, then, that his first order of business was to develop a counter to the monks' technique.

Bolt breathed deep, enjoying the sickly sweet scent of the air, and focused. The veil had been parted, he knew. He could feel it. A strange, otherworldly sense of things and yet, for all its foreignness, Bolt felt comfortable in its possession. Much like a mirror, he decided, there were two worlds. The physical world, his world, and the _other_ world, the world of the spirits— the "Pure Land," he supposed. They were equal and yet opposite, Bolt knew: one the media, the other the reflection. Which was the reflection, he wondered. Was the physical world the reflection of the spirit world, or was the spirit world the reflection of the physical world?

Bolt didn't know. It was impossible to say. Perhaps the very question itself had no answer. As the light could not exist without the darkness, so too could the darkness not exist without the light. It had to be both, Bolt decided, or none. And of the two of them, both was far preferable. Bolt sank deep into a meditative trance, breathing deep and slow, letting his mind slip free the chains of his body.

He sucked in a breath as he felt the eternal well of power that loomed before him. Bolt was the sieve through which that power flowed and the vessel in which it dwelled. He had but to reach out, to cup his hands, and take it.

It was a paltry amount of energy but it would serve. The gilded energy mixed with his own chakra, blending until one could not be discerned from the other. It was, Bolt thought sardonically, much akin to senjutsu. The spiritual energy was analogous to the physical world's natural energy in its purpose. But, unlike senjutsu, which Bolt had tried and failed to master, this new power— this... _reijutsu_ — came to him much more easily.

Bolt laughed at the irony.

Thus he began a most impossible task: sorting through the enormity of his proscribed knowledge and memories. Bolt _knew_ he knew how to prevent the monks spying on him. He just had to _remember_ how. The enormity of the truth, the sheer vastness of his knowledge, was simply too much to understand. It would take him... years, decades, even, to even begin to catalogue everything. No, Bolt thought bitterly, it would take him a lifetime— _more_ than a lifetime. No mortal mind could compile the knowledge in the time it had been alloted.

Bolt could see it in his mind's eye. A library that shamed all others. Vaulted, arched ceilings reached skyward for eternity. So high were they that Bolt could not see the roof, only a warm golden glow. As the ceiling, so too did the room stretch into the endless golden light. Row upon row, column upon column, endless shelves of books. So many, many books. Each without a cover, without a title, the edges of their pages gilded and beautiful in the light of the torches that lined the walls. The books were truly infinite. They lined the shelves, overflowing, scattered across floors and desks, stacked in lumbering towers.

Bolt could have spent a thousand years in the library, reading every book, memorizing every word on every page, and he still would have known but a drop of water in the ocean.

The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that he already knew everything contained within the pages. All Bolt had to do was remember where he had shelved the correct book.

As he perused, Bolt ruminated on how wildly his life had changed in but the span of a single day. On how much the world was changing. On how much he would have to change still in order for his vision to become reality. Bolt had gotten it wrong, he realized— well, not _wrong_ , he amended, but simply... _inefficient._ He had set out to gather the world under his banner, by peace or by force, and unite them in an eternal Will of Fire. It could work, Bolt agreed. It was the best solution anyone had come up with in their entire history.

But, Bolt realized, there was a flaw. It would be a peace built upon a lie. And, like all lies, the truth would eventually emerge. When it did, his empire would crumble. Bolt had been _pushing_ the world towards peace and people, he had found, loathed to be pushed. They fought and they resisted. No, what he needed to do was _pull_. Bolt would rule from the shadows, an unseen power silently guiding the world to its proper place. His people were neither safe nor capable of living without some form of guidance— _his_ guidance. So Bolt would be there, making checks and balances, a silent watcher, a whispered idea, a cloaked dagger. They would join hands in unity willingly and be none the wiser of his manipulations.

Bolt would become Fate, he swore, and he would be a far kinder Fate than the world had known before.

Bolt blinked as he came to and found himself holding a book. Like the others, it had no cover, no title, and with every blank page turned, Bolt remembered more and more. Yes, he thought, it would do.

Bolt opened his eyes. Newfound knowledge in hand, he began the process of mastering the technique. Difficult though it was with the teaspoon of energy he had available to him, Bolt would persevere, and in the end, as in all things, he would be victorious.

* * *

 **September 12th, 0025 AIT**

 **Hidden Leaf**

 **The Land of Fire**

 **12:29**

* * *

Black was the mood that Konohamaru found himself in as he, Naruto, and Shikamaru loomed over the map of the world set before them. War, he had found, was a cruel master. It consumed every waking thought from the moment he rose to the moment he slept. Even in his dreams, Konohamaru could not escape the weight of the horror and terror that had been unleashed on their world. By his own student no less.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

Neither of his companions had an answer for him.

Shikamaru, ever the cunning strategist, traced a finger across the map. "Our losses at Kusatsu were substantial," he said, low and solemn. Of the thousands Konohamaru had sent, less than two hundred had returned. They owed their safety to Naruto, not him. "But so was the Empire's. The region is still reeling from the eruption and much of the Empire's resources are being spent to rebuild or relocate."

Shikamaru placed a black knight atop the Land of Steam. "Our spies have seen Tetsu Uzumaki overseeing the Empire's forces and issuing orders," he continued. A black king was placed on its side next to him. "Bolt is still missing in action."

A black rook was placed on the border of the Land of Rain and the Land of Rivers. A white bishop approached it from the west. "Kankurō and Shinki are pressuring the Amekage and the Tanikage. Their forces are in a deadlock."

A white rook was placed at the peninsula at the southernmost point of the Land of Fire. "Mei and Kagura have invaded the Land of Water but..."

A black queen was placed before the white Knight, barring its passage. "The Uzukage is making them bleed for every inch of ground they take," Shikamaru said.

A white king, a white queen, a white knight, and a handful of white pawns were seated atop the Land of Fire. The pieces were, quite suddenly, the most interesting thing either Konohamaru or Naruto had ever seen. No one said a word as they gazed upon their remaining forces.

"We need more pieces," Konohamaru said.

Shikamaru bobbed his head, idly spinning a black pawn between his thumb and forefinger.

"We lost nearly thirty-five thousand men and women at Kusatsu," Konohamaru said. "Three-quarters of our jōnin corps."

"The Empire lost four times that number at least," Shikamaru reminded him.

"They also have eight hundred thousand more," Konohamaru was quick to counter. "We need more pieces." He took a steadying breath. "Sound the call. I want every abled-bodied ninja that we have in the reserves to be returned to active duty. Begin their reconditioning at once. Those too old or infirm to fight will be placed in charge of new genin teams. Effective immediately, the academy is to suspend all classes not related to combat. The standard four year curriculum is to be compressed into nine months. Recruitment is to be increased and incentivized. All current students are hereby given the rank of genin. Squad leaders will be selected from the pool of remaining jōnin."

Naruto had a hard, steely look in his eyes and he refused to look Konohamaru in the eyes. Konohamaru smiled sadly. It hurt that the man he considered a brother in all but blood thought so little of him. But desperate times beget desperate measures. If the Leaf was to survive Bolt and face the Ōtsutsuki, it would need to return to the times of old. If that meant training their children to kill once more, so be it. That was the hard choice that he was willing to make. That was why Naruto made him the Eighth Hokage.

"I could go it alone," Naruto suggested softly, staring intently at the Land of Steam.

"You could," Shikamaru said, nodding, having been silent during Konohamaru's proclamations. "But what would that accomplish? We have no army with which to hold the territory you would win. The people would see us as usurpers and conquerors either way. They would resist. They would fight, however foolish and futile it is. Even you, for all your power, Naruto, cannot single-handedly conquer and occupy the Empire. It wouldn't work."

Naruto exhaled harshly.

"... I'm sorry, Naruto," Konohamaru said.

"So, what? We just let the Empire rebuild and grow stronger?" Naruto asked bitterly.

Shikamaru shrugged helplessly. "There's not much we can do," he said. "We don't have the men. Maybe if Bolt had died their morale _might_ have broken—" Naruto glared harshly at him. "—but he didn't."

"Speaking of the abbots..." Konohamaru prodded gently. The three wizened monks sat in the chakra-suppression cell that had once housed Bolt himself not five floors beneath their very feet. "What do you want to do with them, Naruto?"

Naruto grit his teeth and clenched his fists.

"... We could use them," Shikamaru suggested carefully.

"They're liars," Naruto hissed angrily. "How can we trust them when they go against our orders?"

"The Five Temples have tens of thousands of initiates," Shikamaru countered. "They owe us. We need the men. Part of their penance can be providing us with the manpower we need— the manpower we _will_ need when the Ōtsutsuki get here."

Naruto growled but relented. "That still doesn't justify the draft," he groused.

"We _need_ more men, Naruto," Konohamaru emphasized. "I don't want kids fighting our war anymore than you do. But no one could have foreseen—" he didn't have the words for what Bolt had done at Kusatsu. "—no one could have foreseen... what happened at Kusatsu. We lost too many. Forget the Empire, if we're going to defeat the Ōtsutsuki in a few years' time, we need more men. This is the only option we have."

Naruto silently fumed.

"Speaking of the Ōtsutsuki..." Shikamaru drawled. "Have you sensed anything from Sasuke, Naruto?"

"Not a word," Naruto answered. "Not in years," he frowned.

Konohamaru shared a nervous look with Shikamaru. "Don't worry, Naruto," Shikamaru huffed. "Sasuke is the craziest and strongest bastard I've ever met. The Ōtsutsuki aren't going to be the ones that kill him."

An awkward, tense silence filled the room. The looming threat of the Ōtsutsuki compounded the threat the Empire posed. None of them had an answer to either of the wars they faced. "Let's see if we can talk some sense into Sentoki," Konohamaru suggested.

Naruto and Shikamaru nodded and Konohamaru led them down into the depths of the prison below their feet.

* * *

 **September 12th, 0025 AIT**

 **Castle of the One Shadow**

 **Eye of the Storm**

 **01:15**

* * *

Himawari knew her time together with Bolt was running short. His strength improved daily with sessions with Hanatarō, his healing chamber, and therapy. Soon he would be strong enough to impose his will on her once more and she would be forced to leave.

Himawari didn't want to.

She had found that spark in her brother. Bolt was capable of redemption, of goodness, of kindness, of love. Himawari truly believed he could change if given the chance, the opportunity. He laughed more, doted on her, and she had seen him smile more in the past few weeks than she could recall in all the years he had since leaving the Leaf.

If Himawari left now, she felt that all that goodness she had seen in Bolt would fade. It would be a sin to let it die when she could keep it alive.

Himawari wrinkled her nose as her hair blew in the breeze and tickled her face. There was something very... odd, she supposed, about the Eye of the Storm. In every manner it resembled some picturesque world. Almost like a painting, Himawari thought. But yet it _wasn't._ She could walk and walk and walk and suddenly find herself back where she had started. There was air, true, but it wasn't _free_ , and she could almost count the minutes between the gusts to the second. The hills were rolling but too perfectly sculpted to have been made by nature's hand. And Himawari wasn't _blind_ , she could see the faint white glow of the chains circling overhead in the "sky."

No one had said anything and Himawari hadn't asked but she knew the Eye was unnatural. An uncanny resemblance to the physical world it may be, but natural it was not.

Above all, it was the natural energy that was wrong. No, _wrong_ wasn't the right word, just... different. The natural energy was timid and flat, almost lifeless, even docile. It was a far cry from the rampant life and fire of the world's natural energy.

Bolt stirred next to her. He had fallen asleep after she had dragged him outside to one of the small woods that surrounded the castle. He couldn't quite managed to walk on his own yet but he was getting there. Another week or two and she wouldn't have an excuse to stay.

"Sorry," Bolt mumbled, blinking awake.

"It's alright," Himawari smiled.

They enjoyed the quiet, broken only by the breeze and the swaying grass. "How's Shikadai?" Bolt asked suddenly.

Himawari's cheeks' colored. "He's good. You know, except for the fact that you almost killed his two best friends, kidnapped his mother, and—" _and murdered his entire clan_ went unsaid. Himawari blanched and bit her tongue at her dry wit.

Bolt shrugged. "You don't have to hold your tongue around me, Himawari," he said. "How's grandpa?"

A better, more neutral topic. Himawari breathed a sigh of relief. "He's still kicking," she smirked. "He made me heir."

Bolt looked up at her with wide eyes. "Oh? He did?" he asked, almost disbelieving.

Himawari frowned at her brother. "What? Don't think I can do it?" she demanded hotly.

Bolt held up his hands in surrender. "No, no," he backtracked. "I just... I didn't think you would want to be the clan leader. You were never really into the whole political thing and I know you wouldn't enjoy being a wife and the whole raising the next generation thing and..."

"And how would you know what I want, Bolt?" Himawari demanded sharply. "You haven't been a part of my life in ten years! You don't even know me!"

Bolt sucked in a breath and held it. There was fire in his eyes, a terrible fire, but it withered and died before it could rampage. Her brother always was better at taming their infamous family temper. "You're right," he said. "I don't know you. Not as well as I should. Not as well as I want to. But I want you to be happy, Himawari."

Any anger she had been holding onto was doused and Himawari suddenly found it very hard to swallow.

"But I do know _some_ of you, sister," Bolt smiled. "And I know we're cut from the same cloth, you and I. We are warriors. Battle is in our blood. Neither of us would be content to sit on the sidelines. Being the clan leader— the clan wife— you... you wouldn't be happy, I think."

Himawari hugged Bolt tightly and his breath left him in a great exhale. She blinked away unshed tears as her brother rubbed comforting circles against her back. Bolt was, if nothing else, her first and greatest friend, her brother, and even if they had been estranged for an entire decade, he still saw through her and knew her better than anyone else.

Despite being surrounded by friends and allies, Himawari had always felt the bitter pang of loneliness. No one really understood her. Not like Bolt did. Sarada wanted to be the Hokage. Shikadai had been training to be the next head of the Nara clan since he could talk. Her mother and aunt were the picture of duty to their clan. Her father— when he was even in her life— was the Hokage first, parent second. The toad clan were peaceful and shunned the values and trappings of the "lowly" humans.

No one understood her like Bolt. No one felt the same fire in her blood except for him. No one felt the same wanderlust, the same restlessness, the way she and Bolt did. No one else felt the same lust for battle. No one save for her brother.

Their time together was cut short by the rival of Kagami. For once, the elder Akiyama sister didn't hold any anger for her. Which was surprising— and alarming— because they had nearly come to blows twice. In fact, Kagami appeared almost frightened. She was pale and shaky as she approached Bolt.

"We've... we've got a problem, Sparky," Kagami managed to choke out.

Beside her, Bolt tensed. "What happened?" he demanded.

"... He's back," Kagami said.

" _Who?_ " Bolt pressed.

"Sasuke Uchiha."

* * *

 **September 12th, 0025 AIT**

 **Hidden Leaf**

 **The Land of Fire**

 **12:50**

* * *

Sasuke breathed the fresh air once more. None of the planets or dimensions he had ever set foot on had air as clean as Earth. Theirs was always so thin it left him out of breath or so dirty he had had to use a Wind Style technique to clean it before it was breathable. No, he decided, eyes closed, savoring the moment, nothing compared to home.

He had led the Ōtsutsuki on a mad dash around space and time, taking old paths that hadn't been walked in eons, sending clones to other planets, killing scouts and spies before they could report back to their commanders. Sasuke had grown exceedingly good at using his Rinnegan over the years.

Sasuke opened his eyes. He was empty with exhaustion but he had power enough for one last jump. Space bent under the might of his will and he pictured in his mind's eye his home. He stepped forward, through swirling darkness, and found himself amongst the hustle and bustle of the Leaf. Sasuke marvelled at how much the city had changed. It had evolved radically even since the last time he had visited.

Sasuke smiled and politely knocked on the door. He could have just waltzed in, but...

He was rewarded as Sakura opened the door, pink hair clinging to her forehead. Her jade eyes were glazed and tired and Sasuke frowned. Her fatigue lasted only long enough for her to realize who was standing in front of her before Sakura beamed at him and leapt into his arms. Sasuke smiled and grunted as his wife squeezed him with her not inconsiderable strength.

"I missed you," Sakura smiled against his neck.

"I know," Sasuke grinned.

Sakura kissed him breathless and Sasuke had to push her inside to avoid some of the stares they were getting by passersbys. Sakura just pouted up at him with pursed lips and Sasuke smiled.

"Is... is Sarada..." Sasuke asked, looking at the stairs where he could sense his daughter's chakra on the second floor.

Sakura sighed heavily. "You better come see her," she said wearily. "There are some things you need to know. A lot has changed since you were home last."

Sasuke's frown grew more and more thunderous the more his wife explained what had happened during the years of his absence. Bolt had been walking a dangerous path even when Sasuke had last been on Earth. But he was the last person to judge another's path in life. He had done plenty of things he regretted.

Bolt had outdone Sasuke ten times over.

Worse, he had gotten lost. Sasuke had warned him what would happen if he walked Indra's path and strayed from it. It seemed Naruto had been unable to overcome his sentimentality— not that Sasuke had expected him to; he loved that part of Naruto— but, bereft of Naruto, there had been few others who could hope to curb Bolt.

In a way, some small part of Sasuke was proud. He hadn't had much time to train Bolt but Sasuke had found he quite liked being a teacher. And it was the greatest pleasure of any teacher to see their student succeed. Sasuke thought that there weren't many teachers whose student went on to become the conqueror of half the known world, though.

Still, he would deal with Bolt. One way or another. Sasuke had not missed the cancerous tumor that stemmed from the Earth and stank of the chakra of the Tailed Beasts tempered by the electric fury of his wayward student. Neither would the Ōtsutsuki.

Slowly, Sasuke ascended the stairs and found his way to his daughter's childhood room. It was much the same as it had been when he had seen it last.

Sarada, however, was not.

She was older, more beautiful, and for a moment, Sasuke saw his mother and whatever he had been about to say was forgotten as he choked on his tongue. She had inherited the Uchiha pallor and dark hair which she wore long and loose. It fell to the small of her back, held in place by a neat braid that was, strangely, in the style of the Hyūga clan. It reminded Sasuke of Neji. Her face, though, was what made his heart ache.

His daughter she may be, but Sasuke could see Itachi in her. It was in the sternness of her eyes and the sharp line of her jaw, to say nothing of the pronounced tear-troughs his line was renowned for.

"Sarada?" Sasuke spoke softly.

Sarada's head snapped up. "D-Dad?" she asked, disbelievingly.

Then, Sasuke realized something.

She was blind.

Her dark eyes darted back and forth, desperately trying to catch the light, and always failing to do so. A white cane sat next to the end table by her bed and Sasuke swore under his breath as he swept into the room and scooped his daughter into his arms. Sarada sobbed, squeezing him tighty, and her tears stained his cloak. Sasuke didn't care.

He hadn't meant to be gone for so long. He hadn't expected the Mangekyō's curse would have advanced so far and so quickly. Now, knowing the chaos Bolt had sown, he understood why. Sarada had pushed herself far too hard and too far.

"I'm sorry," Sasuke whispered, as if that would suddenly absolve him of his mistakes and sins.

"It's— it's okay, Dad," Sarada choked, smiling through tears of joy.

"I wish I didn't have to leave," Sasuke admitted to her and her only. "But you don't have to worry anymore. I'm not leaving again. Never."

"It's okay," Sarada said, hoarse. "I know why you had to. I don't blame you. I'm... I'm proud of you, Dad."

And, just like that, all the years of solitude with only death and destruction as his constant companions were worth it. Sasuke held her tighter. "I should have been quicker," he said instead. "If I had been here I could have helped you with your eyes."

Sarada smiled sadly. "That's okay," she shrugged. "I knew the risks in using my Sharingan. It was worth it. Even if I... even if I'll be like _this_ for the rest of my life."

Sasuke glanced over his shoulder at Sakura who lingered by the door. She shook her head sadly. "You won't be blind, Sarada," he swore. "Your— our— condition is not permanent."

Sasuke, with a wave of his hand and the burn of chakra in his left eye, called forth from a pocket dimension the sealed vessel of his preserved original eyes. Obito had been a sick bastard and Sasuke had stopped at nothing to destroy the collection of Sharingan the man had stolen from his clan over the decades. He destroyed them all— all but one.

"The Mangekyō is a cursed dōjutsu," Sasuke explained. He had had plenty of time alone to ruminate on his clan's accursed eyes. "It is cursed because it is incomplete. It strives to achieve its original and true form: the Rinnegan. It drives its wielder to madness in its quest to achieve its full power. We Uchiha were feared for this madness. For our willingness to kill our kin and steal their eyes. In doing so, we give the Sharingan precisely what it wants. Some infinitely small fraction of the original Rinnegan's chakra."

"So... so I'm not going to be blind forever?" Sarada asked, with such hope it made Sasuke's chest feel so full it could burst.

"No, Sarada, you won't be," he answered. "Your eyes... they are not truly damaged. It is a trick of the Sharingan itself. Your blindness is in your chakra, not your eyes. If our eyes truly were damaged by the Mangekyō, then the Uchiha would have gone blind in totality long ago. My eyes— my brother's eyes— were famed for losing their sight. Yet my vision is as perfect as ever. Once the Sharingan gets what it wants, it evolves, and becomes Eternal. Then you will be given your vision back."

Sasuke handed his preserved eyes to Sakura. "I have to report to the Hokage, Sarada," he told his daughter softly. "But I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you'd like... your mother can begin the transplant now and, maybe, tomorrow morning you'll be able to see me."

Sarada blinked away unshed tears and nodded happily. Sasuke smiled and kissed her on the forehead. Sakura smiled blindingly, so happy and full of life in a way he hadn't seen in years. Sasuke returned her smile and rushed to the center of the city where he could sense Naruto's towering, vibrant chakra.

He swept into the tower without a second glance or a moment's hesitation. The guards scattered before him and none dared to bar his way. Sasuke barged into the meeting room and smirked at the surprised and outraged gasps. It was a bit of a shock to see Naruto dressed in his old orange-and-black uniform, bereft of the ceremonial Kage robes, and even stranger still to see Konohamaru wearing them. Sasuke nodded his greetings to Shikamaru and eyed the one-armed monk warily. Through his Rinnegan, the Mortal Path cried out a warning. Sasuke gazed into him, through him, and found the monk's soul golden, unlike the standard wispy purple color of human souls.

Sasuke frowned.

Still, he had eyes only for Naruto, who had yet to remove his jaw from the floor. "Dunce," Sasuke scolded him. "It's time."

Naruto blanched, white as bone. "H-How long?" he stammered.

Sasuke grew grim. "One month," he said. "Maybe two if we're lucky."

Naruto seemed to wilt and the very act was a crime against nature, in Sasuke's opinion. Naruto looked to Konohamaru and Shikamaru.

Shikamaru looked to the roof and no doubt the clouds above it. He sighed, long and ragged, reaching for a smoke. "I'll start sounding the alarm," he groused. "I guess it's about time for another Kage Summit, anyway. The World Kage Summit. Question is... do we invite Bolt?"

Sasuke stepped forward menacingly.

" _I_ will handle Bolt."

* * *

 **A/N:**

I figured I would spoil you guys with a quick update. The positive reception to the last chapter and supportive reviews may or may not have had something to do with it. Also, since I write these notes in advance as I write each chapter, a very special thanks goes to StampedingYak90 for being my beta for chapter 103 whom I forgot to thank in my last author's note!

We are _finally_ here! The World Kage Summit mini-arc! The great calm before the storm! Let the fun (chaos) begin!

I know some of you have expressed a weariness for the seemingly constant stream of battles that have occured recently— these next couple of chapters are for you: all character development. Eagle-eyed readers will spot quite a few plot developments in addition to the character development...

Translation: Reijutsu (霊術 — lit: spirit techniques).


	106. Chapter 106

Of course, Sasuke would have been disappointed had it been so easy.

It was not.

His wayward student was, if anything, living up to the spark of greatness that Sasuke had seen in him so long ago. Bolt had sequestered himself in a higher physical spatial dimension and barred the way, as it were, with the power of six of the nine Tailed Beasts. Even he, with the Rinnegan and all his power, could not easily navigate the writhing and twisting fabric of space between the dimension of three-dimensional space and four-dimensional space.

Perhaps he could have absconded with Naruto, used him like the battery he was— because Sasuke certainly didn't keep him around for his brains— and brute-forced his way in, but that just wouldn't be _fun_. In a way, Sasuke was looking forward to the clash. In seeing how much his wayward student had changed. In seeing how much he had learned.

So he was patient. He waited.

The days languished by. Sasuke spent his time reacquainting himself with home. He spoke with old friends, plotted with Naruto and Shikamaru, doted on his wife, and watched over his daughter as she slumbered and recovered from the transplant surgery. All the while, he kept a watchful eye on the world, looking for that electric spark of chakra that would lead him to Bolt.

Still, Sasuke was a patient hunter.

His patience was rewarded.

He sensed his student's chakra. It was faint, flickering, and wouldn't have registered to someone who didn't see as he did. It was akin to a child peeking through the crack of their bedroom door. So timid, so cautious. But Sasuke saw him. Bolt crept into the physical world once more and Sasuke gazed upon him through time and space. His chakra flowed through his Rinnegan and the fabric of reality bent under his will. It folded, folded, and folded, and with a single step, Sasuke crossed thousands of miles, and emerged into a shadowy forest.

He didn't make a sound; not a broken twig, a misplaced breath, not even a bent blade of grass. He was a shadow, a ghost. Sasuke had had plenty of practice these past decades, after all, being just that. Bolt, however, was not so quiet. Sasuke's Sharingan immediately noted the limp his student walked with. The shaky footfalls that snapped twigs underfoot. Sasuke stalked Bolt with a predatory calm.

This close, Sasuke could see why he had barely felt Bolt at all. In a way, it was alarming. Bolt's soul— golden, like the monks, oddly— was but a pinprick of ember that glowed in his chest. His chakra, so diminished as to be nonexistent, could not be seen nor felt. It was a wonder Sasuke had sensed him at all. It was as if Bolt had gathered all that he was into his hands and crushed into a single, infinitesimally small speck. To Sasuke, the world was merely a pool of water. To him, Naruto was a boulder. He was easy to sense. Even the blind, deaf, and dumb could see, could feel, when the boulder was hurled into the pool. Others, like the Kage and Tailed Beasts, were stones as large as his fists. Smaller still were his friends; pebbles that skipped across the surface.

All made ripples.

Bolt was but a grain of sand.

Sasuke marvelled at it. Had he been capable of such a technique, the Ōtsutsuki would never have been able to find him.

Sasuke trailed after Bolt at a leisurely pace as the blond led him through the forest. It seemed familiar, Sasuke thought, as he passed beneath the willows. A mountain of rubble loomed in the distance, towering above the trees, and Sasuke realized where they were: his brother's grave. His eyes widened as he watched Bolt limp over to a mound of dirt that Sasuke himself had dug some decades earlier. A shovel materialized out of thin air in his student's hands.

Sasuke stepped forward as the head of the shovel met dirt. This time, he made no effort to be a ghost. Bolt froze, ramrod straight, and slowly turned. His blue eyes— so much like Naruto's, Sasuke thought— widened.

Bolt formed a sign for the Summoning Technique and Sasuke saw the space begin to warp. A breeze parted his hair and his Rinnegan lashed out and usurped the fabric of reality and cemented it.

"It won't be that easy, Bolt," Sasuke intoned smoothly.

Bolt stared up at him. Never had surprise and horror been such close bedfellows. Bolt accurately summed up his thoughts in two words.

"Oh, _shit._ "

He ran.

Sasuke gave chase.

Bolt was _fast._

Sasuke hadn't quite understood just how famed Bolt had become for his speed. Still, as his wayward student led him on a merry chase through the wending willows, Sasuke knew Bolt could go _even faster_. He grinned. He wanted to see the infamous "Thunder God."

Bolt rounded a mountain of rubble that had been created when he had dueled Itachi. Sasuke was right behind him, grinning. As much as he hated the Ōtsutsuki, he had enjoyed the challenge that the Captain of the Royal Guard provided him. Bolt was just as fast, if not faster.

Sasuke rounded the mound of rubble and came face-to-face with a fistful of lightning. Bolt's clawed hand lunged for his eyes— for his Rinnegan. Fast, Sasuke thought, but not fast enough. His one good arm lurched for his sword and drew it from its sheath in a single, preternaturally quick draw. The Gentle Fist clashed against cold steel and Sasuke saw the metal begin to warp. He channeled his own chakra through the blade, reinforcing it, hardening it, sharpening it.

Sasuke parried the strike and countered with a slash at Bolt's chest. Bolt was gone long before the blade reached him, running again, and Sasuke smirked as he gave chase once more. Sasuke darted past a tree and caught a flash of chakra out of the corner of his eye. He had less than an instant to make a decision. For his eyes, though, that was more than enough time: an explosive tag. Sasuke channeled the Asura Path and recreated his missing left arm. With it, he channeled the Preta Path, absorbing the explosion harmlessly and added its chakra to his own.

All the while, Sasuke never ceased running. Bolt was a hair's breadth in front of him, lightning dancing across his skin, running for his life even as his legs must have been screaming for mercy.

Sasuke, now on the lookout for traps, nearly missed the next explosive tag. Fortunate, too, that he had the Rinnegan and could see through all manner of chakra. An opponent with a similar technique and lesser skill would have used the absorption again. Sasuke did not. This explosive tag, unlike the other, was merely a normal, mundane explosive. Sasuke channeled the Deva Path and repulsed the explosion with a mental push.

Then, Sasuke realized something: Bolt understood the powers of the Rinnegan. And wasn't that interesting?

The two of them broke into a clearing and Bolt drew to a stop near the far side where a babbling brook separated one half of the forest from the other. Sasuke met his student's eyes for the first time in _years_ and Sasuke could weigh the measure of the years clearly in how much Bolt had changed. His eyes were hard and cold and projected with such intensity that even Sasuke found himself discomforted under their gaze. Bolt had changed, irrevocably, and Sasuke could see nothing of his disciple in the man he had become.

" _Master_ ," Bolt spat acidically. "How good it is to see you again."

Sasuke smiled wryly as his student's eyes danced from his mechanical left arm to his Rinnegan and back again. "I'd be interested to know where you learned of the Rinnegan's power," he settled for.

Bolt shrugged and grinned wolfishly after a moment. "A book," he answered.

Fine, Sasuke thought. If Bolt wanted to come kicking and screaming, Sasuke would gladly indulge him. "It's come to my attention that you violated our agreement," he intoned lowly. Bolt straightened. "I told you what would happen if you got lost on Indra's path, Bolt. Did you think I would not be there to ensure you would not destroy all that Naruto and I have built?"

Bolt scoffed. "What you and my father have built is a sham," he sneered. "It won't last the century. Once this peace crumbles, the world will tear itself apart. It is only through me, under me, that the world can unite and take its proper form."

Sasuke swallowed. His mouth was dry. Bolt sounded so, so much like him, when he was younger, when he was lost and hurt and lied to, just trying to find some purpose in a world that he felt no connection to, saw no place in for him.

More than that, Sasuke was angry. How dare he. Sasuke took a menacing step forward. "You might be right, Bolt," he said. As much as he loved Naruto, the man was a dreamer. Sasuke saw the inconvenient truth. "But there is one thing I will not stand for. You will not threaten what Naruto and I have bled for, what we have suffered for, what we had fought and nearly died for. I am not like your father. If you stand against me, I will take great pleasure in _breaking_ you."

Something in his tone must have conveyed the menace that Sasuke felt, for Bolt shied away from him.

Sasuke was so distracted by the sudden de-escalation that he narrowly missed the bridge of chakra that formed between the two of them. It snapped into place so quickly that he defaulted to the first thing he thought of: not being in the way.

The Thunder God crossed the distance between them faster than thought and heralded by a crack of thunder. Sasuke, however, was not there to see it, for he had conveniently amended the patchwork of time and space so that he took the place of a willow tree and the willow tree had the honor of meeting the Thunder God in his stead. Sasuke frowned and growled at himself for using a charge of his Rinnegan against an opponent that didn't warrant it. It would delay his recovery and make him that much weaker for when the Ōtsutsuki arrived.

Angry and annoyed, Sasuke stepped forward and beheld the Thunder God. It was a magnificent technique, he thought, and his Sharingan eagerly copied every detail of the technique. Although not one he had any interest in trying anytime soon. Bolt, like every Hyūga before him, had an unnatural control of their chakra points, and he made excellent use of all three hundred and sixty-one of them to use Lightning Armor: Thunder God Mode. Sasuke foresaw many unfortunate accidents that ended in loss of limb— or worse— if he tried to copy the technique wholesale. Perhaps with a bit of experimentation he could find a way around it...

Unfortunately, he had no more time to ruminate on the marvel of the technique. Bolt charged forward thunderously and lunged at his eyes again. Sasuke sucked in a breath, Six Paths chakra mixing with his own, and he exhaled a veritable tropical storm. The sudden emergence of the faux atmosphere destroyed an entire acre of forest, upturning trees and stone and dirt alike.

Sure, he wasn't Naruto, Sasuke admitted, but looking at the devastation he had wrought, he had a pretty good handle on Wind Style if he did say so himself. Impressive, considering his natural affinity was for Lightning.

Bolt limped out of the carnage sporting two gashes that wrapped around his thigh to the back of his knee and from his shoulder to his navel. Both weeped blood freely, red and vibrant in the noon day sun, and Sasuke could see through the Mortal Path that the pinprick of golden embers had returned to its normal shape and size if not color. Sasuke nodded. Bolt was much more easy to sense now.

"We can do this the easy way," Sasuke offered. "Or the hard way. Your choice."

Bolt _growled_ , low and feral, like an animal, and charged. Sasuke smiled. He quite enjoyed the hard way. Sasuke held of his mechanical arm and hesitated as the Thunder God barreled towards him. He didn't think absorbing Bolt would end well for his student, nor did he think an Almighty Push. Still, of the two, the latter was better. The mass of crackling lightning that was Bolt pooled and coalesced as it was stopped fast by the wave of force that Sasuke generated from his Rinnegan.

Bolt screamed, hollow and metallic, ringing in Sasuke's ears, as he was forcibly dispelled before he would complete the movement from one point to the next.

For one long moment, Sasuke thought he had killed Naruto's son. Then Bolt reformed, hacking and wheezing, spitting up several mouthfuls of blood and clutching at his stomach. Not a technique that came without risks, Sasuke noted.

Bolt scrambled away from him, still hacking up blood, trying desperately to get his feet under him. Sasuke stalked forward leisurely and allowed Bolt his momentary reprieve. It ended soon enough. Bolt had his back to a tree, gasping for breath, eyes still hard and icy as Sasuke approached him.

Sasuke stood face-to-face with his former student. Bolt was a head taller than him, thin and lithe, but he was cowed as if Sasuke was the larger one. He smirked as he caught Bolt's wrist in his student's last desperate lunge.

Sasuke was not expecting his own smirk to be reflected by Bolt. The blond's hand wrapped around Sasuke's wrist firmly, painfully tight and unyielding. Chains of violet chakra erupted from Bolt's lower back and lunged at him like vipers. Sasuke had seen Karin use a similar technique to great effect against a Zetsu clone's Wood Style avatar. It disrupted or dispelled chakra upon touch and he wasn't willing to risk testing the chains to see if they worked against his Rinnegan's abilities or not.

With a growl of disappointment, Sasuke used another charge to make himself not be in the path of the chains. Their spearheads hissed as they cut through the space that he had been standing in not an instant ago. Careless, Sasuke berated himself, a mistake that would have gotten himself killed if he was fighting an Ōtsutsuki.

Angry, Sasuke surged forward. Before the chains could even react, Sasuke was there, his good hand wrapped around Bolt's neck. The Preta Path greedily and hungrily devoured his former student's chakra and Bolt cried out as the chains dissipated into tongues of evaporating fire. Sasuke _squeezed_ as he continued to drain Bolt dry until he could no longer fight. Even then, he did not release him.

Sasuke relaxed his grip as Bolt went limp and gasped for breath. Every few gasps were interrupted by him hacking up blood. "I'll make this simple, Bolt," Sasuke intoned. "No more. This is your first and last warning. There are bigger threats than you, bigger problems that need to be solved, and I will not have you ruining that for the world. Either step in line or disappear."

Bolt growled weakly. The effect of which was muted by the obvious pain he was in.

"There will be a meeting of world leaders in seven days' time. The World Kage Summit. You will attend. You will attend _peacefully_. You will hear what Naruto and I have to say. After that, I don't care what you do so long as you don't get in my way. But get in my way again..." Sasuke channeled the Mortal Path, caressing the golden soul within the mortal vessel, just enough to be felt, an unspoken threat. "I will not show you mercy a second time."

Bolt nodded slowly and mumbled something but Sasuke didn't hear a word. A shiver of dread crawled up his spine and his eyes were drawn to the looming shadow behind Bolt. It was a monstrous creature, purple-skinned and white-haired, horned and emaciated, and yet as Sasuke stared into its pitch-black eyes and maw of fangs, he knew that this was a monster that even he would balk from. The creature whispered a single word, a rasping gasp, that carried on the wind and struck dread into Sasuke more than any of the Ōtsutsuki he had met so far had.

" _Mine."_

Sasuke released his grip on Bolt's soul as if burned. He frowned thunderously, shaking his hand. What was more unsettling was the fact that he recognized the monster. Orochimaru had summoned it when he called the past Hokage back to life. It was... Death, or so Orochimaru claimed.

Sasuke was less afraid of Death and more afraid of why Bolt, his once student, was claimed by Death. A question for another time, perhaps. It didn't matter in the end. Sasuke didn't need the Mortal Path to end Bolt. The blond appeared unaware of the specter that haunted him and instead clutched at his weeping wounds.

"A clever strategy, Bolt," Sasuke said, nodding in approval. "But not one that you should employ without knowing your opponent's arsenal. Had I so desired, it would have been easy to drain you dry with even that momentary touch. There are... creatures—" for the Ōtsutsuki were not even _people_ in Sasuke's mind. "—that will do much worse to you if given the opportunity."

Bolt nodded slowly, baring his teeth.

"You may go," Sasuke waved a hand.

Bolt disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

Sasuke lazily meandered back to Itachi's grave, his false mechanical arm withering away. His penance paid, again. As he stared down at the unmarked grave that held his brother's body, Sasuke remembered the battle that the forest had played host to almost three decades ago.

That begged the question: how did Bolt know where Itachi was buried and why did he come back to disturb the body?

Sasuke frowned. With a wave of his hand, the grave and the body of his brother within were transported to the dimension only his Rinnegan led to.

Just to be safe.

* * *

Sarada was nervous.

It wasn't everyday you got new eyes, after all.

Her hands were shaking so bad she had had to have her mother unwrap the bandages. A task she was all but too happy to perform. Sarada's breath quickened as she felt each layer of cloth unravel and fall away as her mother's dexterous fingers circled her skull and ran through her hair.

Finally, they were off.

Sarada sucked in a breath and held it. For a long moment, she didn't dare open her eyes. What if it didn't work? What if she opened her eyes and saw nothing but darkness still? What if the surgery had failed? What if her father's original eyes rejected her? What if...

There were too many fears for her to face. So Sarada leapt. She opened her eyes.

Her vision was blurry with unshed tears as she saw the world through clear eyes.

It worked.

The sudden, immense sense of sheer _relief_ hit her like a hammer to the face. It wasn't _just_ her fears and worries about her vision or lack thereof. It was the damned fog, the shroud of darkness that clouded her mind. She had been mired in it for so, so long that Sarada had forgotten what it was to think without it. She had been so _consumed_ , so _obsessed_. Bolt this, Bolt that. Eat— Bolt— breathe— Bolt— sleep— Bolt. Her entire being had been unnaturally focused on him for _years_.

Now she was free and Sarada wept tears of relief. The curse of her family's eyes had ended. With it gone, Bolt no longer held dominion over her heart and mind. She was free. She still thought of him fondly, still felt that childhood affection, but it was just that— just _memory_.

Without thinking, without even trying, really, Sarada willed her eyes to change and world blossomed into clarity. Across from her, her mother sucked in a breath. The power _burned_. Sarada could feel the difference even if she didn't know what it meant. She rose on unsteady legs and shambled over to her dresser and gazed into the mirror.

The eyes that stared back at her were not her own.

Uncannily similar, but not her own all the same.

The four arms of the coalescing whirlpool that ended at her pupil had relaxed and instead ended in a circle that ringed the very center of her eye. There, a six-pointed star crowned a pinprick of a pupil.

"It... it worked," Sarada stated numbly.

"Did you really doubt me?" her mother asked playfully.

Sarada turned, shook her head, and hugged her mother tightly. She heard wooden floorboards creak underfoot and tilted her head so she could see her father, looming by the door, a small smile turning his lips upwards. Her eyes watered. He looked older. Wrinkles around his eyes and the barest hint of silver colored his sideburns.

Sarada threw herself into her father's arms and tried to squeeze the life from him.

For the first time, in a long time, she had hope.

It was later that night, much later, when Sarada deigned to experiment with her new eyes— her _Eternal_ eyes. She sat on a stool before her dresser, staring into the mirror, marvelling at her new Sharingan. She hadn't quite worked up the courage to do more than look at the new pattern. With a deep, shuddering breath, Sarada willed her Mangekyō to use its power.

Through her right eye, as it had before, time unraveled and bared its secrets to her.

Through her left, however, where once she had convened with Omoikane himself worlds away, now she felt only iron _control_. Her bedroom faded away— only, it didn't.

Through her right eye, Sarada saw herself, sitting at her dresser, staring blankly into her mirror.

Through her left eye, she saw a new room. A sparse living room, a twin of the very one she sat above in the real world, bare save for a low wooden table and a rough looking red leather couch that Sarada had in her own apartment. The walls were painted a soothing cream color and each had a number of nondescript wooden doors with blank nameplates on them. Turning, Sarada tried to count them, but found that she could not keep track of the number of walls, let alone the number of doors.

She only stopped because one door, in particular, stood out to her. It was a sheer white color, like clean sheets, and the silvery steel of the nameplate had been engraved with a name: Omoikane.

Quickly, Sarada surged forward, locked the deadbolt, and even secured the door chain. For extra measure, she jogged back to the red leather couch and pushed it back against the door before she collapsed onto it breathing heavily.

After a few moments where the alien who was, apparently, the creator of her ocular powers, did not burst through the door angrily, Sarada breathed a sigh of relief. Instead, she began to pace the room, eying the doors warily, wondering what their purpose was.

If the presence of Omoikane's door was any indication, they were connections— connections to other _minds_. Sarada had no real way to know for sure until she tried to open one. The question was... who— or what— would be waiting for her on the other side?

Still, Sarada didn't think her new power would actually hurt her. From what her father explained, the Sharingan itself was almost sentient, in a way. It had very crude goals. Goals that could not be accomplished if its wielder was dead. Her Sharingan had gotten what it wanted. It had its upgrade. Now it was time to see if all the pain and suffering had been worth it.

Channeling courage that Sarada didn't feel, she opened one of the blank doors.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

It was just white. An endless expanse of white that yawned into eternity. Sarada frowned. How disappointing. Cautiously stepping forward across the threshold, Sarada set foot into the blank domain. The void _pulsed_ as if in recognition of its master and while completely and irrevocably _unsettling_ , Sarada didn't feel unsafe.

Omoikane had described the power of her left eye rather aptly as "two heads are better than one." But Sarada had always gone to him, not the other way around, and by the presence of the other beings in the alien's mindscape, it seemed as if it was the same for anyone else who shared Omoikane's power.

If that was the case... did that mean her Eternal Mangekyō did the same thing? Were these unopened pathways between her mind and another's that would let her form a connection akin to that she shared with Omoikane?

There was only one way to find out.

The question was, who did she try it on? It had to be someone she trusted completely, absolutely. Then again, two heads were better than one only applied if the other head was equally as intelligent as the original— if not moreso. Sarada didn't know if there was a limit in the number of connections or some other manner of drawback to her hypothesized new power. But she knew that the potential people she wanted to form mental connections with had to bring something to the table in addition to being someone she trusted completely and absolutely.

That was a very, very short list of people.

Sarada had a lot of information, a lot of ideas, a lot of plans, that some people, even her friends, might find... offensive. She doubted they would be so understanding of her lies and manipulations if they somehow discovered them through the connection.

So she added another condition to her prerequisites: understanding, compassion.

The short list shrunk until it became a single person.

"Well," Sarada mused to the void. "Let's hope this doesn't turn me into a vegetable."

Sarada gazed into eternity as her eyes burned with power and for the first time it wasn't with the accompaniment of bloody tears, aching eyes, or headaches.

Color and creation blossomed to life in the distance and slowly painted the shared mindscape like watercolor. Looming monitors that glowed a harsh white, dotted by numbers and statistics and charts and graphs and models. Long isles of tables held row upon row of microscopes, hot plates, incubators, and mixers. Shelves of glassware— beakers, cylinders, flasks, funnels, burets, condensers, dishes, and vials. White coats dotted the coat racks and there seemed to be a box of plastic gloves every few feet. The whole thing was _rank_ with a pungent, sterile scent.

At the center of the storm was Mitsuki, looking more than a little confused and alarmed, wielding the Sword of Kusanagi.

Sarada chuckled lightly as her friend and teammate approached her warily. "Sarada?" he asked cautiously.

"The one and only," she quipped lightly.

The world continued to be painted in as the two of them spoke. "Prove it," Mitsuki demanded with narrowed eyes.

Sarada grinned savagely. "During the first class field trip, you snuck into Bolt's tent and wormed your way into his sleeping bag without waking him up. The class rep found the two of you like that, squealed, and woke up half the class. They teased the two of you mercilessly and I had to explain to you the concept of sexuality and—"

"Alright, thanks, I get it," Mitsuki waved his sword at her threateningly. He normally pale skin was bright red.

Sarada smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. "It's good to see you again, Mitsuki," she settled for.

Mitsuki nodded slowly. "You too. So, where are we? I was kind of in the middle of something and then..." he shrugged.

"Ah, right," Sarada nodded, mirroring him. She smirked. "I got new eyes. I was testing them. You were the only one I trusted absolutely, so..."

"I see," Mitsuki said, studying her eyes. She could tell he was looking at her new Mangekyō pattern. "Interesting," he settled for. "So, what's this new technique?"

That was a good question, Sarada thought. She shrugged. "I don't actually know its name—" even as she said the words, they rang hollow. Like the first time she had awakened her Mangekyō, the words echoed in the back of her mind from some dark, unspeakable place of ancient power and knowledge. "Yagokoro," Sarada breathed. "Omoikane— the person— said it was similar to the human phrase 'two heads are better than one,' that's all I know."

There was a gleam in Mitsuki's yellow eyes that reminded Sarada eerily of her friend's father. "Interesting," he said, again. "Very interesting. So, did it work?"

Sarada frowned. She didn't feel anything different. "No, I don't think so," she said. "I don't think the connection has formed yet. We're just talking."

"I see," Mitsuki said. "How do we complete the connection?"

"I mean, you don't have to..." Sarada started. Her very being there was already a grave violation of her friendship with Mitsuki. In hindsight, she should have chosen someone she could ask for permission from first. Then again, Mitsuki was the only one she trusted with her darker machinations, so...

"I trust you, Sarada," Mitsuki smiled. He held out a hand to shake.

Sarada threw her arms around his neck and hugged him instead. The connection _snapped_ into place and the watercolor painting that had taken the form of an elaborate laboratory became solid and real. Sarada was dizzy, almost sickeningly so. It wasn't new information, necessarily, but rather a different way of looking at the information she already had; a new perspective, a new point of view. Mitsuki was smart, certainly smarter than her, and had been the only one who kept up with Bolt during their academy lessons. His thoughts, likewise, were very different than her own. Mitsuki viewed everything through the lens of logic and reason and science. He liked to take a problem apart, piece by piece, dismantle it until he could solve it in a single chain of small solutions.

It was the sheer _scope_ , too, that had changed. Before, Sarada could tell that it was just her running through each iteration of the future. Now it seemed like there were two of her: herself, and the her-that-thought-like-Mitsuki. Two heads, Sarada thought, just like Omoikane had said.

"Did it work?" Mitsuki asked fondly.

"Yeah," Sarada nodded, releasing him.

"Huh," he hummed. "I don't feel any different. What's that?" he nodded over her shoulder at the open door she had come through.

Sarada smiled. "You know, I don't actually know," she admitted. "My mindscape, I guess? It's kind of boring, to be honest."

It was easier to show rather than tell. Sarada tugged Mitsuki forward by the hand and led him back through the door. Her friend's eyes immediately zeroed in on the couch, the door it was barring, and the name on the door. "So that's Omoikane," he hummed disapprovingly— not of her, but the threat to her that the Ōtsutsuki were.

Sarada nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said. As she turned to close the door they had come through, she noticed the nameplate had had Mitsuki's name etched into it. "Huh," she hummed.

Mitsuki saw what she was looking at. "Cool," he said. "It's like I have an apartment inside your head."

Sarada laughed lightly. "So, you can't sense anything different? Read my thoughts?" she asked.

Mitsuki frowned in concentration. "There's— something," he hummed. "Like an itch in the back of my mind. I don't really get anything from it. No emotions, no thoughts. It's just there."

"Maybe it's a secondary part of the power?" Sarada suggested. "Something to explore in the future."

Mitsuki nodded idly. He looked deep in thought.

"What's wrong?" Sarada asked, fearing the answer, fearing that she had stepped over some boundary, violated some trust.

Mitsuki, evidently, saw her distress. "It's nothing you did," he assured her. "Just thinking, really."

"Oh?" Sarada offered. No pressure, no pressing.

"Could you... no, nevermind. It's not a good idea," Mitsuki shook his head.

Sarada scoffed and socked him in the arm. "Come on, Mitsuki," she rolled her eyes. "When has anything we've ever done as a team been a good idea?"

Mitsuki smiled wryly. "I suppose you're right," he agreed. "I was going to ask if you could try forming a connection to Bolt."

Sarada's smile fell. She didn't know if she quite liked that idea. She had only just rid herself of whatever sway he held over her that was enforced by her Sharingan. But, then again, if Bolt was critical to the future of Earth, and if her father was to be believed, then Bolt agreed to attend the summit... Bolt was a good candidate for a second connection. Sarada, perhaps unwisely, still trusted him on some level. It was hard for childhood bonds to be severed. He was also blisteringly intelligent in his own way. One didn't rise as the ruler of half the known world and be a dullard.

Still, Sarada was unsure if she wanted a permanent link between her mind and Bolt's. At least, not before the World Kage Summit.

Mitsuki, evidently, saw her internal distress. "Not a permanent connection, necessarily," he added quickly. "A temporary one. Like before, with you and me, where we were just... talking."

Ah. Sarada saw what Mitsuki wanted. In a way, she sympathized with him. There were lonely nights where she wanted nothing more to just have her friend back. Where she would give anything for a quick five minutes of companionship.

Sarada hoped she wasn't about to make a mistake. "... Alright," she agreed. "I'll try."

Mitsuki smiled bashfully. "Thank you, Sarada," he said.

Sarada turned and led Mitsuki to another of the blank doors. She paused, took a deep breath, and then opened it and walked through. She was met with another white void, empty of all value and meaning. Mitsuki trailed behind her somewhat hesitantly.

"I wonder if there are limitations," Mitsuki pondered aloud. "You formed a mental connection with me and yet we are hundreds of miles apart in the physical world. Does it have to be with someone you know? Does distance affect the connection? How does your mind serve as the hub for the connections to all other minds?"

Good questions, Sarada thought, and she had the answers to precisely none. She grunted and shrugged before focusing as he had before, on building the connection, and in her mind's eye she saw the familiar blue eyes and blond hair.

The void rippled with watercolor, dreamy and picturesque, as her subconscious began to paint the mindscape with rich colors of royal golds and warm browns. Two doors loomed in the distance, heavy and fortified with plated gold, like the doors of a fort or castle. They swung open, slowly, on silent, oiled hinges. Inside, a sprawling, messy library greeted them. Bookshelves as high as the eye could see, filled to the brim with leather-covered books whose pages were trimmed in gold leaf. There was no rhyme or reason to their order, bulging from bowed shelves or stacked in piles that ought not to have been stable at such a height. A few had taken on a life of their own, gliding from a spot on one shelf to a different on the next. At the very center loomed an impressive orrery of beaten brass and bands of tarnished gold. The sun burned, a brilliant golden fire that lit up the library and painted it in warm hues, and the planets circled it dutifully, casting long shadows across the bookshelves.

Mitsuki held eyes only for the orrery and looked at the sun with wonder.

Bolt stood before the orrery, a book in hand, looking at them in unadulterated shock that quickly morphed into a towering rage. The book flew— quite literally— back to its place on a shelf before Bolt stalked towards them with obvious menace.

With each stride his presence grew and filled the shared mindscape. The air shimmered around him with heat as his attire shifted; from loose-fitting sleepwear and bandages to the charcoal-gray uniform of the Akatsuki, the billowing cloak of the One Shadow, and a pair of chakra-steel greaves and vambraces. He looked like a king. All he was missing was the crown.

Bolt stood before them and, with a wave of his hand, the heavy double doors swung shut with a soft whoosh of air.

He glared daggers at the two of them.

"To what do I owe this perversion of trust?" Bolt drawled commandingly.

Sarada winced. Mitsuki had been alright with it, but Bolt... not a good way to begin their— tentative?— working relationship assuming the World Kage Summit was a success. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I wasn't thinking. To be honest, I didn't think it would even work, so..."

"It was my idea, Bolt," Mitsuki said firmly. "I... wanted to see you. I'm sorry."

Bolt sneered but there was something uncharacteristically soft that he allowed to show in his eyes. "Well," he said, annoyed. "If you wanted to see me so badly, you should come to the summit. I've been forced to attend, as you have no doubt heard by now."

Bolt glared at her with no small amount of heat and Sarada withered under his gaze. "Sorry," she offered with a small grimace. Honestly, how was she supposed to stop her father from running off and doing whatever he damned well please?

Bolt hummed thoughtfully, lightly, his mood doing a complete one-eighty so quickly that Sarada's head was left spinning. "I suppose it's not all bad," he grinned. There was something manic in his eyes as he looked at her that Sarada didn't think she liked.

"Finally getting the recognition you wanted?" Mitsuki ventured.

Bolt blinked, good mood gone, back to his dour self. Sarada frowned. "In a manner of speaking," Bolt answered.

Sarada decided to change the topic before they came to blows. "I trust Himawari is okay?" she asked, an edge to her question that implied if the answer was in the negative there just might be punches thrown yet.

Bolt scoffed. "Of course. She's my sister. I wouldn't let her be harmed," he waved a hand, dismissing her. "I would have _returned_ her—" he said it like she was a bad winter solstice gift that a store wouldn't take back. "—but, you know Hima. She has a way of, well, getting her way. She'll be sent back a day before the summit."

Sarada nodded. That did indeed sound like Bolt's little sister. Leave it to her to get whisked away to the enemy stronghold and force them to let her stay.

"But..." Bolt drawled, a manic gleam back in his eyes. "The real question is where am I and why am I here?" He looked around, eying the void, and Sarada was concerned to see _recognition_ there. "Interesting," he smiled. "A mindscape? One shared between three people, at that. Not the average technique of the mind arts."

Sarada bit her tongue. She wasn't telling him a damn thing until after he had agreed to their terms at the summit— and maybe not even then. "It was... an experiment," she settled for. "Mitsuki wanted to see you. Consider it a social call. I figured we could meet on more civil grounds now that you've agreed to the summit."

Just in case, Sarada felt for the connection. It hadn't established, wouldn't. It was temporary, just as it had been with Mitsuki. Sarada could walk right out that door and that would be the end of it.

Bolt leaned forward, that same manic gleam in his eyes, and a smile slowly parted his lips. Sarada was assaulted by a sense of vertigo as a golden specter of Bolt was superimposed atop the original. "No, I don't think so," he said, pleased, in a cat-that-caught-the-canary tone. Behind him, tendrils of gold seeped beneath the double doors; crawling, grasping, writhing.

"Sarada..." Mitsuki cautioned, taking a step back.

"This is so _interesting_!" Bolt exclaimed. "Your eyes, of course. The Sharingan. Your father. It all makes sense, now. He must have had a spare set lying around. The _Eternal_ Mangekyō. How exciting!"

The tendrils continued their advance, slithering across the void and drawing closer and closer to her and Mitsuki.

"Time to go!" Mitsuki exclaimed, grabbing her by the wrist and physically carrying her back to the unmarked door.

Bolt lunged at them but was caught fast at the demarcation between his half of the void and theirs. That didn't stop his specter, though, and it happily bounded across the distance, and the golden tendrils followed it like great writhing serpents.

Sarada slammed the door shut, locked the deadbolt, fastened the chain, and Mitsuki appeared behind her without prompting and pushed the coffee table under the doorknob. Sarada was breathing hard as she forced her gaze to rise and look at the nameplate. Mercifully, it was blank.

Mitsuki gave her a shy smile. "Sorry," he said. "Bad idea."

Sarada grimly returned the smile. "Bad idea," she nodded. "The usual for us three, though," she laughed.

Mitsuki laughed too. "Well," he said. "If anything, this summit is looking to be more exciting than the previous ones. For more than one reason."

Interesting wasn't exactly the word Sarada would have used.

* * *

Himawari was worried.

Hanatarō looked like one of those adorable little rabbits that would die of a heart attack if you so much as looked at it wrong.

Bolt had gone out for no more than fifteen minutes and come back a bloodied mess.

The Bolt-that-had-left was her older brother, kind and caring.

The Bolt-that-had-returned was the cold, callous man that he had been warped into; the Thunder God, the One Shadow.

It was such a sudden, violent transformation. Like her brother had flipped a coin and decided whether or not he would be the good brother or the One Shadow. It made her nervous, made her scared.

Scared that it was all an act, a lie, a mask. That her brother was just pretending for her.

It was the one thing in all of creation that scared her more than the thought of losing Bolt: having him and him still not being there. A taste of the happiness she could have had, forever denied.

His mood had taken a turn for the worse an hour ago when he had suddenly collapsed. The sudden barking of orders from the members of the Akatsuki at Hanatarō had not made the healer's skill any greater nor his speed any quicker as he attended to Bolt. Their anger only grew when Hanatarō had no answer as to why their leader had suddenly collapsed. He could only assure them— and her— that it was not from the injuries he had procured during his brief walk outside the castle.

Now Bolt had locked himself inside his study and emerged only to thrust a scroll or two to the waiting puppet attendants. He refused to see her, or Tetsu, or any other member of the Akatsuki. Something had gone wrong, Himawari knew, and Bolt refused to inform her of the situation. She guessed the war had begun raging anew and, judging by his wounds, he was not well enough to defend his empire just yet.

Himawari sighed and watched from a visitor's chair as Hanatarō made one of his daily checks on Hikari. The medbay was filled with the somber green light of the Mystic Palm. Really, Hanatarō's version of the technique was quite beautiful. It reminded Himawari of an old lava lamp.

Hanatarō squeaked and sucked in a sharp breath. Himawari blinked and saw the healer's hand clutched in the grasp of Hikari. Her eyes were hazy with pain but the sheer promise of death in those sea-green eyes impressed Himawari. Apparently, her own presence did nothing to assuage Hikari of the fear that was slowly creeping into her eyes.

Then a shambling puppet stepped forward and her maybe-possibly future sister-in-law breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. "You were not captured," the puppeteer's boyish tone echoed from the puppet's chattering maw. "I have already alerted—"

Hanatarō squeaked and Himawari jerked in surprise as lightning began arcing from the walls to the ceiling and her brother materialized out of thin air.

Bolt seemed to go from relieved to angry in five seconds flat. "Leave us," he commanded, firm and cold, and Himawari knew it was the One Shadow speaking, not her brother.

Frowning, Himawari left morosely.

* * *

Bolt had been stewing in his anger for days. It was tempered by relief but only for a moment and compounded by the words of his not-mother during his... death. Control, Hinata had said, that was what defined him. He wanted control. Absolute control. Even at the cost of the free will of others.

Hikari had defied him. Disobeyed a direct order that he had given her as the One Shadow.

Worse, she had betrayed him on the most personal level possible. From one lover to the next, Bolt had asked her, pleaded with her, not to learn Kishō Tensei. She had done so anyway. At the cost of more than half her remaining years. That was an unacceptable loss. An outcome that Bolt was not prepared to accept. Control, his not-mother reiterated. Bolt didn't want to lose anyone, either. Control over death itself.

"What were you thinking?!" Bolt growled the second the healer, his sister, and the puppet were gone. "Using a forbidden technique? One that was banned because it had a long and sordid history of taking the lives of its users? Did you think the Hidden Sand wouldn't have perfected its use if it was possible?"

Hikari stared up at him defiantly from her sickbed, said nothing, and _waited_.

"And for what? Nothing!" Bolt ranted furiously. "We had a _plan_ , Hikari! If I die, I go to my death mask as a martyr. If you were to die, who am I supposed to entrust my mask to? There's no one else. There wasn't even a point to using Kishō Tensei in the first fucking place because you didn't even bring me back! I did!"

Bolt was breathing hard by the time he finished raving and an uncomfortable weight had settled in his throat.

Hikari finally deigned to speak. "Are you done?" she asked him calmly, coldly; the hunter at the fore.

Bolt closed his eyes exhaled slowly through his nose. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth.

Hikari nodded. "I might not be as great of genius like you, Bolt. No one might. But I'm good enough to find ways around my and my techniques' limitations," she said.

Bolt blinked. "You... you perfected Kishō Tensei? Truly? How?" he asked, bewildered. If all the greatest geniuses of the Hidden Sand— the creators of the technique— hadn't been able to for more than a hundred years, how had Hikari?

Hikari scoffed. "Of course not," she drawled. "The very foundation of the technique was ambitious to begin with. The more powerful the effect, the greater the cost. There's no escaping that. No, I simply focused on mitigating the costs. If it takes the years of my life in exchange, then I simply needed to find a way to get them back."

Bolt sucked in a breath and waited for the answer. Hikari smirked at him.

"The jellyfish, Bolt," she chided him. "I told you, some species are immortal. When they've reached the end of their lifespan, they revert back to their larval form. I've figured out how to do a... similar thing with humans. Once I've figured out how to advance my age quickly so I'm not stuck in a child's body, I can undo the damage." Hikari paused. "I imagine that might be slightly awkward for you," she added slyly.

Bolt snorted and couldn't help the laughter that bubbled past his lips. A heavy weight seemed to lift itself from his shoulders and like the parted mist, the cloud of darkness that plagued his mind since his encounter with his former master dissipated.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I know," Hikari smiled.

Bolt nodded and took a deep breath. "There are some things you need to know," he said, carefully explaining the events that had transpired since the Second Battle of Kusatsu. "We'll need to be ready. The summit is in three days."

But, first... Bolt had a task for Tsuchigumo's spies. One of utmost importance since Sasuke had deigned to interfere in his retrieval of Itachi Uchiha.

If he was going to meet with demigods, Bolt would do it with a blade capable of slaying them.

* * *

Sarada meandered through the Leaf, walking the streets, simply happy to be home and have the curse of her Sharingan lifted. She had been healing at her parents' house— and it was strange to say that, because for the longest time it had been her _mother's_ house— and had decided it was high time to get out of her parents' hair. Her father was happy to see her, and Sarada him, but it was clear he wanted some time with her mother.

Thus Sarada began the long walk to the district a hop-skip-and-a-jump away from the political center of the Leaf where her apartment was. It was an unspoken secret that many operatives of the Leaf had their personal dwellings there. Security was high even if it didn't appear so. Plus, who would really attack an ANBU agent in their home when all their neighbors were either spies, T&I agents, or ANBU themselves.

Sarada fumbled with the keys as she opened her door.

The inside of her house looked like it had been hit by a storm.

She had been... robbed?

Slyly, Sarada alerted the military police with a hidden seal near the doorway. She quickly and quietly cleared the building with a kunai drawn. Whoever had sacked her apartment was gone. From a quick glance, she couldn't see anything that had been taken. Nothing of value, certainly.

Investigation by the police revealed no sign of intruders on surveillance and no forensic evidence. Sarada spent the day cataloguing everything. She was certain, or as certain as she could be, that nothing had been taken.

There was something _wrong_. Sarada could feel it. She just didn't know what.

* * *

 **A/N:**

The jellyfish Hikari is referencing is Turritopsis dohrnii, native to Japan.

Sarada's Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan is a mix of her original (the inverse pattern of Itachi + 1 additional arm) and Sasuke's original Mangekyō, the three intersecting ellipticals, which form a six-pointed star. The arms of her original Mangekyō end and form a ring that encircles the six-pointed star which itself encircles Sarada's pupil.

Like Sasuke before her, her Eternal Mangekyō manifests as an aspect of control over its original power. As Sasuke was able to control the black flames of Amaterasu, Sarada is able to control the previously untamed power of Omoikane. Her left eye's ability is dubbed "Yagokoro" (八意 — lit: "eight minds"). It is named for the full title of Omoikane, "Ya-gokoro-omoi-kane-no-mikoto." In this form, the name means "Many-Minds'-Thought-Combining Deity."

Human Path → Mortal Path: a reader was correct in that I (purposefully) mislabelled Sasuke's Human Path as the Mortal Path. That was intentional. Humans are not the _only_ mortals in the series now. The "Human" Path is one of the Six Paths in both Buddhism and Hinduism in which a soul may be reincarnated into. In said mythologies, the only sentient race were humans and thus that was what the "path" was called. In the broader universe, humans are not the only sentient race in which a soul may reincarnate into. Thus, the "mortal" path, being the totality of mortal experience. Sasuke can also see the souls of the Ōtsutsuki— Momoshiki's race— and the Ogres— Kinshiki's race, a subspecies, and the Deathless Ones— the race of "Death," patron of the Uzumaki clan. Had any other mortals survived the conquest of the Ōtsutsuki Empire, he would also be able to see them as well.


	107. Chapter 107

When Sarada was woken by her father late at night, she had immediately assumed the worst. Instead, she was guided to a secret room deep beneath the Hokage's tower where Shikamaru, the Seventh, and Konohamaru awaited her— as well as, Sarada was angered to see, Sentoki of the Fire Temple.

She glared at the monk. "The summit is tomorrow," she stated. "I assume we have a problem?"

"In a manner of speaking," Sentoki nodded.

"There's a... facet of tomorrow's meeting we need to prepare for," Konohamaru said. "You're being briefed now so you know what you're getting into."

Sarada straightened and nodded as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"I'm interested to hear this as well," her father said, leaning against the wall casually.

Sentoki nodded slowly and took a deep breath. "There is an ability," he began. "One which the Five Temples cultivates among our followers. Its name is ninshū and, among the temples, we consider it a forbidden technique. It is not to be taught to outsiders or those who would abuse its power."

Her father shared a look with Naruto, held his gaze, and then waved a hand for Sentoki to continue.

The monk cleared his throat. "There are many applications of ninshū but its chief power is in the ability to understand both oneself and others. It is not... mind reading, not exactly, you need not worry about that. Think of it... more as instinct. It grants one an instinctual understanding of their opponent. How they fight, how they think, how they would approach a certain situation, or how they would go about attacking a target," Sentoki explained carefully.

Her father's face had hardened considerably. "Continue," he nodded.

"Normally, it takes many decades of study and meditation to develop the necessary spiritual awareness needed to make active use of ninshū. However, rarely, sometimes after a person has a near-death experience, where they walk the razor's edge between life and death, and they survive, the... soul... does not fit back in the mortal vessel. Not as it did before. It becomes unstable. In trying to attain stability, it reaches out, forming connections, understanding, as it were, the souls around it. Ninshū in this form is passive and entirely unconscious by the user. It is also the most dangerous because it never ceases," Sentoki paused. "Bolt has learned this ability."

Sasuke muttered something into the lapel of his cloak.

Sarada felt much the same. She had yet to truly test the limits of her newfound power and Bolt was already proving just how much of a threat he could be.

Sentoki nodded grimly. "And during the events of the Second Battle of Kusatsu—" the Seventh's expression darkened with anger at the monk. "—it is the belief of myself and the other abbots that Bolt has discovered an awareness of his abilities and will begin to study and make use of them consciously."

"Our goal, then," Konohamaru took over. "Is to prevent Bolt from making use of his abilities at the World Kage Summit to influence its outcome. Sentoki has volunteered to block any active use of ninshū but he will be unable, from my understanding, to prevent the unconscious use. It will be up to us to control the course of conversation and ensure Bolt cannot single out a single world leader and systematically cut them down to size."

Right, Sarada thought, that would be such an easy task— not. She was already going to be using her Mangekyō to help predict what Bolt would do at the summit. Now she had _this_ to deal with as well. The Leaf was really asking a lot of her. Still, she was going to be Hokage one day. It was to be expected of her.

Her father cleared his throat. "Is this... ninshū... the reason your soul is a different color?" he asked.

Sentoki blinked at him. "Color?" he asked, confused.

Sasuke casually lifted a hand and tucked a few strands of inky black hair behind his ear, baring his rippled left eye.

Sentoki froze and a look of pure _awe_ crossed his features. "What color?" he managed to ask.

"... Gold," her father answered easily.

"Yes, perhaps, then," Sentoki responded. "Though I have no way of seeing as you do."

Sasuke nodded as if some great mystery had been solved. Sarada frowned. "Bolt is like you in that regard," he said and the monk visibly wilted. Her father paused and then continued. "Can ninshū be used to shrink one's soul? Say... until it is as small as a grain of sand?" he asked.

Sentoki looked distinctly uncomfortable but he hid it well. "In a manner of speaking," he answered. "Perhaps that is why my brothers and I were unable to sense the echoes of his presence."

Her father nodded. "It made sensing his chakra difficult as well," he said. Then he smirked. "But not impossible."

"Well," Konohamaru said, breaking the silence the room had fallen into. "Now we need to think of countermeasures."

Sarada spent the next several hours discussing how, exactly, they were going to keep Bolt focused on them and not swaying the other delegates to his side. Worst of all, she had used her Mangekyō several times throughout the meeting. It left her head aching from the strain. Bolt had become much, much more difficult to predict with her Sharingan.

And it wasn't just Bolt either.

Sentoki was too.

* * *

Ayaka Ōhara felt distinctly out of place among the legendary and distinguished company that sat around an ancient, gnarled wooden table in a well-lit, warm room sequestered high atop the tallest of the three mountains that formed the city of Three Wolves. There wasn't a name in the place that wasn't in one bingo book or another.

Chiefly, Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha, heroes of the Fourth War, sitting directly opposite of her and her Takikage. Apparently, Shibuki even knew Naruto. Some chance meeting during both their childhoods when the relationship between both the Hidden Waterfall and the Hidden Leaf were much better. Ayaka had gaped when the two shook hands and greeted each other like old friends.

To the right, next to the Uchiha, was a monster that haunted many ninja's bleakest nightmares: Orochimaru. Judging from the pale skin of the boy standing behind him, introduced as Mitsuki, Ayaka guessed he was Orochimaru's son. She shuddered at the very thought.

Next to the former Seventh Hokage sat a strange man. Tall and willowy with pale skin and white hair, he had his head quirked and Ayaka couldn't remember a time when the man— introduced only as "Toneri"— had opened his eyes.

The Eighth Hokage and his bodyguard, Sarada Uchiha, sat next to the hosts of the meet, General Okisuke of the Land of Iron and his attendant, Yoshiteru. Both samurai were tall with broad shoulders and garbed in demonic chakra-steel armor.

The delegates from the Hidden Sand, the famed Kankurō of the Sand Three, and his son, Shinki, sat next to the delegates from the Hidden Cloud, their Raikage only in name, Yurui, and his bodyguard, a stout and muscular young man wielding a _massive_ shuriken that had introduced himself as Toroi.

The legendary Mei Terumi of the Hidden Mist sat with one leg crossed over the other, a demure smile on her lips, her bodyguard Kagura standing ramrod-straight behind her. Her dress was cut sinfully low, baring enough cleavage that Ayaka caught more than one of the men glancing at her before quickly looking away.

There was the ever polite and stiff delegates from the Hidden Stone, on their best behavior to make amends for their previous Tsuchikage's war; Ittan, grizzled former jōnin commander, and his attendant, a thin, gaunt man with long brown hair that had introduced himself as Sagan.

Sentoki, abbot of the Fire Temple, represented the Five Temples, along with his "brother," Tajima, abbot of the Water Temple. The two monks were seated next to the delegates of the Leaf.

Last, but certainly not least, were the delegates from the Hidden Grass. Their Kusakage, Zōsui, was a frightening man to gaze upon. A widow's peak framed large black eyes that reminded Ayaka of a dead fish. She fully believed the man could torture a child to death and not even blink. His guard was someone Ayaka had studied in preparation for the meet: Hisoka Otonari, father of one Hibiki Otonari, a high-ranking member of the Akatsuki. His beautiful inky black hair and aristocratic looks were marred by his calculating eyes.

The other half of the room was painfully empty: seats reserved for the delegates of the United Shinobi Empire.

Yes, Ayaka decided, she was distinctly uncomfortable. She had been tasked with the protection of her Kage and everyone at the meet was simply on another level of power entirely. Granted, Ayaka didn't think anyone currently present— save maybe the Kusakage's bodyguard— would try anything. No, it was the Empire that would— without a doubt, she knew— try to start _something._

Her fingers gently stroked the petals of the flowers she had braided into her red-brown hair. An old nervous tic she had developed as a child. Ayaka could feel her family's bloodline thrum in her veins. That was why she had been chosen. She was the second eldest of her seven sisters and the most adept at their family's bloodline. If the so-called "One Shadow" started a fight, Ayaka would make sure she and the Takikage survived.

Still, the clock _tick-tick-ticked_ , and when Ayaka saw a samurai peek through the door, nod, she stood straighter, because she knew the Empire had arrived.

The Hidden Rain and the Hidden Valleys— newfound allies, apparently, judging by their performance against the Hidden Sand— entered first. The Amekage was a stern woman in her fifties with wheat-blonde hair that fell limp as if she had just walked in from the rain. A cute young woman trailed behind her with nervous eyes and a bob of mousy brown hair.

The Tanikage was tall and imposing, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. Salt-and-pepper hair and thick brows framed a bulbous nose that sat above a neatly trimmed beard. He was famed for his skill in Water Style, capable of creating snaking torrents of pressurized water that could carve stone with a frightening ease. Many of the valleys dotting the Land of Rivers were rumored to be of his creation. His attendant was a thin wall-flower of a woman with pursed lips and a sharp nose that held up boring, wire-framed glasses.

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then the newly arrived delegates moved to take a seat next to each other at the end of the table that had been clearly reserved for them.

Ayaka breathed a sigh of relief.

The Hidden Whirlpool were next. The Uzukage, Akane Uzumaki, was famed as the last scion of the original clan. Even as old as the woman was, she still appeared full of life, with barely faded crimson hair. Her grandson and successor, Kohaku, strode in behind her, amber eyes darting between each of the seated Kage.

Ayaka held her breath and stared at the now closed doors. She imagined she could hear the footsteps. She waited, and waited, and waited...

The One Shadow never came.

A few of the Kage cast subtle askance glances at each other. Sarada Uchiha crossed her arms and tapped her foot in a shockingly casual display of annoyance given the situation.

Thunder rumbled overhead, causing more than one pair of eyes to snap skyward and hands to fall to the hilts of their weapons. Ayaka already had a hand on the Takikage's shoulder, ready to pull him to safety if needed. Her chakra thrummed with the beat of her heart as she channeled it through her body and into her Kage's. Her clan was famed for their natural resistance to lightning, owed to their chakra's innate quality of electrical resistance.

The thunder rumbled again, louder this time, and Ayaka was tense and ready to spring as the double doors swung open wide and the One Shadow himself strode into the room. Lightning crackled and arced down his shoulders, through his legs, and into his footsteps. Ayaka could see the tail end of the infamous Thunder God Mode as he took physical form.

The One Shadow had something the other Kage... not lacked, but had less of, or had in a different manner. When he moved, you watched. When he spoke, you listened. When he was silent, you waited with bated breath. He filled the room with his presence, drawing every eye, commanding respect.

And, damn him, Ayaka couldn't help but give him that respect. It wasn't often you stood ten feet away from the most dangerous man in the world. The One Shadow looked as if he had just strode victorious from some venerable battlefield, garbed in the ceremonial cloak of the Kage and wearing chakra-steel greaves and vambraces over the feared uniform of the Akatsuki.

The One Shadow had a small but growing smirk and gleaming, sharp eyes. They flicked between each of them, holding the gaze for a second, and in that second Ayaka averted her eyes. Then Bolt Uzumaki saw Orochimaru and that regal bearing faltered.

He regained it soon enough. "How are you _alive?_ " he asked, disgusted.

* * *

It was off to a good start, Sarada thought. Bolt saw Orochimaru and grimaced.

The snake just laughed. "You did kill me," he hissed. Then Orochimaru _smiled_ and Sarada shivered. "I got better."

"Cockroach," Bolt muttered under his breath. Sarada only caught it because she read his lips.

Bolt took his seat near the Uzukage and the two of them shared a brief nod of solidarity. Tetsu took up guard behind him. That was interesting, Sarada thought, because she was sure that Bolt would have brought Hikari as his guard— a deviation from her predictions. Something to note.

The entire room settled into a tense silence. Bolt leaned forward. "Well, shall we begin?" he asked, glaring daggers at her father.

Her father inclined his head and the Seventh cleared his throat. "Sasuke and I have called this meeting of the world's leaders to discuss an incoming planetary threat that we've been tracking since shortly after the end of the Fourth War," he began. "Most of you know that the resurrected Madara Uchiha was the mastermind behind the war. He attempted to recreate an ancient organism that was the living avatar of our planet's chakra. We called it the 'Divine Tree.'"

"The Moon's Eye," Kankurō murmured. Many of the other world leaders were pale, remembering the void in their memories from their time under the sway of the illusion, no doubt. Sarada shivered. She couldn't imagine what that had been like.

"What you do not know..." Naruto continued. "Is that the Divine Tree did not originate on Earth."

Sarada carefully studied each and every person's reaction. Some were confused, others in disbelief. Bolt appeared... unconvinced.

"The Divine Tree was planted here as a seed many tens of thousands of years ago by a race of beings known only as the Ōtsutsuki," Sasuke took over the explanation. "The Ōtsutsuki belong to a galactic empire whose sole purpose is the planting, nurturing, and harvesting of the Divine Tree. Thousands of years ago, before mankind had harnessed chakra, an Ōtsutsuki came to our planet to oversee the growth of a new Divine Tree. Her name was Kaguya. It was she that was truly behind the Fourth War. She who orchestrated Madara's return to the land of the living."

"And," Naruto began once more. "It was her sons, the Sage of Six Paths and his brother, that defeated her, sealed her away, and bestowed mankind with chakra. Sasuke and I defeated Kaguya and sealed her away— hopefully for good— but after we did, we learned something alarming. Kaguya was not typical of her race. She had gone rogue. The Divine Tree grows a single fruit but once every thousand years. This fruit, the Divine Fruit, was forbidden to be eaten by man. From what we've learned, Kaguya was supposed to harvest the Divine Fruit and send it back to the Ōtsutsuki homeworld."

"Only she never did," Sasuke said. "Instead, she took it for herself. She ate the Divine Fruit and gained power that we cannot possibly imagine. Enough power to bring the entirety of the planet under her rule in a single year. In doing so, she drew the ire of her people. The Ōtsutsuki have dispatched an army to conquer our planet and begin anew the process that Kaguya had been tasked with."

The silence was deafening. Sarada swallowed nervously.

Bolt _laughed._

It was the kind of uncontrollable, bubbling laughter that left him gasping for air as he futilely fought to keep the laughter inside. "I'm— I'm sorry," he snorted through gasps of laughter. "You must be _truly_ desperate to defeat me if you've invented such a _childish fairytale._ The Sage of Six Paths is a religious figure we are not sure ever truly existed and you're telling me he is the son of an alien woman sent to our planet to conquer our people? And now an army of aliens is coming here to finish what she started?"

Sasuke frowned thunderously. "It is the truth," he said sternly.

Bolt devolved into giggles. It was the laughter of a man not wholly sane. A few world leaders looked somewhat disturbed by the sudden and alarming shift. Sarada joined them in their alarm. Bolt... he was not supposed to act like this. None of her visions of the future showed her such an unhinged version of him. Things were _not_ going according to plan.

"If..." Shibuku, leader of the Hidden Waterfall, said. "If what you have told us is true, why has it taken so long for this army to arrive? If this Kaguya, as you say, went rogue. Any village here would have immediately responded to one of our ninja defecting."

"The Ōtsutsuki are not like us," her father answered easily. "They are, from what we have been able to gather, immortal. They do not age like we do. They can still be killed, however, and it appears that they still suffer from disease and sickness. But, for all intents and purposes, they will never die from the passage of time. It leaves them with a warped sense of time. A hundred years to them would be the same as a year to us. Also, the spatial pathways have shifted over the eons. The path Kaguya took to our planet is not the one our enemy is taking. It has taken them time to forge a path to us."

Ittan, the new Tsuchikage, blanched. "Even the weakest of these Ōtsutsuki are immortal?" he asked. Sasuke nodded. "Then that means they will have had hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of years to master their techniques. They will not be easy opponents."

Sasuke frowned and looked to the Seventh. "They... are not," he said. "The average footsoldier is, I would say, about as strong as our most elite jōnin."

The air was somber as all assembled digested that bit of information.

"However..." her father continued. "It has been many thousands of years since the Ōtsutsuki have marched to war, by my estimation. Their experience will have waned. In addition, they will underestimate us. The Ōtsutsuki's greatest weakness is their arrogance and firm belief in their own superiority. That will be their undoing."

Sarada smiled thinly as her father leveled a glare at Bolt for his parting words.

"And what of their strongest?" Sarada blinked as the Uzukage inserted herself into the dialogue. She was the first of the Empire that seemed to acknowledge the plausibility of the Ōtsutsuki. "You said the weakest were as strong as our elite jōnin. How powerful are their strongest?"

Sasuke sat straighter in his chair. "The Ōtsutsuki have a complex hierarchy," he explained. "The leader of the army is, as far as I've deduced, some manner of royalty. His power is truly frightening. I would not be able to defeat him on my own. Next, the Royal Guard. The captain is a monster that resembles an ogre more than a man. I dueled him to a draw on more than one occasion. In addition, there are many commanders that have rare and powerful abilities. One was capable of using Kamui— the intangibility technique of Obito Uchiha— and generating arrows of chakra that could destroy entire city blocks. Another could increase his size to that of a small mountain. The most dangerous, however, is a pair of young twins. It's only a theory, but... I believe their Mangekyō Sharingan's ability is the ability to use _every_ Sharingan ability. They displayed the use of Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, Kamui, and, I believe, my daughter's own technique, Omoikane."

Sarada looked to Bolt and saw that he was, for once, not laughing. If anything, he was deadly serious. A dissonance to his earlier attitude.

"If what you are saying is true..." the Uzukage said. "Then we stand very little chance against such an army."

"It will be a difficult battle," the Seventh said, full of warmth and hope. "But it isn't something I do not believe we cannot win." He paused. "If we come together," Naruto added.

At that, every pair of eyes in the room swiveled to the One Shadow.

"I find it hard to believe," Bolt sneered. "That when I am on the cusp of victory, you miraculously return with a tale of an enemy that would require me to suspend my conquest. Where is your proof?"

"Proof?" Sasuke demanded coldly.

"You are my enemy," Bolt declared boldly. "I would be a fool to take you at your word. Frankly, I am disappointed that anyone in this room would entertain this fantasy of yours without so much as a shred of proof. Has anyone here seen this so-called Kaguya that my father and Sasuke Uchiha claim to have fought at the end of the Fourth War?"

The Seventh frowned. "You know no one has," he said. "The Infinite Tsukuyomi trapped the entire world in an illusion."

"Exactly," Bolt smiled broadly. "The entire world was comatose. The two of you could weave any tale you wanted and the rest of the world would have eaten it up happily since you two emerged victorious— against Madara Uchiha or otherwise. Show me some proof of these Ōtsutsuki aliens and then— and only then— will I even entertain this idea of... whatever you are proposing."

Sarada saw a few faces among those assembled harden. The balance had shifted. She looked to Sentoki whose face was locked in a rigor of effort. She caught his eye and the monk shook his head. Not ninshū, then. Logic and charisma, Sarada decided. They needed to turn the tables.

Sasuke sneered. "I am more than willing to submit to a mental examination by representatives of all present. You may examine my memories of what I have seen as I spied upon the Ōtsutsuki," he said with steel.

"Memories can be altered, tampered with," Bolt countered. "And the Uchiha are famed for their illusions. For one as powerful as you, making us see what would convince us of your words would be child's play."

Sarada had been about to offer her own memories are testimony but realized that it wouldn't have mattered. The Uchiha were still feared. Even if there were only two of them left.

Konohamaru spoke up and evened the score. "Are you suggesting that we Kage don't have sufficiently skilled users of the mind arts in our service?" he asked thinly.

Bolt smiled magnanimously. "Of course not," he said. "Merely that there is a better way. My way. Submit to a Cursed Seal that will compel you to speak the truth and nothing but the truth. Any _Kage_ —" he sneered. "—worth their title will have a sufficiently skilled master of fūinjutsu in their employ that will be able to verify the validity of it."

Sentoki shot Sarada, Konohamaru, the Seventh, and her father a sharp look. Malicious intention, then.

"As you said," Konohamaru countered. "We were— or are— your enemies. How do we not know this seal will not have adverse side effects? You are famed for your skill in fūinjutsu, after all, One Shadow."

Bolt smiled thinly. "Now aren't you the one suggesting the Kage don't have a sufficiently skilled fūinjutsu master, Lord Eighth?" he asked.

"No," Konohamaru shook his head. "Merely that you have every reason to betray us and the means to do so. Who is to say whether or not a seal or a mental examination would be the more telling burden of proof?"

"Gentleman," Mei purred demurely. "Ignoring the need for proof for the moment, what exactly are you proposing?"

The Seventh straightened. "A ceasefire of all hostilities between the Empire and all other shinobi nations until the Ōtsutsuki threat has been repelled and the reformation of the Allied Shinobi Forces," he said.

"Of course," Bolt sneered. "I would be more than happy to cease hostilities— just as soon as the rest of you submit and join my empire."

Sarada sighed at the expected outbursts of anger and outrage from the assembled Kage. Bolt simply sat there and looked smug and pleased with himself.

"Enough," Okisuke, General of the Land of Iron, barked. He was both host and moderator to the discussion. "Perhaps it would be wise to break for the day and allow us all time to digest what we have been told. Three Wolves has made accomodations available for all delegates, even our... friends from the Empire. We can reconvene tomorrow morning."

There were murmured agreements from most of the assembled Kage. Sarada breathed a sigh of relief but knew the worst of the arguments had yet to be made. Most everyone would be reeling from the truths revealed. The Ōtsutsuki... Sarada wouldn't have believed it herself if she hadn't been constantly plagued by her own alien.

The Kage rose, a few stopping to talk to old friends and allies, while others, like the Amekage and Tanikage, left and followed their samurai guides to their quarters. Bolt and the Uzukage were whispering to each. The Uzukage had a hand raised, oddly, and Sarada frowned as she tried to read their lips only to find the space around them warped and jumbled.

Sarada sucked in a breath as their oddest guest, Toneri, stood and quickly crossed the distance between their half of the room and the Empire's. He stopped no more than a foot from Bolt. Sarada tried to lunge forward, to stop what would obviously be an international incident, when Toneri reached out to caress the temples and cheekbones of Bolt.

"So it _is_ true," the pale man murmured.

It had the expected reaction.

Lightning crackled up and down the walls and had every Kage leaping to their defensive stances.

Sarada put herself between the Empire and the assembled Kage, as did her father and the Seventh. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. Mercifully, Bolt hadn't killed Toneri in a fit of anger. He merely had an iron grip on the man's wrist, lightning arcing across the skin painfully, while Tetsu had his sword resting against Toneri's neck and the Uzukage had conjured a chain of chakra that reared its head over her shoulder like a serpent.

"Touch me again," Bolt snarled lowly. "And your suffering will be _legendary_."

Sarada exhaled as he released Toneri and the pale man slinked back over to her father and the Seventh. Naruto scolded him for his rashness. Interestingly... Toneri and her father shared a brief nod of _something_. Sarada frowned. That had not been part of their strategy for the meet.

Bolt, Tetsu, and the Uzukage rose and quickly departed. The Uzukage and Kohaku followed a guide to their quarters while Bolt and Tetsu disappeared in wisps of acrid smoke.

"Well," the Seventh said brightly. "That didn't go so bad, did it?"

Sasuke sighed, shook his head, and rested his face in the palm of his hand.

* * *

The atmosphere the next day was, if anything, more tense than the first. Sarada tapped a finger against her forearm as she— again— waited for Bolt to grace them with their presence. She had no idea why he couldn't just stay at the rooms in Three Wolves. Sarada assumed he just wanted to make them squirm.

Bolt strode in fifteen minutes after the designated agreed upon time to resume the discussion. This time, Hikari stood behind him as his guard. Sarada smiled. Things were beginning to align with her visions of the future. The her-that-thought-like-Mitsuki offered its opinion that both Bolt and Hikari were still recovering from their wounds suffered at the Second Battle of Kusatsu. Sarada agreed.

The Seventh cleared his throat with a nervous cough. "So," he began. "Now that you all have been told of the threat we are facing, we will need to come together to orchestrate a defense of the planet. That will include negotiating an armistice with the... United Shinobi Empire, as well as the reformation of the Allied Shinobi Forces. The Ōtsutsuki are not an enemy we can defeat without working together."

All eyes fell upon the One Shadow. Sarada kept one eye on Bolt and one eye on Sentoki.

Bolt leaned forward. "And I have told you my terms," he intoned firmly. "If I am presented proof of such a threat's existence, and if those who have not willingly joined my empire submit to me, then I will personally ensure that if these aliens set foot on our planet that they will be _obliterated_."

Sarada sighed. That, of course, drew the ire of the other delegates, the dead-eyed Kusakage staring at Bolt with such malice that she was surprised Bolt had not dropped dead.

Sasuke rested a hand on the table. "You will have your proof," he said with thinly veiled irritation. "In the meantime, I would like to call for a vote among the delegates her to include a non-Kage in the discussion: Shikamaru Nara. He is famed for his intelligence and will be helpful in drafting any plausible ceasefire with the Empire."

Sarada resisted the urge to smile at the small scowl Bolt wore as, slowly, one-by-one, the other delegates raised their hands in favor of including Shikamaru in the discussion. The One Shadow might have control of over half the _land_ , but they had more than half of the delegates. Those aligned with the Empire, predictably, did not raise their hand, following the example of their leader.

Shikamaru slinked in through the door, looking tired and irritated, a look Sarada had come to associate as the man's default expression. He sat next to the samurai, a few seats away from her, as they had planned. Herself, Shikamaru, and Sentoki were the three best weapons they had against Bolt and his ninshū.

There were murmured greetings among the Kage and Shikamaru. As the former representative of the Hidden Leaf in the Shinobi Union, and as wife of the sister of the former and current Kazekage, he was well-liked and respected among most of the shinobi nations.

"Well..." Shikamaru started awkwardly. "The terms of the ceasefire?" he suggested.

There was a gleam of anger in Bolt's eyes as he leaned forward. Just as Sarada had predicted. "I have given you my terms," he repeated, firmer, harder, colder. "There will be no ceasefire." Bolt paused and the gleam was set aflame. A new fire burned in his eyes. "I would rather watch this world _burn_ than give it to you."

Denial, as was expected. Shikamaru sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Think of it this way," he suggested lightly. "This will be beneficial for your empire. You've waged war and committed crimes against virtually every nation present. A ceasefire would absolve you of your crimes and give the Empire much-needed recognition and sovereignty. Plus, do you _really_ think you can defeat Naruto and Sasuke together? When not even Madara could?"

Now, how would Bolt react? Sarada was getting better at narrowing down the possibilities with her foresight. Would he tip his hand or would he play it to the end?

It was a small smile, slow to grow, and carried a predatory edge. Bolt sat back, relaxing in his chair, lounging as if he were king undisputed. Sentoki shot her, her father, Naruto, and Shikamaru an alarmed, wide-eyed glance. Sarada frowned, mirroring her father, because what could Bolt possibly have up his sleeve that would be a threat to the two most powerful men in the world?

"What, pray tell, crimes have I committed?" Bolt asked smoothly, narrating with his hands. "I have done nothing that you yourselves would not have done in my position. To suggest I am somehow underhanded is nothing short of hypocrisy."

"You've waged war on virtually every ninja village," Shikamaru listed.

Bolt shrugged. "War is our profession. We are shinobi— heart under blade."

"True," Shikamaru conceded. "But we were in an era of unprecedented peace. A peace that I believe would have been lasting. You've destroyed any hope of that."

Bolt smirked. "Now you're just being a sore loser," he said.

"What about the Tailed Beasts?" Konohamaru spoke up. "It was agreed upon by every nation represented here that they were to be protected and left to their own devices. Attacking or capturing them was a crime under the Union charter."

Bolt rolled his eyes. "And that was a flawed policy," he answered easily. "The Tailed Beasts are a persistent threat to the global balance of power and the stability of peace. How long before one criminal organization or one rogue country breaks their agreement and captures a Tailed Beast? It would be the beginning of an era similar to the early years after the villages were founded when one nation waged war against the other with their jinchūriki. My father and Sasuke Uchiha will not be alive forever—" at that, Sarada shivered, and Sentoki lightly tapped his finger on the table twice. Malice, then. "—and when they die, there will be no one to protect the Tailed Beasts. How long before our successors, many dozens of years in the future, revert to squabbling over the power of the Tailed Beasts?"

The Seventh frowned thunderously. "What have you done with the Tailed Beasts you captured, Bolt?" he asked with all the authority of the Hokage.

Bolt paused for a moment, looking at his father, and Sarada frowned in confusion as the mask of the One Shadow seemed to shift and more of the prodigal son shone through. "Even if I wanted to free them— which I do not— I cannot," he said. "Their prison was designed to obliterate anyone and everything around them for a thousand miles if tampered with. You need not worry for them. I have ensured they will slumber peacefully for the duration of their imprisonment rather than rage futilely against their cage for eternity. I am not... _needlessly_ cruel."

Sarada frowned as more than one of the assembled Kage appeared to agree or not outright disagree with Bolt's theory.

"What about the Jashinists?" Yurui asked. Sarada blinked owlishly, not expecting her peer in age if not station to have been overly involved in the discussion. "And... this Hidan of the old Akatsuki? They're monsters that have plagued the Lands of Lightning, Frost, and Steam for generations."

Sarada smiled. She hadn't been sure Yurui had been the best choice for Raikage. Now, seeing his control over his obvious dislike for Bolt and his anger over what had been stolen from him, she thought differently.

Shikamaru, in particular, seemed to hang on Bolt's words. "Hidan is a rabid dog," he shrugged. "But he knows enough to not bite the hand that feeds. I hold his leash, and by extension, the leash of the Jashinists. So long as I do, they are of no threat to you or anyone else."

"That wasn't what I saw in the Land of Steam," Shikamaru countered. "The Jashinists walked the streets and terrified the people. They lived their lives fearing that they might do or say something that would trigger the Jashinists to attack them."

Bolt frowned at Shikamaru. "My people are afraid of the Jashinists because they are out in the open, no longer a secret," he said. "Just because they are more afraid of them now does not mean they are in greater danger. I would not ally myself with a force that terrorizes my own people. I would destroy them. Hidan is a rabid dog but he is a rabid dog that I have leashed. Without him, I cannot control the Jashin sects."

The delegates nodded slowly as they digested the information. The Jashin sects had been a plague on the eastern countries for hundreds of years. The prospect of controlling them was a tantalizing proposition.

It was her father, Sarada was surprised, that criticized Bolt next. "And the genocide of the Nara clan?" he asked, full of steel and ice.

Sarada swallowed nervously, suddenly recalling that her father had been the only survivor of the Uchiha clan's genocide. Of course he would take offense to Bolt's actions.

Bolt, for his part, merely smiled smugly. "The Nara clan was not a clan of civilians. They were a clan of ninja and they lived in a ninja village. They were an acceptable target under any wartime laws. All who live within the walls of a hidden village know the risks. That I chose to attack them speaks not of my ruthlessness, but of the Leaf's carelessness," he answered. Bolt smiled. "But you know all about that, don't you?"

Before Sarada could so much as twitch her father had the point of his sword pressed against Bolt's neck. A thin cut weeped blood and Bolt only smiled wider. The Kage and their guards backed away, striking up defensive stances, and while Bolt remained languid in his seat, Hikari had thrust a clawed fist forward, grasping at the air, and Sarada could see the tendrils of control reaching forward. She remembered the woman's grim moniker: Hikari of the Blood Style.

Sarada would rather not see how that technique worked. At least, not _in person._

Bolt smiled, a little wider and a little more grim, and raised a hand to wave Hikari down. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, _Master_ ," he warned.

"Sasuke!" the Seventh exclaimed, resting a hand on her father's shoulder.

Sarada breathed easier as her father sheathed his sword and tensions eased.

"Well," Bolt hummed. "If that is all?" None challenged him. "If you wish to present a united front against these 'Ōtsutsuki'— if, that is, they exist at all— then I see only one path forward: unification. Join the United Shinobi Empire. You will all retain your respective seats and positions of power with minor alterations. I will even reinstate previously ousted Kage and return to them their lands and people," Bolt paused, casting significant looks at Yurui and Mei.

"But you will not call yourselves Kage any longer," he continued with steel. "There is only one Kage— me, the One Shadow. You will be regional governors, tasked with the day-to-day governance of your territory. Your armies will disband and be unified under one banner— mine. No state within the Empire hosts a standing army. Should conflict arise, I, as the One Shadow, shall lead our army and defend you."

"You cannot expect us to believe this," the Kazekage dissented harshly. "You're asking us to demilitarize. What if you or your successor go back on your promises? We'll have no way to defend ourselves. Or what if another village, one who hasn't joined the Empire, attack us? We'll be slaughtered."

Bolt smiled broadly. "I've defended my own so far, haven't I?" he asked. "You all are so preoccupied with fighting against me that you haven't stopped to think what it would be like to fight _with me_. If you join the Empire, you will become my people. Let me fight for you, not against you, and I promise you... no threat— that walks this Earth or another— shall ever harm you."

The chamber was silent as the Kage grit their teeth and considered the One Shadow's words. Sarada measured each of their reactions in turn, noting those that sympathized with Bolt and those that were firmly opposed to him. Thankfully, none of the delegates that they had invited looked to be overly considering the offer. That was good. As Sarada had foreseen.

"... Regardless," her father said. "We have more important matters to discuss. The defense of the planet. And... _we_ have a plan."

Orochimaru leaned forward, grinning ear-to-ear, serpentine tongue dancing over fangs. Sarada could see Bolt's visible distaste for the last of the Sannin. "The Ōtsutsuki are making their way here via natural paths formed in the fabric of space-time," he explained. "Think of it like the grain of wood or skin. It's much easier and more energy efficient to travel with the grain than against it. Fortunately, our ally Toneri has spent the last decade mapping out the planet's pathways in-and-out. We know precisely how many paths there are and where they emerge on the surface."

"And how many pathways are there?" Zōsui, the Kusakage, asked with a voice as equally dead as his eyes.

Sarada blinked as Toneri spoke for the second time, the first he had said more than a few words. He had a young, almost boyish voice, with a tint of harshness, almost flute-like. "There are ninety-six," he answered. "Sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on the phase of the Moon. Our plan is simple: block as many paths as possible and, barring that, redirect others to a location that we can more easily defend."

The Kage nodded slowly, mumbles of erecting defenses and assembling armies.

Bolt cut through the din like a knife.

"It won't work," he said casually. All eyes fell to the One Shadow. Bolt smiled. "In this, I have _expertise_. Think of space like a taut piece of fabric. If you were to, say, drop a steel ball bearing on it, the fabric would be depressed where the ball rests. The depression is a gravity well. The heavier the ball, the larger the well. Eventually, if the ball is heavy enough—"

"— a black hole, yes," Orochimaru hissed. "We will take the appropriate... precautions."

Bolt frowned, as if personally offended. "The amount of chakra that would take would be..."

"Astronomical," the Uzukage finished, frowning. "Even accounting for the efficiency of fūinjutsu."

"Luckily," her father added. "We have the single largest chakra battery in existence."

Sasuke looked to the Seventh, as did all other eyes in the room. Naruto smiled broadly. "I've talked to the Six and Seven-Tails," he said, sunny as ever. "They've agreed to help me!"

Bolt shook his head. "You're playing with forces that shouldn't be tempted," he chided. "That much chakra in a space-time fūinjutsu matrix... if even a single thing went wrong, you could unleash planetary devastation. It would be an extinction level event."

Sarada smiled wolfishly as Shikamaru smirked and cleared his throat. "It's a good thing that you, the One Shadow, by your own claim, as one of the greatest masters of fūinjutsu to ever live, will surely help in the construction of such a seal..." he drawled.

The barest twitch of the blond's eye was all that gave away his irritation. He schooled his face, a mask of steel and ice. It felt good to have Bolt solidly on the defensive for once. He said nothing.

Shikamaru smiled. "Moving on," he said. "How we'll structure the defense and the agreement for the reformation of the allied forces..."

Sarada tuned out the technical talk as Shikamaru and the Kage hashed out who would defend what, who would provide what supplies, and how many ninja each village could commit to the defense. All of it was tinged with a slight disbelief that was only stemmied by her father's promise of proof.

Bolt was uncharacteristically silent for the duration of the talks. When the sun fell and the moon rose, and the agreements had only been a quarter of the way established, the meet was adjourned and the Kage were quick to retire for the evening.

Everything considered, Sarada thought it was a solid win for their faction.

* * *

Hinata nervously milled about the outside of the chamber that hosted the Kage. It was getting dark and cold— well, colder than usual, for Three Wolves— and she was certain the meeting would end shortly. It was the second time she had been lying in wait. Her son had fled too quickly for her to talk with him the first time.

This time, Hinata was determined. For the first time in a long time, she had hope that the divide in her family could be mended. Perhaps it would never be repaired fully but Hinata refused to believe that she and Bolt would be estranged for the rest of their lives.

"Stop pacing, Hinata," her little sister chided.

She smiled fondly at Hanabi. She had been on edge since Toneri had showed his face. Truth be told, Hinata was still a little scared of the man that had kidnapped her. But she trusted Naruto. If he said that Toneri had repented for his transgressions and was working in the defense of the planet... well, Hinata supposed she couldn't hold it against him.

"Yeah, Mom," Himawari smiled at her. "If Bolt runs off again I'll..."

The double doors of the chamber slammed open and Bolt strode out, regal and cold, Hikari on his heels. Hinata jumped, barely suppressing a squeak, and scurried forward. Her son was scowling, muttering something under his breath to the woman next to him, but he paused when he saw her. Hinata smiled. "Hello, Bolt," she said.

"Mother," he said, nervously shifting from foot-to-foot. There was a long pause. Hikari elbowed him in the back. Bolt cleared his throat. "How are— can I... help you?" he stumbled over his words, stilted and awkward.

"Bolt!" her youngest yelled, running forward and leaping at her brother and wrapping her arms around his waist before squeezing him tightly.

Hinata smiled as she heard the soft exhale of breath that left her son's lips. It had been so, so long since she had seen Bolt face-to-face. Without fighting, without seeing a picture, without seeing his face on the news. Just... just her son. He was older now, so much older, and he reminded her painfully of Neji and Naruto.

Her eyes drifted behind him, where Hikari stood at attention, back straight and eyes alert as she scanned the surrounding samurai and houses for threats. Every so often, her sea-green eyes would dart back to make sure Bolt was still there, still safe, and Hinata smiled fondly. She really was quite pretty, Hinata thought, with sharp features and inky black hair.

Hinata might not have been a fighter... but there was one arena in which her son could never beat her. Parents had a particular ability in which their children could never defend against: embarrassment. Hinata smiled innocently. "Would you like to have dinner with us, Bolt?" she finally asked.

"I—" Bolt began.

"Please, Bolt!" Himawari begged, eyes wide and watery.

Bolt grimaced and Hinata could see the veritable dagger slowly plunging into his chest. Mother and daughter shared a brief glance of solidarity. "Of course, your girlfriend is more than welcome to join us," she smiled politely, inwardly cheering when her son's face turned scarlet. All the while, Himawari continued badgering him with pouts, fake tears, and pleading.

It couldn't even be called a battle. Hinata smiled as her son's defenses collapsed before their onslaught. He cast a quick, askance glance at Hikari who said and did nothing. Bolt huffed. "Fine," he acquiesced.

Hanabi wrapped an arm around Bolt's neck and pulled him forward, their witty banter filling the silence, and Himawari continued to tug him forward by the arm. Hikari dutifully followed behind them, ever watchful. Hinata blinked away unshed tears as she saw Naruto watching silently from afar, not wanting to disturb the scene. She gestured for him to join them, intertwining her fingers with his, and the two of them shared a broad smile.

Three Wolves had grown much since Hinata had been there for the last Kage Summit. There were still scars from the attack of the Akatsuki, but it was healing. Hanabi and Himawari pulled Bolt towards a local branch of Ichiraku's. Bolt had a sour pout on his lips and Hinata laughed lightly under her breath. He never did like ramen too much. It reminded him too much of Naruto, she supposed.

Hinata pulled Naruto into the restaurant just in time to see a bubbly waitress smile broadly and hold out menus, only to freeze and go white as a sheet as she saw who exactly she would be serving. She stammered through her lines, brightening visibly upon seeing her husband, and led their party to their table. A chime at the door sounded and Naruto smiled brightly, standing and waving. "Sasuke! Over here!" he called.

Sasuke, Sakura, and Sarada filed into the restaurant. "You don't need to yell, dunce," Sasuke chided Naruto. "We're the only ones here."

Hinata frowned, looking around, noting that most of the patrons had paid their bills with large notes, left the change, and had vanished. Nothing seemed to dappen Naruto's spirits though. He smiled warmly, pushing two tables together to make one large one. Bolt grumbled something under his breath. Himawari latched onto Bolt's arm, talking his ear off, and Hanabi managed to dart next to Hikari before Hinata could. Instead, she and Naruto sat across from their children, Sakura and Sasuke next to them, while Sarada joined Himawari.

Menus were perused, orders were placed— and the waitress seemed infinitely more relaxed when not in the immediate presence of her son— and small talk was had. Naruto loudly and proudly was espousing the merits of one type of ramen to another to Sasuke. Hinata hid a smile behind her hand as Sasuke weathered Naruto's speech with only the barest hint of a grimace and a twitch of the one visible eye. Himawari and Hanabi continued to chatter to Bolt ceaselessly, informing him of inconsequential gossip from both the Leaf and the Hyūga clan. Sarada added her own thoughts occasionally when she thought the other two women had omitted something. Bolt himself was stiff and stilted, speaking only a few words at a time, seemingly struggling to hold even the most minor of small talk with his sister, aunt, and childhood friend.

It wasn't perfect, but it was the closest to a family she had seen in many long years. Hinata couldn't hide her smile as unshed tears welled in her eyes.

The food came, the chef himself helping the waitress deliver it, each steaming hot and fresh with larger portions than Hinata thought was usual. She felt bad for him, in a way, with so many distinguished guests to serve.

Bolt seemed to take the arrival of his soup and tea as salvation. Something to focus on other than keeping up with his sister and aunt. Hinata watched with interest as he sat and waited, not moving to touch his food, and Hikari ran a hand of glowing green chakra over the soup and tea for a few moments. Receiving the expected nod, Bolt took a sip of his tea. There was a strange sense of domestication, Hinata thought, with dawning horror, as she realized her son had just had his food checked for poison.

"That was quick," Sakura commented over the din at Hikari. "You only had time to check for the most common poisons?"

Hikari shook her head. "Looked for signs of unique or newly created ones," she answered. "Immunization by self-administered non-lethal doses covers the common ones."

Hinata quickly lost track of the conversation as the two healers began to trade notes on the intricacies of poisons and antidotes.

"You only got soup?" Naruto asked with a frown, looking between his burgeoning bowl of ramen and Bolt's soup.

Her son rolled his eyes, taking a sip of tea. " _Someone_ ," he drawled, glaring at Sasuke. "Forced me to _misplace_ three feet of intestine recently. Liquid-only diet until it's fully regrown."

Naruto gawked at Sasuke who poorly hid a smug smirk behind his teacup. "It's not my fault Thunder God Mode is limited by its lack of adaptability once its predetermined path is created," he shrugged.

Bolt _snapped_ to attention, looking comically, mortally offended. A visible twitch of the eye caused lightning to crackle through his hair. Hinata was instantly lost as her son began to heatedly debate the merits of Lightning Style chakra control with his former master. Bolt seemed to favor control where Sasuke argued overwhelming power would solve all his problems: if Bolt had committed to the attack, used enough power to overwhelm Almighty Push, he wouldn't have been injured.

Through it all, Hinata watched Naruto. He seemed as lost as Bolt when it came to how to act as a family but he was... happy. Happier than Hinata had seen him in a long, long time. Without the burdens of the Hat, with the prospect of mending the divide in their family on the horizon... even the looming threat of the Ōtsutsuki couldn't dampen his sunny spirit.

Hinata loved him.

Then, just like that, it all came crumbling down.

Bolt stood so quickly his chair fell behind him. There was a heat in the air that made Hinata shiver and her skin pebble. Lightning erupted all around Bolt, crackling and wild, the scars on his cheek darkened and inflamed. For a moment, Hinata thought that the argument between him and Sasuke had come to blows. That changed as she saw that Hikari had also stood, the forking blood-red lines of the Strength of a Hundred seal criss-crossing her skin.

Sasuke and Naruto leapt to the defensive. "Bolt!" her husband cried.

Both of them disappeared in wisps of smoke.

"Sasuke!" Naruto barked.

"I'm on it," Sasuke groused with a frown. The air seemed to shift and warp, centered around his left eye. He swore under his breath. "Shit! I lost them!"

* * *

Naruto was a bundle of nerves as he sat among the assembled delegates and representatives. All, that was, save for one: his son. Even the Empire's faction seemed restless by the absence of their One Shadow. The clock continued on, heedless of the war Naruto fought inside, nearly beside himself with worry for Bolt. What had happened? Last night had been good. Better than anything that had happened between them in years. Then Bolt suddenly disappeared, ready for battle... and then went missing?

Naruto could only imagine progressively worse and worse fates.

The agreed upon time to resume the talks was reached. Still, they waited. Fifteen minutes later, the first dissenter spoke. "Enough," Zōsui, the Kusakage, intoned. "We have wasted enough time. Let us continue."

Naruto hated the man. The Grass proclaimed neutrality in all matters but was secretly the largest information broker on the continent. That alone wasn't enough though. According to Sasuke, Zōsui had been the one responsible for working Karin's mother to death and driving Karin herself to flee and join Orochimaru. He saw people only as tools and nothing more. It was the antithesis of everything Naruto was.

Without Bolt there to derail the proceeding, Shikamaru made quick work of hashing out a foundation for what would be the charter of the newly forged Allied Shinobi Forces. None of it mattered, though, as without the One Shadow, none of the Empire's delegates even voiced their opinion on the matter. The Empire was in a position of strength and they knew it. If the rest of the world had to fight a war on two fronts between the Empire and the Ōtsutsuki... Naruto knew they would be wiped out. All of them, to the last child.

It was an hour and a half later, knee-deep in the discussion of who had what permission to cross whose border, that the double doors of the meeting chamber slammed open with a boom. Naruto breathed a physical sigh of relief that drained the tension from his shoulders as Bolt strode into the room. He had his head held high, shoulders back, a victorious grin twisting his lips. Naruto frowned as he took in the details: a thin, angry red scar that split his son's bottom lip; hair that was raggedly cut in one place and one place only, dyed pink-red by blood; chakra-steel vambraces and greaves that had once been pristine were now scarred and scratched.

Bolt had been in a battle. A vicious one, at that. One that he had evidently emerged victorious from.

Okisuke, as host, was the first to speak up. "This chamber is reserved for those world leaders who have enough respect for each other to be present at the agreed upon time," he chided, insulted. "You may join us tomorrow, One Shadow."

Bolt ignored him, thrumming with electric power, lightning crackling through his hair. Naruto could see many of the Kage nervously squirming in their seats. Bolt paused with a quirked head and a wicked grin. "I could eviscerate you before the electrical impulses that travel between your pitiful eyes even reach your withered brain," he sneered. The samurai, as expected, Naruto sighed, took offense, their hands flying to the hilt of the swords. "But I'm not here to fight!" Bolt declared grandly, arms wide, addressing the assembled Kage. "I'm here to provide _salvation!"_

"And how would you do that?" Shikamaru asked with a lazy, irritated drawl at being interrupted.

Bolt smirked and, with a wave of his hand, produced a corpse out of thin air. It slammed onto the table with a meaty thud. The Kage lept out of their seats, sinking into defensive stances, but Naruto could only stare at the body.

Because it was not human. Pale white skin and hair with even paler, empty white eyes.

It was an Ōtsutsuki.

"Proof," Bolt declared. "Of both the enemy's existence and my ability to _deal_ with them."

"... A scout," Sasuke growled.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Next chapter: culmination of the World Kage Summit and the opening salvo of the War of the Gods.

It looks like a batch of new readers caught up to the most recent chapter. Hello! One of the most persistent reviews is that Bolt comes off as hated but people still like to root for him. It's been some time since I touched on his characterization, so I figured I'd take a little space to reiterate the mold I've tried to build for him.

Ultimately, you, as the reader, are not supposed to necessarily _like_ Bolt. As a character, he is supposed to be disliked— even hated. But you should _empathize_ , if not sympathize, with him. Perhaps not root for his success, but understand the reasons behind it, and the necessity for it. In a way, Bolt is the physical aspect of utilitarianism. If he has to kill a million people _now_ in order to save a hundred million people _in the future_ , he'll do it. You're not supposed to like the former, but you understand that the latter is the more important— the most good for the most people.

A note: when Sasuke speaks about "Indra's path" to Bolt, he is speaking in the metaphorical, not the literal. Bolt is in no way, shape, or form related to Indra or any of the reincarnation shenanigans. Sasuke views Indra's path as the path of solace, of leaving behind all attachments in order to fulfill a goal. Sasuke knows it is possible for someone to walk this path and not get lost but, like he himself did, he cautioned Bolt against making the same mistakes.

For clarification, the parties present at the WKS are:

1\. The Guardians — Naruto, Sasuke, Orochimaru + Mitsuki, and Toneri.

2\. The Five Temples — Sentoki (Fire) and Tajima (Water).

3\. The Leaf — Konohamaru and Sarada.

4\. The Samurai — Okisuke and Yoshiteru. Both are canon characters. Okisuke was the right hand of Mifune. Yoshiteru was the first samurai that Sasuke fought during his attack on the summit.

5\. Waterfall — Shibuki and Ayaka Ōhara. Shibuki is a canon character that Naruto met in a part 1 filler. Ayaka and the Ōhara clan are original. In particular, one of the Ōhara become of great importance in a few chapters.

6\. Sand — Kankurō and Shinki.

7\. Stone — Ittan and Sagan. Both are canon characters from the 4th War.

8\. Cloud — Yurui and Toroi.

9\. Mist — Mei and Kagura.

10\. Rain — Harukō the Salamander and Emiko. Early concerns about Harukō's age have been addressed. She has been more accurately aged up. Emiko is the sensor that had a crush on Bolt during the civil war.

11\. Valleys — Tōru Ishikawa, the Tanikage, and Nanao. Both are original.

12\. Grass — Zōsui, who is canon, and Hibiki's father, Hisoka, who is original. We'll see more of him later.

It's hard writing scenes with so many characters so I hope the writing flowed smoothly. I tried to summarize where possible instead of get bogged down by so many people speaking.


	108. Chapter 108

Sarada wore a mask of calm.

It was a lie.

Inwardly, she was in the throes of panic.

Nothing was going as her Sharingan had foreseen. Bolt was chaotic, unhinged, violently swinging from one mood to the next, suave and sophisticated silver-tongued politician to blood-spattered, battle-hardened warrior. The threads, frayed and undulating, encompassing all of the future, and yet _not this future._

Omoikane had said something similar, hadn't he? That there were limitations. Things neither of them had knowledge of. Beings whose power was so grand that their minds simply couldn't grasp the meaning of their movements. Arcana of reality that mortal minds were too small to understand.

A particularly small pawn on one of Shikadai's boards that was desperately trying to arch its neck to see the hand that moved it and the will beyond that controlled it.

That was how Sarada felt.

The corpse of the dead Ōtsutsuki scout lay where it had fallen. Bolt took up his seat like a king settling onto his throne. "This one had a _particularly_ annoying ability," he explained. "He seemed to be able to shrink the space before him and expand the space behind him. The _illusion_ of speed. Of course, he was in for quite the surprise when confronted by the true meaning of speed."

The assembled Kage slowly inched forward, returning to their seats, eying the corpse with distaste and curiosity in equal measure.

"A scout," her father groused. "The Ōtsutsuki society is divided into castes. It is similar but not quite equivalent to our concept of clans. One of the castes I observed had an ability similar to the one described. The Ōtsutsuki employ them as messengers or scouts."

"Then we have little time left," Konohamaru said grimly.

"Indeed," Sasuke confirmed.

"All the more reason for this farce to come to its conclusion," Bolt declared. "I have seen proof of this supposed enemy with my own eyes. While I still have... doubts about the authenticity of the entirety of your tale, the fact remains that if even half of the enemy army is as strong as this one—" he nodded at the corpse. "—then they are indeed an enemy we cannot defeat divided."

"So you're willing to declare a ceasefire and enter the alliance?" Shikamaru asked, serious and stern.

Bolt smiled wanly. "I never said that," he said. "We cannot defeat the Ōtsutsuki divided. So we must become united. _Truly_ united. The alliance of old had its share of faults. Five nations coming together to face an army of monsters. But it wasn't enough, was it? Ultimately, Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha were the sole reason humanity was not enslaved by the Infinite Tsukuyomi. And the army of monsters may have been monsters, but they were monsters that we could kill. The Ōtsutsuki will not be the same. It will take everyone— _everyone_ — working together, as one, to even stand a chance against them."

Shikamaru frowned. "That is the purpose of the alliance—"

Bolt waved a hand, casually dismissing him. "A convenient lie you've told yourselves," he argued. "You might have worn the same headband but you were not _truly_ one with each other."

"We will _not_ join the Empire!" the Kazekage declared, slamming a fist against the table. His was a rallying cry for which the other Kage joined. None were willing to surrender.

"You see?" Bolt grinned wolfishly. "Even against a vastly superior enemy, you still cling to your identity. Leaf or Sand or Stone or Cloud or Mist. It doesn't matter. There is only one that matters: Earth."

The Seventh moved to speak but Bolt wasn't going to let him.

"But, of course," Bolt drawled. "I haven't exactly made it easy for you, have I? I am something of a nightmare to you all. An inconvenience you would rather disappear. But none of that matters now. Not in the face of—"

"Ugh, I can't _take it_ anymore," a woman drawled in a musical lilt. All eyes snapped to a previously unoccupied corner of the room. "You humans are so _slow_."

A woman stood before them, pale-skinned with white hair. She was beautiful, like a statue of marble given life, all sharp angles and fine bones. Her brows, neat dots trimmed in the old style, were raised high in mirth over a mismatched pair of white and blood-red eyes. Pursed lips smiled back at them.

An Ōtsutsuki.

Bolt and her father _moved_. Lightning crackled down their limbs as they lunged for...

A wall?

Sarada frowned at the two _buffoons_. "What are you two doing?!" she demanded.

Bolt and Sasuke straightened, blinking awkwardly at each other. Bolt opened and closed his mouth several times, brows narrowed and marred by confusion. "I..." he began.

"I come _in peace_ ," a woman said. Sarada whirled and— _there she was_. The Ōtsutsuki woman! "Honestly, how rude."

The Seventh lunged, brilliant and radiant as a golden sun, coming to a sudden stop behind her that left the floorboards shattered and scorched.

What the fuck was going on? Why was everyone acting so strange? Sarada blinked and called upon her Sharingan. Her eyes burned with the power of foreknowledge and saw... nothing out of the ordinary.

"Will you _please_ stop trying to attack me?" the Ōtsutsuki asked petulantly. "I have a message for you, Sarada Uchiha."

Sarada whirled on the woman, memories of _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, a spy in their midst—_

She blinked at she stared down at the startled Tsuchikage who appeared, if anything, even more confused than Sarada felt. Great, she thought, now even she was jumping at shadows. What was—

A long, exasperated sigh echoed from behind Bolt. Sarada froze as she found herself face-to-face with Bolt, a dagger at his throat. Bolt's blue eyes were wide with clear _shock_. "Can we please talk like _civilized_ people?" the Ōtsutsuki woman asked. "Honestly, I can see why everyone calls you _hairless monkeys_."

Bolt swallowed a snarl. "What do you want?" he hissed.

"I want to talk, obviously," the woman drawled. "Haven't you heard a word I've said?"

"Talk about what?" Sarada demanded tersely.

" _Finally_ ," the alien huffed. "I have a message for you. From a mutual friend."

"A _mutual friend?_ " Sarada asked incredulously.

"Well, you haven't been talking to any _other_ of my people in your head, have you?" she asked. "Or, at least, I hope you haven't..."

Sarada froze. "Omoikane," she hissed.

"Yes!" the alien confirmed. "My father sent me to deliver a message to you. He says to 'unlock the door,' whatever that means."

Sarada shivered. "If I do, you'll release Bolt?" she asked.

"Ah," she pouted, suddenly shoving Bolt forward and sheathing her dagger. "Sorry. Just had to get you to stop trying to kill me."

Bolt snarled at her. Lightning danced through his hair.

Sarada glared at the woman and took a deep breath. She reached inward, quickly finding her inner sanctum where the her-that-thought-like-Mitsuki dwelled, and the door that led to Omoikane. With a thought she unbolted the door and removed the barricade.

As if he had been waiting, Omoikane stepped through. "Hello, Sarada," he smiled. "I'm afraid I don't have much time so we'll have to be quick."

"What do you want?" Sarada demanded.

Omoikane smiled sadly. "A great many things," he said. "But they are of little consequence to the here and now. I've come to deliver a warning."

"A warning?" she asked.

"About the _true enemy_ ," Omoikane nodded. "If you would, please, project me in the form of an illusion."

Sarada frowned and opened her eyes. The Kage were on edge. "We have... a guest," she settled for. "I can show him to you through an illusion. It will not be powerful enough to ensnare you. You should be able to break it with minimal effort."

There was some clear hesitance by some of the delegates. Damn Bolt for bringing up the Uchiha's history of illusions. She broadcast her chakra through her eyes, sharing the image of Omoikane to all present, and he shimmered into existence before them.

"Well done, Rin," Omoikane smiled at his daughter. "You may go."

Sarada blinked. Who the hell was he talking to? Who was Rin?

"Greetings," he continued. "I am Omoikane Yagokoro. Among my people, I am the equivalent of an advisor to your Kage. My unique ability lends itself well to forethought and planning. I have come before you today to explain the history of our people and to warn you of the true enemy you will come to face."

"True enemy?" Naruto asked warily.

"Yes," Omoikane nodded. "The empress."

Her father sucked in a breath.

"Prince Momoshiki is the youngest of our monarch's children and the one most dedicated to the art of chakra cultivation," Omoikane explained. "He is powerful— immensely so— but he is no more than a newborn babe compared to the might of his mother."

"Who is she?" Sasuke demanded.

"You should know," Omoikane answered. "After all, you call forth your black flames in her name."

"Amaterasu," her father hissed.

Omoikane nodded. "Should you emerge victorious against Momoshiki, that will not be the end of the threat to your people," he continued. "If the prince fails, another will come in his stead. If they fail, another still. And so on and so forth until you are crushed beneath the boot of the empire."

Her father and Naruto were pale.

"Why?" Bolt asked suddenly.

Omoikane smiled sadly. "Because Empress Amaterasu has commanded it, and so it shall be done," he said grimly.

"No," Bolt shook his head. " _Why?_ Why keep sending armies if we beat them back? What does she want? Why is Earth important?"

A look of profound sorrow crossed the horned alien's face. "Because, young raijū," he said. "Yours is the last planet that bears sentient life. It is the last planet capable of growing a Divine Tree. Thus, it is the last planet from which the Divine Fruit may be harvested."

"What?" Naruto demanded. "That's all she wants? To... to _farm us_ until we are extinct?!"

"Yes," Omoikane said. "She has consumed thousands of the Divine Fruit over the eons."

Sasuke _blanched_. "That is impossible," he said. "Kaguya ate one Fruit and she was more powerful than Naruto and I combined. We only won because of her insanity. If she were in full control..."

"You understand well, then, the danger you face," Omoikane said. "Empress Amaterasu is a being of such power that the mortal mind cannot comprehend its enormity. We are but ants, scurrying about our anthill, while she walks upon the road of divinity."

"... Why does she need the Fruits?" Naruto asked.

"What do all those with power desire?" Omoikane countered.

It was Bolt who answered. "... More power," he said.

Omoikane nodded. "And what do those with power fear?" he asked.

Again, Bolt answered. "... To lose their power," he murmured.

Omoikane nodded. "Empress Amaterasu is no different. She rose to power aeons ago and grew accustomed to the taste of power. Her gluttony for more power has driven her on a mad quest to harvest the chakra of all life in our galaxy and she has nearly succeeded."

"What's the point?" Sarada asked. She couldn't understand. Such destruction, on such a scale... for nothing? Nothing but _power_?

"That," Omoikane said. "Is why I am here. I myself am guilty of planning the systematic destruction of many a world. In my youth, I thought it the natural order of things. Now, as we approach the end, I find myself unable to continue to sit idly by as Amaterasu destroys all life. Because there is no point. There is no grand goal. No threat. No reason for such an amassment of power. She hungers for power for power's sake. And in her madness, if left unchecked, she will spread, consuming and consuming, until there is nothing left, and then..."

"She'll turn on you," Bolt said, eyes wide with realization. "If we fall, you're next. She'll start farming your homeworld."

Something dark settled in Omoikane's eyes. "Yes," he said sadly. "If only that were all. It is nothing less than we deserve for what we have done to the galaxy. No, the horror of the truth is far more grave."

"What do you mean?" her father asked.

"The empress has a theory," Omoikane explained. "She believes that, like there are multiple dimensions to our plane of existence, that there are multiple planes of existence, forming a greater collective whole."

"... You are speaking of alternate universes, yes?" Orochimaru hissed menacingly.

Omoikane nodded slowly. "Many thousands of our years ago, the empress retreated from the public and charged her children with the day-to-day affairs of the empire," he explained. "She has been searching ceaselessly for a technique that will allow her to travel between the universes where she will begin her conquest anew with fertile worlds that have not yet been destroyed by her alternate self."

Sarada swallowed, her mouth dry. All assembled, even Bolt, appeared visibly pale and disturbed.

"It is this sin," Omoikane continued solemnly. "That I cannot sit idly by and forgive. The death of all life, everywhere."

"How can we possibly stop her?" Naruto asked hotly. "How can you possibly expect us to stop her?"

Omoikane sighed, long and heavy. Before her eyes, the man appeared to have aged a thousand years. "In truth, I do not know that you can," he said. "The empress is one of the two beings in all of creation that, even after all this time, I do not fully understand. My ability allows me to create simulations of the future based on models modelled after Amaterasu. It is not _true_ foreknowledge, but it is the closest I have come. There are fourteen million six hundred six such models."

"And in how many do we win?" Sasuke asked.

"... One," Omoikane answered. "In one, there is a _chance_ that we succeed and kill the empress."

Bolt laughed darkly. "You're telling me we have a _chance_ at a one in fourteen million victory that _might not even happen_ because the model you used was flawed?" he sneered.

"True," Omoikane nodded. "The odds are in the empress' favor. In all likelihood, we shall all die at the end of our quest. But know this: you shall not die alone. I am the leader of a resistance movement on our homeworld. A collective of like-minded individuals who seek to overthrow the empress and live in harmony with the rest of the galaxy. When you face the empress, we shall stand with you."

Bolt rolled his eyes. "Dying together doesn't exactly make me feel better about our odds," he drawled.

"I imagine not," Omoikane smiled wryly. "Raijū rarely fear death."

Sarada narrowed her eyes. Why did he keep calling Bolt that? "Surely there must be something you can do to help us tip the scale in our favor?" she asked. "You told me you didn't have much time. Why?"

"Ah," Omoikane sighed. "I have been summoned to the imperial palace. Our... unfortunate meeting with Takamimusubi seems to have caused some suspicion upon my person. I will be unable to contact you again until after you have defeated Prince Momoshiki and travelled to Tsuki."

"Takamimusubi?" Sarada questioned. "The boy with black hair?"

"What?!" her father snapped, slamming a fist on the table. "You've met him?" he demanded.

"Only briefly," Omoikane said. "I assure you, she was in no danger," he reassured him.

Sasuke growled. "What is his ability? Aside from the prince, he will be the most troublesome to deal with," he said.

"Ah..." Omoikane paused. "I cannot tell you."

"What! Why not?!" Naruto erupted.

"If I were to tell you," Omoikane explained. "Then Takamimusubi would report back to his superiors the moment you— who should have no knowledge of him or any of my people— attempt to exploit his weaknesses. It would all but confirm that there is a traitor among my people. And I will be the first person they suspect."

"But—" the Seventh objected.

"Enough," Bolt intoned. "It doesn't matter if he's a god or not. If he stands in our way, we kill him." Sarada blinked owlishly at the declaration. "You said you couldn't contact us until we went to Tsuki," he continued. "What do you mean?"

Omoikane smiled, a true smile for once. "Prince Momoshiki, despite being surrounded by some of the most studied advisors of our people, is rash. He desires glory and conquest. He wants to see his lessers squirm beneath his boots as he crushes them. That is his fatal weakness. Because in his haste to journey to your homeworld, he will have created a direct path to my planet— to Tsuki. The prince's arrogance blinds him. He will not expect to be defeated and so he will take no precaution against you travelling along the path he forged."

"... Could it work?" Orochimaru asked, bestial eyes locked on their strange white-haired guest.

Toneri nodded slowly. "Yes," he said. "But it would be a stroke of luck. Surely there would be defenses along the way? Guards? And where would the path take us on... Tsuki? If we appeared in the middle of their capital, we would be defeated in an instant."

"You will encounter no guards and no defenses. Of that, I can assure you," Omoikane said. "The resistance and I shall divert the path to a largely uninhabited portion of our planet. There you will have the safety and the time to establish a foothold on Tsuki."

The illusion of Omoikane flickered like a candle in the wind. "Ah," he said. "I'm afraid out time is at an end. I wish you good fortune in the battles to come. But... before I go, a word of advice, Sarada. You must master your celestial weapon if you are to succeed."

Bolt, Akane, and Kohaku all sucked in a breath. "A celestial weapon?" the Uzukage breathed.

"Ah, yes..." Omoikane frowned at the three Uzumaki. He wrinkled his nose as if offended. "I can... _sense_ —" Sarada thought he was being polite. "—the taint of the Deathless Ones upon you three. It would be best if you were to..."

The illusion of Omoikane flickered and then vanished as their connection was severed. Sarada frowned. The only "weapon" she had was the Heavenly Jeweled Spear. Was that a so-called celestial weapon? "What did he mean?" Sarada asked the three Uzumaki who were furiously whispering to each other.

It was the Uzukage who answered her. She coughed, clearing her throat. "We... thought they were a myth," she explained. "The very first Uzumaki had been given the knowledge of a technique that would create what, in their words, were heretical weapons with powers that defied the laws of the natural world. In the spoken tongue of the Uzumaki sealing script, they are called _astra_."

"Given?" Sasuke asked. "By who? These... Deathless Ones?" he asked.

Bolt, the Uzukage, and Kohaku froze. Slowly, the Uzukage nodded.

"The first Uzumaki were never able to make an astra," Kohaku shrugged, easing the sudden tension. "Our clan waned over the centuries and none our ancestors were able to make one either. We assumed they were a myth or a theoretical technique."

Orochimaru seemed to take a _great_ deal of interest in the new knowledge. "Fascinating," he hissed. "And how does one create an astra? What do they do?"

"The astra were divine weapons presided over by what we thought were gods," the Uzukage explained uneasily. "These gods 'willed' them into existence. There were many of them and they were as varied in abilities as they were in number. One, for example, was capable of creating _infinite_ quantities of water."

" _Fascinating_ ," the snake hissed with a wicked grin.

"Keep it in your pants," Bolt muttered under his breath. Sarada choked on a laugh as she read his lips.

The reality of their situation seemed to settle on them slowly like a great weight. Brows were furrowed and eyes were clouded with thought as all assembled began to process the enormity of the task that lay before them. For a long time, there was silence.

Then, Bolt spoke.

"I think, if even a fraction of what we have learned here is true, we can all agree that this a threat that we cannot face alone and divided," he began. "If we are to _survive_ , then we must put aside our differences and fight together. Therein lies the problem: you do not trust me and I do not trust you. You will not unite under the banner of the empire and I am unwilling to save this world from destruction only to consign it to a slow death by entering your alliance."

Bolt paused. "In all things, give and take," he said. "In order to gain something, you must first give something in return."

It was Shikamaru who responded. He frowned curiously. "You're willing to make concessions?" he asked, speaking for all.

Bolt nodded.

"There is nothing you could give that would persuade us to serve you!" Yurui snarled.

"Nothing?" Bolt asked, sing-song, a small but growing smile on his lips. "Not even abdication?"

In the chamber, the silence was deafening. Sarada blinked owlishly. Never had she even considered the possibility that Bolt would willingly step down. So too, it seemed, did the other Kage.

"It wouldn't matter," Shikamaru stated firmly. "Your successor would follow in your footsteps."

"Would they?" Bolt asked, brows narrowed curiously. "I'm not so sure. I can assure you that we are not in collusion."

"I would not be able to trust anyone from the Empire, I'm afraid," the Mizukage said demurely, legs crossed.

Bolt smiled widely. "Then you have nothing to fear!" he exclaimed. "My successor is not, nor have they ever been, affiliated with the Empire. They have been stalwart in their opposition of me and my empire, actually. In fact, they are in this very room..."

Bolt's eyes settled on her.

Slowly, every pair of eyes in the chamber followed.

Sarada felt her palms grow slick with sweat and her body suddenly forgot how to breathe. Air was in short supply.

"Absolutely not!" her father shouted, standing and drawing his sword.

Bolt held up his hands disarmingly. "Sarada is the only person in the entire world I trust to lead us against the Ōtsutsuki who wouldn't betray my vision," he explained.

Sarada had dreamed of being Hokage. Of having the entire village look up to her for protection. To prove the Uchiha could be a force for good instead of evil. But never, in her wildest fantasies, had she imagined _this_. Her— the One Shadow. The shadow that loomed over all others. She was the only person Bolt trusted with his Empire... Sarada was flattered, in a way, to say the least.

"I will abdicate the throne to Sarada," Bolt continued. "And in return, all of you will join the United Shinobi Empire. As One Shadow, Sarada will be free to issue whatever commandments she wishes so long as they do not violate the principle goal of the union: the establishment of a global peace among the shinobi states."

"She will also be the single largest target of the Ōtsutsuki in such an alliance!" her father argued fiercely.

"Sarada isn't so weak that she would be defeated easily," Bolt countered. Sarada felt a bit warmed at his heated defense of her. "And she will have you and my father as her advisors, I assume, and who else would make such fine guards against the Ōtsutsuki elite?"

"None of us would ever seriously consider this!" Sasuke snarled.

Sarada finally figured out the exact muscles that needed to move in order for her to breathe. When she looked around she found that, actually, there were more than a few contemplative faces in the crowd.

"It's no different than what you are proposing with the alliance," Bolt continued. "The Fourth Raikage was chosen as the Supreme Leader of the Allied Shinobi Forces. The other Kage might have been commanders in their own right, but all of them obeyed him ultimately. I have heard of no such vehement distaste for the arrangement. Clearly your predecessors were satisfied by it or they would never have submitted. This unification is remarkably similar: the only difference is the name of the leader and the duration of the alliance."

The silence yawned.

Sarada counted the faces. If the Empire's own delegates voted in favor— which they were certain to do— and the few delegates the Leaf had summoned also voted in unification's favor... the majority would be for joining the Empire. The others would either be forced to join or be isolated in the coming war.

The scales had tipped.

"... You would step down?" Shikamaru asked. "Give back the lands you have conquered to their rightful rulers? Submit to the new One Shadow? Answer for your crimes?"

Bolt smiled magnanimously. "As part of the agreement, I and all under my command will, of course, be officially and publicly pardoned of all crimes by the new One Shadow," he said. "But, yes, I shall."

"Of course," Shikamaru drawled sourly. "And how do we have any guarantee you'll actually follow through with this agreement?"

Bolt looked to Orochimaru. "A Cursed Seal, of course," he answered. "One that holds its bearers to their oaths. I have no doubt the last Sannin is capable of constructing such a seal for your party in the agreement, should you choose to accept."

A growing part of Sarada, she found, was angry. Angry that everyone assumed she would be their leader. That she would agree to do this for them. At the same time, Sarada knew she would, because if her being the One Shadow was what let them _survive_ , she would do it. Still, she was angry that Bolt would forever rob her of her chance to be Hokage, that she would rise to her position so that he could have his dream and deny her hers.

"How can you expect us to trust you?!" Sarada demanded angrily.

The smallest quirk of the lips told her everything. "When have I ever given you a reason _not_ to trust me?" he asked. "I've been very honest about what I want."

Sarada stared blankly, disbelievingly, at him. "Would you like me to answer that alphabetically or chronologically?" she asked.

There was the tiniest snicker that Shikamaru hid behind a cough.

Bolt pursed his lips. "You wound me," he proclaimed. "Regardless, you should discuss my offer amongst yourselves. It is the best one you will get. Unless, that is," he smiled. "You plan to face the Ōtsutsuki without me and my Empire."

Bolt stood, the ceremonial cloak of the One Shadow trailing behind him, and he gestured for his delegates to rise and follow him. In the wake of their departure, there was a contemplative silence.

Sarada fumed internally. The silence was broken by her father. "You can't possibly be considering this, Shikamaru," he said icily. "You most of all."

Shikamaru, indeed, appeared lost in thought, idly stroking his beard, eyes focused on the ceiling. "You think I don't hate—" he froze, casting a wide-eyed glance at the Seventh.

Naruto nodded sadly. "You can say it, Shikamaru," he said. "I know what kind of monster my son has become."

Shikamaru sighed. "Look, the point is... we've been trying to beat Bolt for years now," he said. "And we've done a pretty good job for the most part. Bolt is good at hitting back. For every blow we've dealt him, he's dealt us one in return. He's smart and he played us at every opportunity. He avoided fighting people he knew he couldn't beat."

Naruto and Sasuke nodded slowly and Sarada saw the other Kage follow the conversation visibly.

"What I'm trying to say... is that we missed our chance," Shikamaru continued. "If we wanted to beat him, we had to do it a long time ago. Even with Sasuke back, it doesn't change anything. We could march into the Land of Frost and forcibly disband the Empire right now and it wouldn't matter. Bolt rallied people to him, gave them a cause, gave them hope, gave them someone to believe in. Now he has us by the balls because we _need_ him. We need him to either get off our backs or, better yet, fight with us. He had a point: imagine if he fought with us, not against us."

"Shikamaru," her father growled. "He killed your entire clan. Kidnapped your wife! Killed _hundreds of thousands_ more. He has _Hidan_ , your teacher's killer, working for him. He—"

"I know precisely how evil he is, Sasuke," Shikamaru intoned. "And that's why when I say that I'm _considering_ his offer, you should listen."

"Shikamaru," the Kazekage stated sternly. "Why? After all he's done..."

"Because," Shikamaru sighed. "It's our best bet. I don't have a dōjutsu and even I can see that the scout gave Bolt trouble. How many people can we name that could have said the same?" The chamber was silent. "The Ōtsutsuki are strong. Too strong for us to fight divided. If Sarada becoming the One Shadow and the rest of us joining the Empire is what it takes to put Bolt on our side of the board... I say that's a good deal."

"And what about the enemy army that outnumbers us ten-to-one? And the enemy civilians that outnumber us a hundred-to-one?" Kankurō asked.

"Simple," Shikamaru shrugged. "Integration. We mix our people and his. Have them keep each other in line. The Empire _doesn't_ outnumber us collectively, only individually. Once we merge, we can start working on bringing people back to our side. In a way, Bolt presented us with the perfect opportunity."

"Isn't the reverse also true?" Mei asked. "His people could just as easily sway ours to his side."

"True," Shikamaru admitted. "But I don't think so. We'll have the advantage in numbers and cause. Who is going to play politics with a war for survival raging?"

Sarada didn't say that that sounded _exactly_ like something Bolt would do.

"His help _would_ be useful in manipulating the spatial pathways the Ōtsutsuki are using to travel here, Sasuke," Toneri piped up helpfully.

Sarada blinked. She hadn't expected him to add anything to the discussion. He had been quiet since the initial explanation and his brief and inappropriate outburst. She was reminded of the nod he had shared with her father.

Sasuke growled. "Having Bolt on our side is not worth putting my daughter at risk!" he said.

Sarada rolled her eyes. "Is anyone going to even ask me if I would accept?" she demanded. Her father exhaled heavily and averted his eyes. "For the record, I would, if it's what it takes for us to survive the Ōtsutsuki. I know the danger and I accept it!" Sarada was breathing hard. "Now, what was that about yesterday?" she demanded.

Sasuke and Toneri shared a look. "Nothing," her father answered. "A gamble. It doesn't matter. Having Bolt help would be counterproductive because we _don't want him getting anymore dangerous._ "

Toneri shrugged. "It'd happen sooner or—" he said.

"—We'll talk about this later," Sasuke intoned darkly.

Sarada ignored the argument her father was having. Perhaps he felt like he had to make up for lost time, but... Sarada felt like she could handle the danger. Better her than someone else, right? Someone else could get hurt. Someone else could get it wrong. It had to be her. And now it would be.

The Kage and Shikamaru were having a brisk discussion of the advantages and disadvantages of unification with the Empire. Sarada listened for the first hour and then let her mind fill with an idle buzz as the discussion devolved into banal give and take as the Kage that weren't opposed made their demands for their agreement. Those that were opposed argued their stance fiercely.

It was a long five hours later when the meet was dismissed for the day.

* * *

Tsuchigumo saw and heard all.

Bolt was their leader, true, but it was him— and his creations— that were the spine of the Akatsuki. Few saw him for his true role in the organization. Fewer still thanked him for it. That was just fine. Tsuchigumo prefered it that way. Bolt, for his part, understood the puppeteer's reluctance for the limelight. Most people couldn't leave well enough alone. They tried to change him, to help him. Tsuchigumo didn't need any of that.

In a way, he supposed that was what had endeared Bolt to him most of all. None— not even Hikari— saw Bolt for what he truly was. He had a gift, in a way, Tsuchigumo supposed. Bolt could see what laid in the hearts of men. He could pull at their strings, make them dance to his tune, in a way Tsuchigumo's puppetry would never be able to mimic. He could see their desires, their needs, their dreams, their fears.

Bolt was, above all, a master of manipulation.

Tsuchigumo probably should have been wary of such manipulation. But he saw all, heard all. Bolt was not manipulative maliciously. In fact, he seemed to do it unconsciously more often than not. But Tsuchigumo saw that manipulation when Bolt turned it on him. Bolt treated him like a person. Like he had thoughts and emotions and dreams. Like he wasn't broken in mind and in body by the One-Tail. _Bolt was his friend_. A true friend. The one desire his puppets had never been able to fulfill, Bolt fulfilled so easily and casually. Bolt accepted him for who he was and never tried to change him.

Friendship was... an unpleasant sensation, Tsuchigumo had found.

It burdened him in a way the puppeteer had not yet experienced in life. Made him _feel_... _things_ that he had never thought he would. Anger, for example. Tsuchigumo had been overwhelmed by the caustic, fiery rage of anger. When Bolt had been possessed by Yasuo and nearly been _traded_ to the Leaf like a head of cattle. That was the first and greatest eruption of the emotion. Tsuchigumo had his creations scouring the land for Yasuo. The last scion of the Iburi clan would rue the day Tsuchigumo found him.

There were other times, too. When Bolt had been crushed at the hands of his father. When Bolt had been killed in Kusatsu. When Bolt had come back bloodied and broken from his duel with his former master. Anger, Tsuchigumo found, was the human emotion that came easiest.

But friendship had its strengths as well. It made him stronger. Gave him heart. Pushed him past his limitations. Gave him the drive to work harder, work longer. No one seemed to notice. No one but Bolt. "Make sure you rest, Tsuchigumo," he would say. "Join us for dinner?" he would ask, in that way that was more of an order than a question.

Perhaps it was manipulation, Tsuchigumo thought. A larger part of him thought it didn't matter. Bolt had endeared himself to the puppeteer and there was no changing that. So when Tsuchigumo had discovered his friend's master plan, he was more than a little displeased.

Bolt was giving up his power. That in and of itself was not a cause for concern. It was the manner in which he was doing it. It was a risk, an unnecessary one, one that put him at great danger should it fail. Bolt should have seen the danger. Should have recognized it. Should have planned against it. Instead, he embraced it, and it baffled Tsuchigumo. Bolt was dangerously confident his gambit would succeed.

If Bolt was not willing to safeguard himself against failure... then, as his friend, Tsuchigumo should do it for him, shouldn't he?

Humans were so strange, Tsuchigumo thought. Himself included.

* * *

Her life had always been a puzzle. One in which Kagami did not have all the pieces. In fact, more often than not, she seemed to be using pieces of a puzzle that didn't belong to her own. She and her sister had always been different. Always been odd— out of place, really. Crushingly bored by the mundane world around them. It was only in battle, wreathed in fire and blood and steel and _death_ , that Kagami just... _forgot_ the boredom.

It eased the pain but it did not absolve her of it. Pain, Kagami had learned, became a pillar of her life. The pain at the loss of her sister. The pain of an unrequited love. The pain of a vengeance denied. The pain of _living_. Small wonder Bolt had dubbed himself "Pain" after the leader of the original Akatsuki. Kagami had thought it had been ostentatious. Now... she wasn't sure.

Kagami wasn't sure about much of anything anymore, really.

It started as a girlish crush. She liked her men to be stronger than her. It only grew when Bolt confronted her and Kagari. He _understood_ them. He put into words the feeling of discord that Kagami had felt all her life: she had been born too late. She imagined she and her sister would have been much happier in the Warring Clans Era. Then Kagari had died and Bolt had swept in, her knight in shining armor, the only one who could understand her pain because he too had a younger sister. Then _it_ grew from a crush into something... more.

Kagami had been too blind at the time to see that it had all been pretty words and fake smiles. Lies, all of it. She should have known the moment he came to comfort her. She should have thrown his silver-tongued lies back in his face. Screamed at him that he could never understand her pain because it was _his_ younger sister that had murdered hers.

Kagami had fooled herself into believing Bolt would choose her. That he would give her the vengeance she thirsted for. That he would give her his love. That he would take away the boredom and make life _bearable_.

She had been a fool.

Bolt would never choose her or her sister over Himawari.

Bolt would never choose her over Hikari.

Bolt would never give her her vengeance if it came at the cost of his power.

Kagami saw through the lies. Saw the _monster_ that Bolt had become. Saw the monster that _she_ was becoming at his guidance.

No more, Kagami swore.

She was just so... tired. The pain was unbearable. Life was bleak, colorless. Every second of every day, Kagami felt like she was one step away from collapsing under the strain. She was so desperately tired. More than anything, she wanted _rest_.

But not yet, Kagami swore.

"I'll see you soon, Kagari," she whispered.

She had promises to keep.

And miles more to go before she could sleep.

* * *

The One Shadow lingered in the city of Three Wolves. He loomed, the shadow of the moonless night, and the whole of the city seemed listless and solemn as it played host to their world's greatest warriors.

Sentoki, against his better judgement, warily approached Bolt. It was a slow walk, a languid approach, and he made no effort to hide his footsteps. Not that he needed to, though. Sentoki could see the golden tendrils lashing out and clutching to any that wandered too close. Above them, the moon hung full and bright, the stars gleaming in the abyss. Sentoki sat beside him, the two of them gazing up at the heavens, the cool stonework of the city against their backs.

In the quiet of the night, with breeze-kissed skin, the silence reigned. Driven by unquenchable curiosity, the monk was the first to speak. "Do you truly desire your father's death?" he asked.

The One Shadow was as slow in his answer as the night was long. "Yes," he said, low and quiet and cold. "Yes. If it saved people."

Bolt was an enigma. Such a strange, old soul. It was little wonder the two qualities were so often intertwined. Sentoki had difficulty reading him. "But you won't, will you?" the monk asked.

"... No, I suppose not," the One Shadow answered.

The decision had all but been made several hours ago. Sentoki had left before its conclusion. He nodded. "Why?" he asked, instead.

Bolt quirked his head, starlight mirrored in blue eyes. "I... do not _belong_ ," he explained. "I have no place in this world. No purpose. I would not have had one even if I had not began down this path. Helping those that believe in me... it is all I know how to do and all that I have left."

"I see," Sentoki murmured. A falling star streaked across the heavens.

The One Shadow was the second to speak. "Was it... was it _real_?" he asked, the words clawing their way past his lips.

Sentoki turned to the young man. Yes, he could see the scars. The truth was an ugly, ugly thing. Few were the souls that could bear to see themselves for what they truly were and not bow under the weight of the truth. "You saw precisely what you needed to see," the monk answered. "Nothing more, nothing less."

Bolt shivered. It had nothing to do with the chill of the night, Sentoki knew. "I will... have to go back, won't I?" he asked. "Not now, I hope, but... someday."

Such a heavy burden for one so young. The price of sin, the pride before the fall. "Perhaps," the monk said. "But perhaps not. Karma is a fickle, evanescent thing."

The One Shadow laughed, low and wry, sporting a sad, wan smile. "You believe I can be redeemed? You? After what happened at Kusatsu?" he snorted.

"It is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are, Bolt," the monk quoted. "We all have the capacity for good and evil. If you look for the light, you can often find it. But if you look for the dark... it is all you will ever see."

"I should have read farther," Bolt laughed. "What page was that from?"

Sentoki smiled. "Not the words of the Sage, I'm afraid," he said. "But another wise man I respected."

The night was waning with the coming dawn. It painted the eastern horizon, heralded by the golds and oranges and reds of the morning. Their time was growing short.

The One Shadow stood, seemingly diminished by the light of day. "Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" Sentoki asked.

"Why help me?" Bolt clarified.

"Like I said," the monk smiled. "If you look for the light, you can often find it. I choose to look for the goodness in you. You can redeem yourself, Bolt, starting here and now."

"What about Meishū?" Bolt asked.

Sentoki smiled sadly. "You already know the answer to that, don't you?" he said.

Bolt kicked at a loose bit of cobble. "I guess I do," he shrugged.

"Get some rest, One Shadow," Sentoki bid the young man goodbye. "I imagine it will not be long before we are called to hear the verdict."

* * *

Sasuke didn't like it.

No, he didn't like it one bit. Still, he had seen the face of the enemy. Knew the overwhelming threat that was coming. And it was because of that... that he truly knew how much danger Sarada would be in. He was torn. On one hand, the salvation of his species. On the other, the death of his daughter. It was an impossible choice.

Still, the dawn came. Time marched forward.

Sasuke had expected the Kage to put up more resistance. He expected their pride to stand in the way of progress— as it always had. It came as a surprise, then, when they were slowly but surely swayed to Shikamaru's side as he argued for unification in the face of extinction.

That was another thing. Shikamaru... Sasuke couldn't understand the man. How could he so willingly turn the other cheek? To the man that had killed his clan? Almost killed his son and wife? A monster— as much as Sasuke was one, if not more. Truly, Sasuke did not know if Shikamaru was either a saint or a fool.

In the end, though, it didn't matter. Demands were made. Concessions were given. Votes were casted. Freedom died with applause.

In the light of the red dawn, Bolt stood before them. He wore the grin of the victor— glorious and exhausted.

"So," he intoned. "We are in agreement?"

"We have some demands," Shikamaru stated.

Bolt smiled. "Of course you do," he said.

"You will surrender the lands you have conquered and their original rulers will be reinstated," Shikamaru began. "The Empire will withdraw and be contained within the Land of Frost and Steam. There will be a charter drafted that provides for certain rights and limits the power of the One Shadow to ensure that something like _this_ never happens again."

Bolt quirked his head. "Is that all?" he asked.

"You and Sarada will willingly bear a Cursed Seal that will bind you to the oaths you swear here," the last Nara intoned. "You will be bound to defend the Earth and its people and not sabotage the war effort."

"And Sarada will be bound to uphold the unified Empire and a future of global peace and stability," Bolt finished with a nod. "Acceptable."

Shikamaru snarled lowly. "Orochimaru," he called.

Sasuke watched as the last Sannin approached, teeth bared, a scroll clutched in his hands. He unfurled the scroll across the gnarled table and his daughter and Bolt approached. The Uzukage lingered near Bolt, eying the scroll and its arcane contents. The two Uzumaki's eyes roved across the parchment, following every line and dot and cross of the seal.

The Uzukage was pale by the time she reached the end. "Bolt..." she whispered.

"As expected of the _snake_ ," Bolt said with a grin tempered by fearful respect.

"You must sign in blood," Orochimaru hissed. "The seal will affect you and _only_ you."

Bolt and Sarada stepped forward, eyes locked, a grim respect gleamed in both their eyes. Sasuke gripped the hilt of his sword to steady his hand. Sarada took a quill and speared the palm of her hand with its head. Her blood flowed freely as she knelt and scribbled her name on one end of the scroll. The letters of her signature flared and glowed a sinister blood-red. Her hand was drawn to a blank circle of the parchment where it was stuck fast.

All eyes fell on Bolt. He moved forward slowly, taking a second quill, and knelt before the scroll. Sasuke saw him hesitate and narrowed his eyes. Bolt looked up as the head of the quill broke his skin and he inscribed his name upon the scroll. His hand was likewise drawn to an empty circle of parchment mirrored by Sarada. The inky black markings of the scroll burned a fiery orange-red as they crawled from parchment to skin and branded themselves into his daughter and Bolt.

Bolt grinned, wide and full of teeth, and there was the gleam of _triumph_ in his eyes that deeply unsettled Sasuke. His gaze darted to Sentoki who appeared the picture of calm reassurance.

Why, then, did Sasuke feel like they had just fallen into a trap?

* * *

Sarada hissed in pain as the seal _burned_ into her palm. She felt it in her marrow. The Cursed Seal released its hold over her and Sarada snatched back her hand and cradled it as she tried to ignore the agony. Bolt, it seemed, handled pain better than her. Other than gritted teeth and a shake of the hand, he appeared otherwise unharmed.

Still, Sarada could feel the seal pulse with power. It linked the two of them, irrevocably, and Sarada knew that, after this, there would be no more fighting. Her vision of the future would never come to pass. Bolt would fight with them, beside her, and the two of them would ensure humanity survived the coming war.

"Well," Bolt drawled with the faintest hit of pain. "That certainly was interesting." He removed the ceremonial robe of the One Shadow with a flourish and moved to stand before her. Then Bolt did something Sarada had never thought she would see him do.

He kneeled.

"I believe this is yours," Bolt paused, offering up the robe, a small grin turning his lips. " _My lord,_ " he said.

Sarada swallowed thickly and averted her eyes from the bared gleam of— of _something_ — in Bolt's eyes. She took up the cloak, garbed herself in it, fastening the gilded chain across her neck and collarbone. It was a larger on her than she would have liked. It was clearly designed for a man; it was longer and had broader shoulders. On Sarada, it enveloped her, a mantle of power freely given.

The next several hours were filled with mundane talk of policy as Shikamaru systematically presented document after document that would solidify the new government. Sarada had never before been faced with the clerical aspect of leadership and she found it as tedious as it was insidious. It was clear to her that, after the sixth or seventh document, that most of the Kage present did not consider her fit to truly lead alone. Sarada began to refuse to sign things or otherwise alter them before signing. Messengers were summoned, orders were given, and soon enough...

They had a speech to give the world. They had... to tell the truth.

Sarada wasn't sure how the rest of the world would take it.

* * *

" _... My people," the former One Shadow began. He smiled sadly. "Today is the day that shall be remembered as the day we came together in peace and unity. You know who I am. Who I was. What I was. I am your last champion; the only shinobi that stood with you, for you. I am your beacon in this world that has grown dark. I am your sword at the throat of your enemies. And I've done it all in spite of the fact that many of those enemies are people that I love— my friends, my family. In spite of the life I had been born into, been assured. In spite of the man I could have been. In spite of the fact that my actions have had tremendous, grave consequences. In spite of it all... I am yours. Your hero. Your champion. Your defender."_

" _Though I shall no longer be your One Shadow, my duty to you shall not know its end 'till death. I shall be the keeper of the last light of our civilization. The hope for a government not crippled by bureaucracy, nepotism, and rot. The prayer for a state that protects its people, not wage war at their expense. Some of you may fear me. Some of you may respect me. But all of you know what I can do. You have seen it. So believe me when I say... in this war— the last war, the war to end all wars— the war against the Ōtsutsuki... we shall emerge victorious."_

" _This, I swear."_

* * *

Himawari clenched her fists as she stalked through the snow. The chill of the harsh winter had already set in. It made her skin numb and her teeth ache. Still, she had to keep moving. Had to press forward. Couldn't stop. Not now. Not when things had been going so well. Not when things could get better. Not when she could have her brother back in mind and in body. If she had to fight for that... she would.

Himawari came to a stop amid a field of snow and ice ringed with flurries of snowflakes.

Across from her stood her foe.

She had been a fool for thinking Kagami would forgive her for the death of her sister.

Now, under threat of the last Akiyama sister bombing the summit, Himawari was paying the price.

Kagami grinned wickedly.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I had hoped this would be the last chapter before the War of the Gods... guess not. Next chapter, though! It will at least start. I promise!

Some footnotes for this chapter:

In Shinto mythology, Omoikane was the god that devised the plan to lure Amaterasu from the cave in which she was hiding. Mirroring that, Omoikane is the Ōtsutsuki that is the mastermind behind the movement to kill her.

An astra (अस्त्र) is a divine weapon from Hinduism, created and presided over by a Hindu god. The English translation for them is roughly "celestial weapon." They were numerous and are central to the main Hindu epics. As referenced in-chapter, the ability of one, the Varunastra, was capable of emitting an infinite supply of water. In-universe, the Uzumaki have strong ties to Hinduism. "Death," the progenitor of the Uzumaki line, was of a race of beings the Ōtsutsuki refer to as "the Deathless Ones." The Deathless Ones were the original creators of the astra and, after being destroyed by the Ōtsutsuki, the technique was stolen by the Ōtsutsuki and perfected. The Ōtsutsuki have created many celestial weapons, including...

Amenonuhoko, the Heavenly Jeweled Spear. In Shinto mythology, it is the spear wielded by Izanagi and Izanami, the "parents" of Amaterasu, who used it to create the Japanese islands. Itachi's spectral weapons were also astras.

Rin Yagokoro is the daughter of Omoikane. Like her father, her Mangekyō ability is based primarily on the mind. With it, she can control her personal meme— no, not _that_ kind of meme. In the same way that " _gene_ " refers to " _gene_ tics," " _meme_ " refers to " _meme_ tics." A gene is, simply, a unit of biological information. Likewise, a meme is a unit of information exchange. For example: these words you are reading right now are memetic. If you understand them, you are experiencing the meme of the English language. Rin can, for example, manipulate her meme so that you _believed_ she was the most powerful person in existence, or make the very notion of her existence unknowable.


	109. Chapter 109

The chakra of the world itself flowed through her veins. Himawari breathed deeply, the cold no longer chilling her bones, her senses blossoming and covering the snowy battlefield. She was, at once, everywhere and nowhere— she was the winter breeze, the unyielding mountain, the raging river run frozen.

Kagami was wreathed in a cloak of bubbling explosions. Himawari could see the echoes of her brother in the other woman's stances and techniques. Still, Kagami had another lesson to learn if she thought she had surpassed her master. Himawari had fought Bolt— had fought the Thunder God himself. Sage Mode had stood unyielding then. It would stand unyielding now.

Himawari lunged forward. Kagami threw a hand forward and snapped her fingers. She could feel the way the air crackled and hissed as it was parted by the explosive spark. With Sage Mode, she felt the wind as keenly as her own skin. Himawari dipped, expertly dodging the spark, and somewhere behind her it exploded, illuminating the snowy battlefield with light and heat.

The next barrage of explosions came with alarming speed. Blast after blast with no room to breathe in between. Eventually, Himawari had no more room to dodge. The first explosion rocked her, left her skin blistered and red, sending her flying. She couldn't see, couldn't tell up from down, left from right, and hit the ground hard, the snow doing little to ease her burnt skin or soften her fall. Still, Himawari stood. Never stop, she thought, never slow down. Unending, boundless, like a river hewing the rock. She channeled Earth Style chakra into her skin, hardening it, toughening it.

Kagami was screaming madly, broken with rage and pain and sorrow and elation, unleashing countless explosions that changed the landscape. What had been a snowy battlefield quickly became a ruined wasteland of upturned rubble and pools of growing water.

Himawari sprinted forward, arms raised in a crude guard as she weathered the assault and charged through. Kagami was relentless, holding nothing back, unleashing her wrath. Himawari knew that she had to end the fight sooner rather than later. Kagami was, after all, picked by her brother to be part of his crusade against the world. She was strong. Himawari expected nothing less.

When she got close enough, Himawari inhaled. The air burned with heat from the ambient explosions, but the fire in her lungs was greater still. She exhaled a mighty gust of fire, imbued with natural energy, twice as hot as any normal fire. It crackled and hissed and burned with a blistering intensity. The wall of flames obscured her from vision but did nothing to hide Kagami from her Byakugan. The elder Akiyama fumbled for a moment as she blindly hurled explosions into the inferno before Himawari barged through the flames with a roared battle cry.

Kagami looked up, eyes wide, and there was a cunning there that was barely staying afloat amongst the sea of anger. When Himawari lashed out with the Gentle Fist, she was shocked to see Kagami attack in turn, slapping away her thrust with a crude but still recognizable bastardization of her clan's fighting style. It seemed Bolt had taught her more than just the Lightning Armor.

Kagami's bastardized Gentle Fist packed a punch, too. Where their fists connected for the briefest of instants, an explosion erupted, great and terrible and sending both of them tumbling backwards as a plume of fire and smoke billowed skyward. Himawari shrugged away her rattled body and got to her feet. She had to press the advantage, she knew. Kagami would be reeling just as hard, if not more so, from the explosion. After all, she didn't have Sage Mode to protect her.

Himawari leapt through parted smoke and found Kagami staggering to her feet. She wasn't down, wasn't out, not by a mile, and her explosive armor was bubbling furiously. It coalesced in the palm of her hands, forming an orb, and Himawari sucked in a breath as she realized the extent of the woman's tutelage under her brother as a Rasengan formed. Kagami screamed as she flailed wildly and hurled the barely contained whirring explosion at her.

Himawari thrust both her hands forward, instinct and Sage Mode driving her, quickly pushing forth a proto-Rasengan with an inverse spin. The two connected with a terrible crack of thunder and roar of fire. The air was driven from her lungs as the fire devoured it and Himawari was blind to the world as she was lost in a void of white and blue. The only consolation she had was the pain, a reminder she wasn't dead, and the very real thought of death and losing Bolt now when she almost had him back drove her to open her eyes.

The battlefield had been obliterated by a colossal explosion. Fire licked at exposed stone that was either molten or made smooth. Only a narrow cone— in her direction— had escaped relatively unscathed. Himawari exhaled sharply, realizing her last-minute counter to Kagami's Rasengan had been the reason she was still in the fight— or even alive, possibly.

Kagami was rising, again, her right hand cradling a bum left arm that was blistered and charred in some places. Her eyes were wild and gone was the cunning that Himawari had seen earlier. It was lost to the anger and the pain and... something new. A weariness, an exhaustion. Suddenly, Himawari felt the fire in her heart dim. Kagami wasn't just the enemy, wasn't just the person threatening to take her brother away from her. She was... the same. Someone who had lost their sibling. Himawari knew well the pain that came with that.

"I..." she swallowed. "I'm so sorry," she tried. "I can never express how sorry I am for taking your sister from you. If I could bring her back, I would. But I can't. And I won't let you take the chance my family has from us."

Himawari had thought, had hoped, that she could get through. Find some way to end their feud without spilling blood. Her words fell on deaf ears. The fire burned in Kagami's eyes once more and a wordless scream of rage escaped her lips as her chakra exploded around her. Sparks of energy darted to and fro randomly and chaotically. Where they fell, nothing but fire and smoke was left.

Himawari ran, choosing to focus on sensing the onslaught with her Sage abilities, abandoning all pretense of offense. Kagami appeared to be burning through her chakra reserves at an alarming rate with no hesitation. If she kept going, she would—

She would die, Himawari realized, eyes wide. Kagami had issued her challenge with only two outcomes: victory or death. She was prepared to give her life, to spend every ounce of her chakra, in the pursuit of her vengeance. Kagami paused in her assault, a snarl on her lips, both arms raised skyward as a whirring orb of explosive chakra coalesced above her head.

Himawari bit her tongue and began to form her own Rasengan. She couldn't risk getting hit by another attack like that. Her own chakra melded seamlessly with the world's chakra, forming an energy stronger than both, and she altered its composition, conjuring the primordial fire. It blossomed to life in the palm of her hand, orange-red and glittering like a star. The air shimmered with heat and Himawari poured chakra into the technique. It devoured her energy and, much like the element it imitated, the fire grew the more its hunger was sated.

Himawari hurled her Rasenhakkō forward. She tried not to dwell on the last time she had used the technique. When she and Bolt had been lost in their battlerage and determined to kill each other. It was ironic, in a way. The last time she had need of Rasenhakkō, she was fighting to defeat her brother. Now she was fighting to defend him.

In a colossal flash of light, heat, and pressure, the two variants of the Fourth Hokage's technique met. Himawari clenched her eyes shut as her Rasenhakkō blossomed, illuminating the destroyed landscape in a warm, scouring glow that had snow turning to blistering steam and stone warping cherry-red. Explosions erupted all around her. They lit up the sky like the fireworks on New Years. The air was unbearably hot, like breathing boiling water. Himawari choked. She couldn't see where Kagami was. If she was even alive.

Then an explosion caught her in the chest and Himawari felt her skin and muscle be torn asunder. She screamed, wordless with pain, vision stolen and made white by the agony. She collapsed, writhing, the molten heat of the stone causing the skin of her back to blister even through Sage Mode.

Himawari endured. The searing light faded and her vision crawled back into her eyes. Himawari grunted, pushing herself to her feet, wincing as her burnt skin pulled at itself. Her chest was a mottled patch of charred skin and burns that weeped blood and pus. With a ragged breath, Himawari marched forward to look for her opponent.

Kagami was alive. How, Himawari didn't know. She could hardly believe it herself. The woman's aristocratic beauty had been stolen from her, her porcelain skin bloodied and red with burns. Her hair, once long and flowing, had been burnt and charred, hanging in tufts of blackened locks. Still, Kagami grinned, as manic and eager for battle as ever even as she favored her bum arm.

Himawari sucked in a breath with the effort of walking. She stopped. It hurt too much to move. So she simply... wouldn't. Himawari stilled, completely and utterly, and she felt the power of nature thrum all around her. She pulled on it, letting it pool within her, her chakra and the world's dancing in her belly until one could not be separated from the other.

Then, she gave that energy back.

Nature was _alive._ Not in any sense that anyone but a Sage could ever hope to comprehend, but it was alive all the same. It was ancient and slow, never in a hurry unlike the mortals that scurried about it. Nature spoke, too. Each word an eon in the making. Himawari had borrowed from nature long enough. Now she was giving back. And with that _human_ chakra, nature quickened and rose, making up for the thousands of years it had been dormant.

The air hissed, armed with its blades, and the trees roared, uprooting themselves and marching to battle. The earth beneath her feet quaked and trembled as it opened its maw, fangs of stone bared, angry and sharp and hungry.

Kagami squawked in alarm as nature rose against her to defend a Sage. She snapped her fingers furiously, destroying tree after tree, screaming angrily as the wind cut her open, kicking wildly at the ground when it managed to catch one of her legs in its jaws.

Himawari smiled, small and grim with satisfaction. Kagami might have been powerful, but there was a difference between her and Bolt. Her brother was in a class of his own. He was a natural disaster made flesh. Kagami was not. And only a natural disaster could hope to stand against the wrath of nature itself.

Kagami stopped fighting, legs knee-deep in stone as they were crushed, tree roots snaking beneath her skin, wind slicing at her back. There was fire in her eyes as she slammed both fists together, an inhuman roar tearing itself past her lips, and Himawari watched as the explosive armor flared brightly, creating a bubble, and then it exploded with a thunderous _crack_.

Himawari yelped as a wall of pressure and heat slammed into her and she was hurled back by the force of the explosion. She groaned, skin tearing as she skidded across rock. Himawari forced herself to rise, to keep feeding the technique. Kagami stood, breath coming in quick, rasping gasps, blood pouring from her wounds and staining her skin crimson.

Still, she stood. Unyielding, unbreaking, unbowed. None could ever say Kagami Akiyama didn't fight until the very end. Himawari growled under her breath, feeling the power of Sage Mode leave her as her store of natural energy ran itself dry and the last of nature's wrath withered and returned to its slumber. With Sage Mode at its end, the pain that she had been ignoring rushed back with a vengeance. Himawari stumbled as her vision went white for a moment. She bit her tongue. She had to collect more energy. Without Sage Mode, she was vulnerable. She had no defense against Kagami's techniques without it.

"It's over..." Kagami rasped. She laughed. "It's finally over!" The last Akiyama devolved into manic cackling.

Himawari prayed and gathered more energy. Just a little bit more...

"I was saving this for Bolt, but I guess I'll just have to settle for you!" Kagami howled.

Himawari blanched as Kagami's chakra erupted. It flared, violent and brilliant, burning itself away. A _final_ technique— because the user didn't survive to use another.

"Take everything I have!" Kagami screamed to the heavens. "And blow this world away! Chakra Immolation—"

Himawari never would learn what Kagami's last words would have been. A sword of spectral steel erupted from her opponent's chest, indigo fire licking at its blade. Kagami gurgled, hands clutching at her wound futilely, the explosive fire of her chakra withering and dying as it was snuffed out at its source. From the shadows came a bandaged man, old and stern, and Himawari could see a gleam of crimson from his left eye.

"Tsuchi—" Kagami coughed, hacking up blood. "—gumo! Y-You... fucking trait—orous bastard!"

Her arms went limp and her eyes glassy. Just like that, Kagami Akiyama died. Himawari didn't believe it. Couldn't. Her breathing was labored and shallow. In the dying light of the sun, Himawari could make out the puppet's features. A face from the darkest pages of the Leaf's history book stared back at her: Danzō.

"Tsuchigumo?" Himawari asked hesitantly, hating how weak she sounded— how weak she was at that very moment.

The spectral sword winked out of existence and Kagami dropped to the ground.

"I apologize," Tsuchigumo said, the puppet parroting his words in the raspy voice of Danzō. "Kagami destroyed the sentries I had watching her. It took some time to find where she had taken you."

Himawari nodded slowly, finding it hard to keep her head held high. "Is... is my brother alright? Did she attack the summit?" she asked.

"The charges she had placed have been disarmed and retrieved," Tsuchigumo told her. "I made sure there was no risk to Bolt before intervening in your fight."

"Good..." Himawari rasped. "That's... good."

Exhaustion and pain always won in the end, Himawari thought, as tendrils of darkness creeped into her vision.

* * *

He had conquered the world.

Well, in a manner of sorts. But, still, the world was united all the same. Bolt had set out to conquer the world, bring it under one banner, and he had succeeded. How many other men throughout history had said the same? There must have been hundreds. Perhaps even thousands. And yet not one of them had succeeded. Until he had.

Bolt smiled wryly. Unification had been his life's work. It was odd to think of it as such. He was only twenty-three. Hard to say that his life's work had been accomplished in a mere two decades of life. For so long, it had been his goal. The reason he woke up in the morning, the reason he found meaning in each breath he took. His work had become the reason he lived. Every second of every day for more than ten years had been invested into his dream.

And now that he had achieved that dream, Bolt found himself feeling strangely and unnervingly light. There was no relief, no respite. Without that weight on his shoulders, Bolt found himself unburdened and suddenly terrified that he would drift away without his work to weigh him down. The old childhood fear of not having a place in the world began to creep back into his mind. It was more terrifying than Bolt had remembered it being.

He staved off the fear and the weightlessness by reassuring himself that his work was not done. It had merely changed form. Bolt knew the true test was yet to come. His enemies would not desist in their struggle against him even after unification. In the face of peace, they would spit in his face because they were terrified of who he was, what he represented. They would require... breaking. In time, they would know what it was like to truly lose. To feel so desperately that they were in the right and to fail all the same.

The Ōtsutsuki would provide him with a most convenient smokescreen from which to hide. Bolt would become the guiding hand, the whispered order, and the veiled dagger. The invisible fate that moved each piece to its proper place to ensure that this would be the war to end all wars.

This, he swore.

All the while, he would need to ensure his people emerged victorious over the Ōtsutsuki. A most grueling task, Bolt would admit. The scout that had attempted to enter the sanctum of the Eye had been most foolish. To think that he could overwhelm the power of Six of the Nine Tailed Beasts, to say nothing of his own prowess that the beasts fueled. Still, it was a most fortunate opportunity. It provided him with a much needed chance to study the enemy. They were powerful, yes, but they were not unkillable.

And kill them Bolt would. The Earth was under his protection. He would allow no harm to befall the people he had so recently united for the first time in all their history. He would not allow all that he had sacrificed and bled for be erased by _pasty, glorified cosmic_ _farmers_.

For that... for that he would need power. Time might not ravage the Ōtsutsuki, but they still bled and died as easily as any other mortal man. To say nothing of their raw power, their timelessness afforded them skill unheard of in humans. They fought with alien, inhuman minds and even stranger techniques. The Ōtsutsuki would not be easy opponents, Bolt knew.

So his studies and training advanced.

The return of his once and former master had, once and for all, painted him the clearest picture of the gulf between himself and the likes of his father and Sasuke. Theirs was a power that no one was meant to have. It was too powerful, too easy, freely given and at no consequence to them, only to the people that survived their cataclysmic clashes. Through the mists of memory Bolt had gazed, an unwieldy and untested new aspect of his spiritual sixth sense, and he caught glimpses and flashes of those final moments that none but save a few had been awake for. Even the meddling monk's interference had not completely blinded his sight.

Bolt understood his debilitation, his weakness. In many ways, it irked him. To see beyond the horizon, to know what depths of power could be obtained, and yet to forever have it denied to him. More than that, Bolt had come to realize that for all his posturing and grandeur, he still had no weapon with which to strike terror into the hearts of the Ōtsutsuki, to demonstrate to them the futility of their ways. Nothing that could compare to his father or Sasuke. Just half-finished techniques and ideas for even grander and equally unlikely ones.

Then Sarada had conjured up that specter of Omoikane and the foolish little alien had let slip both the origins of the Uzumaki bloodline and an ancient tale that Bolt had once thought a myth. Fingers deftly tracing the first and oldest of the seals tattooed on his skin, Bolt withdrew the original scroll that the Uzukage had given him when he first began his instruction in fūinjutsu. It seemed like a lifetime ago since he had last held it in his hands. So long since he had need of its teachings.

Bolt unfurled it, fondly skimming its contents with a nostalgic smile, but quickly reaching its end where the most arcane of its knowledge lied. The details and theories on the origin of the clan, the method of creating a death mask, the creation of the famed chakra chains, and, finally, the myth— no, the _theory_ — of the _astra_ , of the celestial weapon.

The mortal rivals, Agni and Varuna, who created swords not of steel, but of living fire and water. Fire and water that could be shaped as they willed it, all-consuming and inextinguishable flames that threatened to scour the world or an endless ocean of water with which to drown it. Weapons of such power wielded by beings who were more akin to gods than men. Bolt had not believed the tale when he had first read it.

Now, perhaps, there was some grain of truth in the myth. Sarada had been the living proof. Bolt had known her all their lives. He knew the way her lips quirked when she was amused, the way she cocked her hips and held her chin high when she knew she was right. He knew the way she wore a mask, a way to hide the pain, the way she struggled with the same demons he had. The way she vanquished them, apparently.

So when Omoikane had let slip those parting words, Bolt had seen the way her eyes had widened with surprise and gleamed with the prospect of a challenge. There was no lie there. Further divination on the topic with his sixth sense had proved his initial conclusion accurate. Of course, there was always the possibility that Sarada simply believed her spear was a celestial weapon. Bolt was well aware the power of lying through truths.

He smiled, laughing under his breath, gazing down at the seal on his palm. After all, hadn't he done the same? So simple, so arrogant. Just like the _snake_. So sinister, yet so precise. The punishments for violating the terms of their agreement were as terrifying as they were inventive. Orochimaru had lost none of his penchant for sadism. Bolt was more than a bit surprised that his gambit had succeeded at all. The banter, the arrogance, the aggression, the thinly veiled threats, the taunts, the constant toeing of the line. All a smokescreen to hide his more sinister goal; the cloak that hid the dagger. To maneuver the snake to do Bolt's bidding. To be the one to put brush to parchment, to pen the seal that would doom the remaining resistance to his reign.

Orochimaru had always been, first and foremost, a man of science. His seals were, of course, so strictly precise. Bolt admired the man's work. Imitation was the greatest form of flattery, hadn't Orochimaru said? So when Bolt sat down, when he imagined what such a man deserving of his professional courtesy would do when faced with such a situation, he came up with but one solution. A seal, so perfect in its design, that it would cage its bearer absolutely. There were no weaknesses, no escapes.

It had but one flaw, a single loophole.

Orochimaru had, in constructing the perfect cage, tailored it so well to Bolt and Sarada— or, rather, the _signers_ — that it wouldn't work for anyone else.

Bolt grinned in the dark of his workshop and clenched a fist. Because he wasn't _just_ Bolt, was he? He was so much more. How could a name, a mere vibration of the air, ever hope to encapsulate him? How could Orochimaru think that such a construct would ever bind him?

For those he loved, he would be Lightning.

For those that followed him, he would be Thunder.

And for his enemies, he would be Death.

The Ōtsutsuki would soon come to intimately understand that.

But first...

It was time to begin crafting a weapon worthy of the Thunder God.

"Bolt?" a soft voice called. A crack of the door allowed a sliver of warm light to pierce the darkness. Tsuchigumo— not a puppet— stood before him. Odd, Bolt thought, since the puppeteer loathed to leave his own workshop.

"Yes?" Bolt asked, quickly standing and casting off his dark machinations.

"There's... there's been a problem," Tsuchigumo said. "It's... your sister."

* * *

"You're as brave as you are foolish, little sister."

Those were the first words Himawari heard as she shed the warm dark of unconsciousness. She promptly and dearly wished to return as every burning ache and pain made themselves known to her. Himawari groaned.

"I just wanted you to know that our mother and father are most cross with you," Bolt continued haughtily. "To say nothing of how angry I am that you didn't come to me with..." he sounded angry, his tone hard, Himawari thought, but strangled. "... with _this_."

Himawari managed to open her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't. The light felt painfully bright. Trying to sit up only made it worse.

"Don't move," came the cold command of her kind-of-sort-of sister-in-law. Himawari felt Hikari move to her forehead and the pulsing beat of pain began to fade.

Himawari sighed with relief. "Thank you," she said.

She didn't really know what to say, otherwise. Himawari could only imagine how furious her mother and father were with her for taking the risk she had. Still, a small part of her thought they would be proud of her for doing what was right. Himawari had no doubts that Kagami would have happily blown up all of Three Wolves if it got her revenge for her sister.

"What... what happened?" Himawari asked when she could no longer bear the silence.

"The Summit concluded successfully— and peacefully— only for Tsuchigumo to inform me not an hour later that you and Kagami had just fought a duel to the death in the middle of the tundra," Bolt answered her icily.

Himawari felt hope blossom in her chest, warm and heady. "So... so you mean..." she didn't dare ask.

Bolt sighed, breathy with annoyance. "Yes, my dear sister," he drawled. "It means I am no longer the most wanted man in history. Well done, you saved the day."

Himawari cracked a small smile at that. Then her smile faltered. Her memories were hazy with pain and exhaustion. "Is... is Kagami really..." she tried to ask.

Bolt and Hikari were quiet for far too long. "Yes," Bolt answered eventually. "She's dead."

Something inwardly crumbled at hearing the answer, at the tone. "I'm sorry," Himawari managed to gasp out.

"Don't be," Bolt said, waiting just a bit too long for comfort to answer. "Kagami was a friend but she had always been a loose cannon. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and damn the consequences. It was only a matter of time before she cracked. Even with my... help."

There was something sad, something melancholic, about how her brother spoke of Kagami. Not regret— guilt, maybe? It was hard to tell.

"So," Himawari said. "What do we do now?"

"Now we put the pieces back together," Bolt shrugged. "We have a war to win."

The days that followed seemed at once too short and too long all at once. Her wounds healed quickly under Hikari's healing hands. Eventually, she had to face her parents. Her mother and father were furious with her— not for fighting, but for doing it without consulting them. They had been worried out of their minds with fear that she had been hurt. Himawari elected not to inform them exactly how injured she had been. Wordless pleading with Sakura convinced the pink-haired healer not to reveal the extent of her wounds when she was examined the day Bolt let her leave the Eye. In retrospect, his decision to keep her there until the worst of her burns were healed was for the best.

It seemed like everyone was in a hurry. Orders were given with harsh barks and there was little time for rest. People from every country far and wide were coming together, working together, from dawn until dusk, and still there didn't seem to be enough time in the day to prepare for the Ōtsutsuki. Himawari rarely saw her father or brother. They were the most busy of all. Always holed up with the other high-ranking shinobi that were planning the defense. If they weren't plotting, they were helping Sasuke, Orochimaru, and Toneri— who apparently neither her mother nor her aunt liked in the slightest— construct some sort of spatial seal.

Sarada wore the mantle of the One Shadow well, Himawari thought. It was a bit like being the Hokage. Only, instead of just the Leaf, she watched over the entire world. When she thought of it that way, Himawari gained a newfound respect for Sarada. Still, she seemed to flourish in her new role. Himawari was happy for her friend.

Bolt, it seemed, disagreed with nearly every decision Sarada had made since becoming the One Shadow. They were at constant odds with each other, furious debates that lasted long into the night. Himawari wasn't sure what, exactly, position Bolt occupied in the new government. Neither did anyone else it seemed. Yet no one was willing to tell the former One Shadow what he should do. Her brother seemed to preen under the stress he caused others.

On the third day, Sarada issued a former pardon for the former Tsuchikage, Kurotsuchi, on the condition that she fought the Ōtsutsuki. Likewise, the reconstructed Hōzuki Castle was emptied of its detainees. They were drafted into a battalion under close observation and given formal writs that would commute their sentences upon the conclusion of the war. From the way Bolt and Sarada ceased their bickering— at least, for a few days— it seemed as if they had reached an agreement over the prisoners.

Sarada seemed to take pity on Bolt. They argued less the more time her brother spent working on the seal that was supposed to give them a fighting chance against the Ōtsutsuki. What little Himawari saw of Bolt, her father, and Sasuke, it was always that of exhaustion, of dark eyes and wild hair. They were clearly getting little to no rest. Himawari and her mother only got them to rest under the threat of the Ōtsutsuki attacking and them being at their weakest from exhaustion. Bolt glared at her spitefully but retired all the same. When that failed, Himawari tattled to Hikari. That invariably solved the problem, one way or the other.

Things were... good. Surprisingly so. Himawari smiled, could feel the cracks in their family healing, slowly but surely. They just needed time and love.

Of course, nothing good ever lasts.

Himawari felt as if a storm cloud followed her, dark and heavy with rain, for no matter how many days passed, the guilt she felt over killing Kagami— whether she struck the final blow or not— never faded. She wondered if she had made the right choice. The Great Toad Sage had warned her of the consequences of her choices, hadn't he? Her life was prophecy, now. Every little action she took, every stray thought she had, could be the choice she made that took lives. Who was she to decide who lived and who died? Who was she to decide the fate of worlds?

As always, thinking of her fate brought with it a barely restrained panic; heart beating out of her chest, her breaths coming in shallow gasps, her mouth as dry as the deserts of the Land of Wind. Himawari felt her mind unravelling at its ends.

And, as always, Shikadai was the one to put her back together. "Hey," he whispered, easily finding her after she had hidden herself from the world. She always did when the thoughts of her prophecy overwhelmed her. "Hey. It's going to be alright. Breathe. Just breathe. In... and out... in... and out..."

Shikadai murmured soft reassurances and instructions to her. It was easy to give herself over, to do as he asked, and slowly the panic receded and Himawari could breathe again. Shikadai said nothing as she buried her face in her arms and cried. Cried for how helpless she was against fate. Cried for how ashamed she was that he had to be the one to comfort her. Shikadai was the one who had lost everything because of Kagami. Because of Bolt. Why was she the one breaking?

"It's going to be alright," Shikadai reassured her.

Himawari choked on a laugh. "H-How do you know?" she asked.

He smirked. "Because I'm smarter than you," he said, bumping their shoulders.

Himawari laughed under her breath. "I don't know what to do, Shika," she admitted.

Shikadai sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting longer, like his father's. "If I ever meet that old toad, I'm gonna kill him," he said. She smiled wryly. "Look, maybe the old toad was right. Maybe you really do have this... great destiny ahead of you. But that doesn't mean you have to shoulder it alone. I'll help you carry it. Sarada will too. Hell, if you told Bolt, I'm sure he would burn the whole world down just to spare you that pain."

Himawari laughed at that. Telling her brother... not a good idea. Not so soon after everything that had happened at the Summit. But... but maybe Shikadai was right. Maybe she didn't have to go it alone.

"See," Shikadai said smugly. "I am smarter than you."

Himawari rolled her eyes and punched him in the shoulder. He winced in pain and furiously rubbed at the bruised muscle. Himawari sighed, long and deep, finally feeling the weight of her panic leave her in full. "So... what do I do, o' all-knowing one?" she asked.

Shikadai looked skyward, fishing for a cigarette in the pocket of his jacket. Himawari wrinkled her nose and wished he wouldn't smoke. It wasn't good for him. "Well," he said, taking a drag. "The Great Toad Sage said you would 'walk among the stars,' didn't he? I think that refers to this war. If what that Omoikane told us is right... and we don't get obliterated in the first wave... I think you'll be one of the people that make it to the Ōtsutsuki homeworld."

Himawari nodded slowly.

"He said that your life was full of choices. Some that you had already made, some that you were currently making, and some that had yet to be made," Shikadai continued, brows narrowed in thought. "And at the end of your path— which could either mean the end of the war... or the end of your life..." he was quiet for a moment and Himawari could see the unspoken fear that the two would be one in the same. "... you'll either become the 'Sword' or the 'Shield.' If that's being... literal, it could mean that you either kill someone or something— becoming a 'sword'— or defend someone or something— becoming a 'shield.'"

"And," Himawari finished for him. "Either way, people will die because of it."

Shikadai looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"And I won't forgive myself for it," Himawari concluded the prophecy.

Shikadai nodded. "I think the best thing for us to do right now is to prepare for all possibilities," he said, eager to move on from her grim fate. "We can't do anything about what you've done in the past. So we'll just have to make the best of the future. I don't know what the Great Toad Sage meant about the end of your path, but I'll be damned if it means you're going to die. So we'll be smarter, be stronger, than everyone else. We just do the best we can with what we have and if that isn't good enough for fate... then fuck fate."

Himawari nodded slowly and smiled. "I guess I need to train then," she said, jumping to her feet and rolling her shoulders. "I... Kagami and I..." she didn't really know how to broach the subject of the woman that had helped extinguish the Nara clan. "... I learned that I'm not as strong as I thought I was. I have a lot to learn."

"So where do you start?" Shikadai posed.

Himawari thought for a long moment. She often felt inadequate compared to Bolt or Sarada. They just seemed so far away, so untouchable, even if Himawari had been the first to pose a real threat to her brother. Even Mitsuki, lately, carried a certain air of danger that belied more of Orochimaru than the quiet boy that had been friends with Bolt.

But... Himawari wasn't without her own ideas on how to catch them. "I have a plan," she said. Shikadai eagerly nodded. "But... I think I need my brother's help."

Shikadai sighed. "Well," he drawled. "It couldn't be easy, could it?"

* * *

Sarada walked through the war camp briskly, her stride long and full of purpose. The growing mass of shinobi parted before her, some eying her with doubt, others with awe, but all identifying her as the One Shadow. Their respect was tainted with fear and it left a sour taste on her tongue. This was not how a Kage was supposed to feel. In time, Sarada hoped she would be able to mend the image of the Kage from what Bolt had twisted it to be.

For now, she had more pressing matters to attend to. For example, finding out why Bolt was lazing around with his sister and not working on the damned seal that was their only means of defending the planet.

Sarada slapped the coarse fabric of the tent door open and stalked inside. Bolt and Himawari were seated on the ground, sitting several paces from each other, their skin slick with white-blue chakra. Shikadai was sprawled out behind Himawari while Hikari and Tetsu stood guard over Bolt.

"What are you two doing?" Sarada demanded.

Bolt and Himawari looked up at her. "Training," they said, looking awfully smug in their unity.

Sarada could see that. They were doing something with their chakra that looked like an unmoving Palm Rotation; a nebulous sphere of chakra centered on their bodies. "And what are you trying to do, exactly?" she asked.

"I have an idea for a new technique," Himawari explained excitedly. "But I need to be able to make and control a sphere of external chakra. It's... easier said than done. Bolt is helping me because I figured he had experience. Thunder God Mode works by expelling Lightning Style chakra from his tenketsu and—"

Sarada held a hand up. "I get it," she sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath. Bolt was looking up at her and there was something about his annoyingly smug face that made her want to punch him. "And why are you doing this instead of working on the seal?" she asked him.

"Because, Sarada," Bolt drawled, leaping to his feet and darting behind her to rest his hands on her shoulders before she could so much as blink. Sarada resisted the urge to defend herself. "I've already completed my part and you would know that if you just relaxed for one second."

Sarada calmly removed herself from his grasp and turned to face him. Idly, she noted a folded Akatsuki robe sitting where he had been kneeling. Hikari and Tetsu were wearing their old uniform too. "First, get rid of those robes," she said. "Second, we need to talk."

Bolt smiled thinly at her. "Just because we're on the same side now doesn't mean I can't make you a bit... uncomfortable with my choice of dress," he said.

Sarada rolled her eyes. "It does when you're my chief of secret police, Bolt," she drawled. "You're the head of the Imperial State Guard. Act like it. Get rid of the Akatsuki robes."

Bolt took a long, deep breath and Sarada thought they were about to have another argument. Instead, Bolt released it and sighed deeply. With a wave of his hand the robe disappeared and he nodded to Hikari and Tetsu. Likewise, they removed their robes.

"Anything else, Your Highness?" Bolt asked acidly.

Sarada resisted the urge to answer him just as scathingly. "I need to talk to you, Bolt," she said. "Alone. It's important."

Bolt sighed, gesturing for Hikari and Tetsu to leave. "We'll pick this up tomorrow, Hima," he told his sister and she and Shikadai followed the others out. When they were alone, chains of fiery chakra encircled the two of them, a shimmering translucent barrier between the chains. "Good enough for you?" Bolt asked.

Sarada nodded slowly.

Bolt sighed. "You're too hard on yourself, Sarada," he chided. "You're acting like you can't do this. I chose you specifically because I know you can."

Sarada took a deep breath and, for the first time that day, actually managed to make herself relax. "I know," she said. "I'm sorry. What were you and Hima working on?"

Bolt actually smiled, a childlike gleam in his eyes that she had seen rarely during their academy years. "She's trying to control and enhance the sensory abilities of Sage Mode," he explained. "At the same time, she thinks she can weaponize it if she had control of it. It's a very interesting theory."

Sarada scoffed. "Alright, Orochimaru," she drawled.

Bolt froze. "Don't joke about that," he said.

Sarada laughed under her breath. "Sorry," she smiled.

"So, other than that extremely discomforting comparison, what did you want to talk about?" Bolt asked.

Ah, yes. Now that Bolt wasn't— technically— her enemy, Sarada had hoped they could mend the friendship that they had once shared as children. Granted, their relationship had been full of tension and arguments ever since she had been named One Shadow. It certainly wasn't easy finding what had been lost.

Sarada cleared her throat. "Do you remember, a few weeks ago, when Mitsuki and I appeared in your mindscape?" she asked. Bolt nodded. "Well, that was a new technique of my eyes— Yagokoro. It lets me form connections with people and parse the information from Omoikane in different ways."

"... And since we're no longer enemies," Bolt surmised. "You want to form a connection with me."

Sarada nodded. "If you'll agree to it... yes," she said.

Bolt hummed in thought but said nothing. He simply peered at her through lidded eyes and Sarada fought the urge to fidget. She couldn't help but feel as if Bolt was seeing through her. Eventually, before she broke, Bolt spoke. "Sure," he agreed.

"Just like that?" Sarada asked.

Bolt smiled. "Just like that," he nodded. "I trust that you wouldn't use Yagokoro if there were any untoward side effects."

Sarada gave him a small smile and called upon the power of her Sharingan. Her eyes burned with the power, time fraying before her eyes, and she sunk deeper, until she was within her own mindscape, before directing herself through one of the unmarked doors. It was much easier to find Bolt this time and the her-that-thought-like-Mitsuki loomed in the background. Bolt readily opened his mind to her, expecting the intrusion, and Sarada watched as the full splendor of her childhood friend's mindscape unfolded before her eyes. The gilded library, shelf upon shelf of books for as far as the eye could see, with the orrery of golden fire nestled in the heart of it all.

Bolt stood before it all, waiting for her. "Well," he drawled. "This is certainly... a different feeling. Where are we, exactly?"

"It's a sort of a loading space, I guess," Sarada explained. "A bridge between minds made by Yagokoro."

Bolt peered into the white void nervously. "Bridges can break, you know," he said.

Sarada hadn't thought of that before. "Well, thank you for putting that thought in my head," she said.

"Yeah, trust me, I don't feel any better about it than you do," Bolt shivered. "Alright. Let's finish this."

Sarada reached out, extending her hand, and after a few moments, Bolt took it.

The connection snapped into place with an audible crack that only Sarada seemed to be able to hear. It resonated throughout her mind, an influx of thoughts and ideas and viewpoints. There was something... not sinister— it wasn't _evil_ necessarily— but... menacing, perhaps, in the way Bolt thought. A certain ruthlessness, a cold practicality, a way of taking apart information piece by piece until he got what he wanted. Suddenly, it all clicked. Sarada understood how Bolt had risen to power.

"Wow," Bolt said, a little breathy. "That was... _interesting_."

Sarada smiled wryly. "Still hearing a little bit of snake in you, Bolt," she teased.

Bolt wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Please," he begged. "Well, as... interesting as this whole thing was— don't say it— I think my sister is just about at the end of her patience with us. She is quite insistent on learning her new technique before the Ōtsutsuki arrive. How do we... leave?"

Sarada smiled and dismissed their connection. It lingered, in the back of her mind, an itch that she could never quite scratch, just like her connection with Mitsuki, and the her-that-thought-like-Bolt took up residence in her mind just as Mitsuki had. Sarada bid Bolt goodbye, apologizing to Himawari who had already forgotten the interruption in favor of explaining her newest discoveries to her brother, and made her way back through the war camp.

Sarada felt a violent sense of déjà vu as she walked through the camp. She held her chin a little bit higher, her shoulders a little more square, her back a little more straight. She was the One Shadow, after all. Perhaps Bolt was right, she was being too hard on herself. She had dreamed of being the Hokage for so long that she had deified the Hat long before she had even been close to wearing it.

When Sarada returned to her own tent for the evening, she found a report from Bolt waiting for her, as it had been, detailing the progress on the seal, his part in its construction, and what had yet to be completed. Despite not understanding fūinjutsu all that well previously, Sarada found it surprisingly easy to read through the rather complex report. Bolt used terminology that she was sure only he and perhaps Mitsuki would have understood. They were always the smartest in the class.

As always, she used Omoikane to gaze twenty-four hours into the future before sleeping. As she had done every night for... to be honest, she had lost count. First she checked because of the Tailed Beasts, then Bolt himself, and now the Ōtsutsuki. Using her Mangekyō had become part of her nightly ritual as sure as brushing her teeth.

One and a half weeks later, she saw fog.

* * *

Bolt gazed down at Kagami. If not for the crystal tomb, she might be sleeping. He had placed her next to Kagari in the mausoleum beneath the Eye. Other tombs were prepared, one for each of them, and more still for future members of the Akatsuki or others worthy of the honor.

Kagami might have tried to kill his sister, but... on some level, she had been his friend. And the Akiyama sisters had been good friends once their more destructive urges had been tamed. But he had destroyed them, forged them into weapons, guided them on a path of his choosing, and that path had ended in their deaths.

Kagami deserved a place of honor in death for what good she had wrought in life.

How many more of his friends would he have to bury before this last war was over? How soon? Would it be tomorrow when the Ōtsutsuki arrived, as Sarada had foretold?

Bolt supposed he wouldn't find any answers from the dead. He stood, tired and weary, resting a hand over the crystalized tomb. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

* * *

The stars blurred as they soared through the cosmos. Kinshiki stood, rigid and disciplined, alert for any danger. Not that there would be, here, in the void of space. It would not be until they reached the far-flung planet that his prince would be in danger. Kinshiki would perform his sacred duty as unfailingly as he had for millenia. Not a drop of royal blood would be spilt while he yet drew breath.

" _Relax, Captain,"_ his prince commanded him smoothly.

" _Forgive me, my prince,"_ Kinshiki bowed, making an effort to appear as if he was not on guard.

Prince Momoshiki smiled, small and vicious, and returned his gaze to the cosmos that whirred by them. _"We have nothing to fear from the hairless monkeys,"_ he said smugly. _"The priestess was weak. We are not. This will be a glorious conquest. The last before Her Majesty accomplishes her goal."_

Kinshiki had beared witness to many a world's death over the eons. He had watched over princes and princesses, seen them grow into the mold that Her Majesty had dictated for them. Yet he had never underestimate their opponents. When faced with absolute destruction, Kinshiki found, all beings discovered hidden bastions of strength. The _humans_ would be no different in that regard.

And, all the same, like all beings before them, there would be no difference in how they were exterminated.

" _Look,"_ the Prince bade.

Kinshiki did. Before them lay their destination. As they approached, the space around them warped and distorted, twisting unnaturally. Kinshiki frowned. The pathway had changed much since the priestess had been dispatched to the planet ages ago, but surely it had not eroded so?

" _Clever monkeys,"_ his prince sneered. _"The Black One must have warned them. A trap?"_

" _Take caution, my prince,"_ Kinshiki warned him.

Prince Momoshiki laughed, something ugly and dark. _"There is no need for caution, Captain,"_ he sneered. _"Do you want to know what I've learned after all these years? After all these dead worlds?"_

Slowly, Kinshiki nodded his head.

" _We cannot lose, Captain. It is our destiny to conquer the galaxy, and it is the monkeys' destiny to be destroyed,"_ the Prince said. With a wave of his hand, their pathway splintered and fractured. Their forces divided, their lieutenants given their tasks.

Kinshiki could feel one path above all. One that called to him and his prince. Beyond it, he could sense the chakra of his foe, the one that had taken one of his horns. There were others, too, burning masses of chakra that had assembled to face them.

" _And there's something I've learned about destiny,"_ his prince said, stepped forward with measured steps.

Fresh air and warm light illuminated a verdant world with a blue sky. The humans stood before them. The Black One stood next to a being of golden chakra. Within, Kinshiki could sense a fraction of the Fruit's chakra. It writhed and burned and bubbled, horrible and twisted and tainted. Corrupted from its original purpose, given a life of its own. The Fox loomed above him, slitted demonic eyes full of wrath.

" _Dread it... run from it... destiny still arrives."_

* * *

 **A/N:**

So I said that war would start this chapter. I lied. Next chapter though... the fecal matter hits the rotary impeller.

Since I write my author's notes in advance instead of at the end of the chapter... a special thanks goes out to StampedingYak90 for helping beta the last chapter! And before I forget... thanks to HeroToAllTheVillains for betaing this chapter!

As an anonymous reader messaged me... the Treasured Tools of the Sage of Six Paths are indeed celestial weapons! "Weapons" is, technically, a misnomer. Astra can be weapons, tools, both, or even neither.

On the Ōtsutsuki and why they are the "final boss" — Realistically, there was no way for either the Empire or the Leaf to emerge as the victor in their war. Bolt needed to be _crushed_ before he ever got a chance to make a following. Once he did, he became more than a man. He became an idea, a dream, and that resonated with a lot of people. It was no longer as simple as killing and suppressing the opposition unless you took it to the extreme— total genocide. The Leaf is simply morally unwilling to do that. Likewise, Bolt and the Empire would never have been able to overcome the sheer power that is Naruto and/or Sasuke in a straight battle. Granted, there are some nifty "what if..." situations where it _might_ have been possible to engineer their deaths. In a way, the Bolt vs. Naruto conflict mirrors, in many ways, the Indra vs. Asura conflict of yore. Neither brother was able to beat the other and their war continued til death. I think, in a world without the Ōtsutsuki, the Empire and the Leaf would have remained at war until the deaths of their leaders, and perhaps even past then. The Ōtsutsuki became the force that gave both sides the impetus to come together for the greater good. Plus, as a writer, I really wanted to play in the cosmic sandbox that the Ōtsutsuki offered.


End file.
